3. Eric #2
Alex waits on the curb, looking both impatient and ridiculously attractive. She’s changed into a more casual dress, but her long, shapely legs are still there, taunting me. If she were even a little bit more receptive, I’d already be plotting to have those legs wrapped around my naked body later.
I’m not in the market, she’d snapped. Apparently scrawny assholes are her type, though.
Women confuse me. They really do.
I jump out and get my bag, thanking the driver. I pick up my suitcase, and then I pick up Alex’s, too.
“Eric,” she says sharply by way of a greeting. “You don’t have to carry my things.”
“Don’t I?” I grumble. “Wouldn’t your boyfriend do that? Be kind of a dick move not to, honestly.” With both bags in hand, I turn toward the doors, which slide open for me. I walk into the terminal without checking to see if she’s followed me.
Which, for the record, is also a dick move. But nobody’s perfect.
“Look,” she says, tapping along behind me in a pair of impractical shoes. “Can I just get my apology out of the way?”
“Sure, go for it.” If the lady wants to apologize for wounding my ego at a party, who am I to say no?
“I didn’t recognize you.”
“Yeah, I got that.”
She puts a smooth hand on my wrist, stopping my progress. “I really didn’t recognize you. And I want to show you why.”
“Show me?” I snort. “Was I wearing a disguise?”
“Well—”
That’s when our conversation is interrupted by a well-dressed woman who asks for our IDs.
Alex hands hers over, and I do the same.
This is luxury travel—you don’t wait in line.
There isn’t even a desk, just this fashionably dressed person who spends ten seconds verifying our identities before waving us over to a private waiting room.
“It will just be five minutes,” we’re promised.
We sit side by side on a leather sofa, and I try not to notice that Alex is wearing a sexy, floral perfume. She extracts a phone from her pocketbook, tapping the screen a few times, pulling up a photograph.
The moment I see it, I let out a bark of laughter.
“Holy shit.” I take her phone. It’s a photo of the two of us, taken more than twenty years ago.
We’re standing in front of the Vineyard Tennis Club, where her father was a member.
“Jesus Christ. We are hilarious.” The disgruntled expression on both of our faces is priceless.
“Aren’t we?”
“Yeah, but—” I laugh again. And it’s not because of eleven-year-old Alex. She looks more or less the same, with piercing blue eyes and shiny hair falling onto her shoulders. I’d know her anywhere.
But holy cannoli—I am unrecognizable. This photo must have been taken about ten minutes before I hit puberty. I’m not just skinny but scrawny, with pointy elbows and knobby knees sticking out of my white tennis shorts.
“So I was really a looker, is what you’re saying?”
She smirks. “You were twelve.”
“Thirteen.”
“Still. I hadn’t seen you since you were just a kid. I had this vague idea that you played a sport. But I had no idea you were on Nate Kattenberger’s hockey team. He never mentioned the connection between one of his players and our mutual security company.”
“How do you know Nate?” I ask.
“College. He was one of my best friends. We were in all the same computer programming classes.”
I make a noncommittal grunt, even though the whole thing makes sense. I don’t talk much about The Company, either. It’s an invasive presence in my teammates’ lives. Useful, but intrusive. I don’t advertise the fact that my father and brother run the place.
“And hockey?” she adds. “Really?”
“What’s wrong with hockey? It’s the best sport there is. I never saw you as a computer nerd, either.”
“No?” She raises a perfect eyebrow at me. “What did you think I’d become when I grew up?”
That’s easy. “Dictator of a small but warlike country.”
Alex laughs. “To be fair, I don’t write code anymore. I’m the head of a warlike cable and internet company.”
“See? My guesses are better than your guesses.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
A new voice breaks into our argument. “Ms. Engels? Your plane is ready.”
“Excellent,” she says. But she doesn’t stand up. “Just give us two minutes.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“What, you like this sofa?” I ask. “Who lingers at the airport when they don’t need to?”
Alex gives me a withering look. “I just have to ask you a question before we go.”
“What, Engels? Hit me.”
She folds her hands primly. “Why did you volunteer for this trip? Was it to get even with me for humiliating you?”
