9
KIERA
I facetime my friends as I finish my last-minute packing for Paris.
"So, how's the new job going?" Tammy's voice crackles through the phone.
I zip up my bag and flop onto the couch. "Honestly, it's like diving into a whirlpool. Everything is moving so fast.” It’s already been a week at work, and now I’m going to Paris.
“I still can’t believe you’re working for Jake, of all people.”
"It’s not that bad, actually. We bicker here and there, yes, but we keep it professional. It's like he's mastered the art of infuriating me while staying on topic."
Ellie laughs, "Sounds like a skill. Maybe he's been taking classes."
"Or he's just naturally gifted," Tammy quips. "But seriously, how's he as a boss? Does he throw fits or have outrageous demands?"
I smirk. "No fits, but the demands are there. He has this knack for making you believe you can achieve the impossible.”
I think about the project he had assigned me. And he had decided to shoot it off to the client without a second opinion.
But he was right. The client got back to us in a few hours, and he loved my selections. In fact, he had decided to buy two of the paintings.
“That can’t be right,” Tammy says. “He almost sounds like a decent person.”
“It’s definitely chaotic,” I say hastily.
“Sounds just like you two,” Tammy says.
“What?”
“Oh, come on. When Jake was around, you guys would get into these debates that you would forget you had other friends. Your friendship with Jake was intense. In fact, I always thought something would happen between you two.”
I freeze.
Does she know something about Jake and me? I’ve gotten drunk with her a couple of times. What if something slipped out?
“Wait, this is news to me,” Ellie says. “You’re saying Kiera has chemistry with Jake.”
“If by chemistry, you mean the urge to throttle him three times a day, then yes, ma’am,” I say, laughing awkwardly.
“You’re right,” Tammy says. “It’s a ridiculous thought. And besides, if there was a chance that something were to happen between you guys, you never would have taken the job.”
I laugh weakly. “Uh, right.”
“I still can’t believe you’re getting a paid vacation to Paris,” Ellie says. “I’m so jelly.”
“It’s hardly a vacation.” Who am I kidding? Is it an all-expense paid trip in business class. I’ve never flown out of the country before, so it’s definitely going to be an experience for me.
"Well, at least you're keeping it professional. No throwing staplers or anything?"
I smirk, "Not yet, but I can't promise anything. The man has a talent for pushing buttons."
“Maybe you can gift him a mug that says Best Boss Ever. That might confuse him a little.”
“You should. He’s taking you to Paris—allegedly, the most romantic city in the world,” Tammy says.
“Romantic,” Ellie repeats, pulling the word out.
I roll my eyes.
"You know what they say, Kiera: What happens in France stays in France,” Tammy says.
“Yeah, and?” Does she think I have any interest in Jake?
“Maybe find yourself a French fling?"
I roll my eyes, playfully swatting at her arm. "Tammy, please. There's no way in hell. It's only been a few weeks since my last breakup."
Ellie joins in the teasing, "Come on, Kiera. It's the perfect setting for a rebound."
"I'll stick to appreciating the art, savoring the cuisine, and dealing with Jake, thank you very much. I assume the latter is going to take up most of my time.”
“You’re not going as his assistant. You’re his employee. I’m sure you don’t have to be at his beck and call all the time.”
“We’ll see about that.” I’ve annoyed him enough this past week, and he has been nothing but incredibly patient. Maybe he’s just waiting to get back at me.
"Who knows, Kiera? You might meet a charming French artist who sweeps you off your feet. Just make sure to bring me back some macarons as a souvenir."
"Macarons, yes. French romance, not so much."
My phone vibrates, startling me. An unknown number flashes on the screen just as I check the time on my watch.
Shoot! I'm running late.
"Sorry, girls, I've got to run."
“Hot date with Frenchman awaits,” Tammy says.
"Bye!" I end the call and do a quick check for my passport and essentials before I grab my bag.
Just as I'm about to head out, a text pops up on my screen.
I'm downstairs. I was sent over to pick you up for the airport drop.
It’s from the same number that was just calling me.
I’ll be right down , I write back.
With a last-minute glance around my apartment to ensure I haven't forgotten anything, I rush out the door. The door clicks shut behind me, and we’re on our way.
Lost in my thoughts and the anticipation of the trip, I only look up when the motion of the cab comes to a halt.
Blinking, I peer out the window. We're not at the bustling terminals of Boston Logan Airport.
I turn to the driver.
"Did we take a wrong turn? Are we at the wrong airport?"