“Fuck no.” What a stupid question. “In the first place, it takes a hell of a lot more to humiliate a man than a quick brushoff at a party. And secondly, I didn’t volunteer for this trip at all.”
Her head jerks backward. “What? Then why are you here?”
“Because my father has a soft spot for you, and my brother is a scheming asshole.” She might as well know the truth. “I didn’t know about your conference until I’d eaten two of my three tacos.”
Alex’s blue eyes bulge. “You didn’t know? And yet you packed your bags anyway?”
“Don’t be too impressed.” I shrug. “I haven’t been to the beach in a long time. And running in the sand is good cardio.”
She blinks. “Okay, back up. You really want to go to Hawaii? It’s going to be a boring week of accompanying me to parties and meetings.”
“That does sound dreadful,” I admit. But I’m going out of duty more than for the scenery. It’s not her fault that my family are thoughtless freaks. “But it’s fine. Let’s board your gas-guzzling private jet and get on with it.”
I stand, but she holds up a hand. “No. Wait.”
“What do you mean, wait? I thought people chartered jets so they didn’t have to wait!”
“Listen,” she begs. “If you’re not into playing this role, then it will never work. I’ll ask Max to send somebody else.”
“If Max had someone else to send, he would have. Trust me.”
She winces.
“Besides, I can play the role, Alex. It’s not like it’s hard.”
“You’d think.” She scowls. “But don’t forget—you’ll have to pretend to like me.”
“Huh,” I say, scratching my chin. “So, like, I shouldn’t ogle other women? Or pick up some chick at the bar, and take her back to my room?”
“Of course not.” A look of pure horror crosses Alex’s face.
“But baby,” I complain. “Maybe your new boyfriend is a swinger. How do you feel about threesomes?”
“Eric!” Her eyes bug out.
That’s when I crack up. “Do they let gullible people run companies? I’m surprised.”
“You’re not funny!” Alex tips her head back and glares at the ceiling. “Please, just go home. I don’t need a fake boyfriend. I changed my mind.”
“Alex, calm down.” Although I’m still snickering inside. “You know how some people learn a trade at the dinner table? Like, how to run a pharmacy, or how to rope cattle?”
“Or how to license cable channels for fun and profit? I know how that works. And The Journal still thinks my father secretly runs my company.”
“Well, what I learned at the dinner table was how to be a bodyguard. How to punch someone to inflict maximum pain. How to neutralize an opponent without making any noise. How to blend in with my surroundings. And—since I’m me—the whole attractive arm candy thing comes naturally.”
She rolls her pretty eyes. “So you’re saying you’re like Jason Bourne, but more egotistical?”
“And more athletic. Honestly? That guy is a punter. He draws way too much attention to himself. And I call bullshit on some of those car chases.”
“Excuse me, Ms. Engels?”
We look up to find another obsequious airport employee waiting there with a smile on her face. “Your takeoff window depends on a timely departure.”
Alex springs off the sofa. “All right. I’m ready to go.”
“Of course, baby. Let’s do this.”
She shoots me a glare as I bend down to grab our baggage. “You can still stay home, you know.”
“Darling, I wouldn’t dream of it.” I give her a sleazy smile, which only makes her roll her eyes.
The airport employee is glancing between us, looking unsettled, so I leave the waiting room and carry our bags outside, where a chauffeured golf cart drives us a couple of hundred yards to a waiting Gulf Stream.
“Last chance,” Alex says as we reach the steps leading up to the plane.
But I follow her aboard. If she thinks I can’t play this role, she’s got another think coming.
Inside Alex’s jet, everything is leather and wood. It’s like my brother’s apartment but with wings. The passenger cabin sports two huge reclining chairs on opposite sides of the center aisle. Beyond those, I spot a dining table with two bench seats. In the very back there’s a door marked bedroom.
I give a low whistle. “Nice digs, lady.”
“What, this old thing?” she gives me a tight smile. “It’s a little ridiculous. But I travel a lot.”
A male flight attendant joins us. “Alex! Welcome aboard.”