"No, ma'am. This is the right place. Private airport, just as Mr. Bennett’s instructions stated."
As I step out onto the pavement, I'm greeted by the sight of Jake casually leaning against a wall, a smirk playing on his lips. Dressed in a way that exudes effortless charm, he looks like he stepped out of a travel magazine.
“Hey.” He straightens when I approach.
“What are you doing out here?”
“Waiting for you to arrive,” he says, tousling his hair. My heart skips a beat at the gesture. He looks like the same boy who saved me from bullies all those years ago.
The private airport screams luxury.
"Private jet, really? You didn't think to mention that?"
He chuckles, a playful glint in his eyes. "Well, what's an adventure without a few surprises, right?"
I can't argue with that. Besides, there's something inherently glamorous about boarding a plane without the usual airport chaos.
As we step on board, the opulence of the interior takes my breath away.
I quip with a playful grin, "I suppose we don't need boarding passes for this flight, huh?"
Jake chuckles, a warmth in his eyes. "You catch on fast, Kiera."
We find our seats and to my dismay, Jake sits down right opposite to me.
I crane my neck around. There are at least ten more empty seats, and he could have sat down anywhere else.
“Fasten your seatbelts, please,” the pilot commands.
As I settle into the plush surroundings, I realize I can just ignore Jake and focus on everything else.
Just as I'm taking it all in, an air hostess appears with a bottle of champagne, pouring a glass for me. I look up at her, and that's when I notice Jake staring at me.
The soft glow in the cabin highlights the contours of his features, and his eyes, usually filled with mischief, now carry a sincerity that catches me off guard. His dark hair is perfectly tousled, framing a face that carries a hint of rugged charm.
"I want you to be comfortable on this trip, Kiera," he says, his gaze unwavering.
I meet his eyes, the sincerity in them disarming.
I clear my throat. "Comfortable, huh?"
Jake leans back in his seat, a lopsided grin playing on his lips. "I mean it. Let's leave the bickering behind. Can we do that?"
I'm taken aback, the seriousness in his tone registering. I manage a half-smile. "Sure, why not? It's a small price to pay for this." I gesture around the private jet.
He chuckles, shaking his head. “It’s more than just about the project.”
I have no idea what the hell he’s talking about, and a part of me is afraid of asking for clarification.
I don’t know if it’s a good thing or bad that we never ended up discussing what really happened the night we fell apart. And now isn’t the most appropriate moment to bring that up either.
"You're right. I've been a bit snide. Let's make a truce, at least for the duration of this trip."
The engines hum to life, and as the private jet lifts off, I find myself lying back against the plush seat.
When the seat belts sign comes off, I start to stand up.
“Where are you going? Jake asks.
I hesitate. I had hoped to retreat to a quieter corner and read a book. Away from him.
Just then, the air hostess returns with a tray adorned with an assortment of delectable treats. There are delicate finger sandwiches with fillings ranging from smoked salmon to cucumbers.
Tiny quiches, golden and inviting, beckon with promises of savory indulgence. The tray is completed by an array of bite-sized desserts – petite eclairs, dainty fruit tarts, and chocolate truffles that gleam like precious gems.
My mouth begins to water as the enticing aroma wafts through the cabin. I guess I can wait.
“So, are you worried about any aspect of the project?” he asks.
“I mean, it’s the first one where I’m the closest person to the lead. I’m just worried if our visions clash. It’s not going to be pretty.”
“I never try to change the essence of what my employees bring to the table. We’re not a faceless, corporate giant. And I’m open to feedback, good or bad.”
“Okay.”
I’ve had a few qualms when I first joined the company—especially after knowing who it belonged to. Jake may be a trust fund baby, but he’s not the hungry, money-making machine I feared he might be. He genuinely loves the art of preservation.
“You didn’t send me your calendar,” I say.
“I don’t have a calendar. I meet with my clients when it’s feasible for them, so there’s no fixed timing. I’m always available for them.”
“Right,” I say. “So, what can I expect?”
Jake leans back, a thoughtful expression on his face. "A couple of side appointments for private collectors who've expressed interest in our expertise.”
"But the primary focus is the museum project, right?" I flip open a notebook to jot down key points.
Jake nods, his expression thoughtful. "Yes, the museum is our main client. They have a substantial collection that needs meticulous restoration. But, as I said, I want to keep my options open. And this is a good opportunity to acquire international clients. Thanks to our deal with the museum, we've made quite the buzz in Paris.”
“Got it.”
“I don’t expect you to be at every meeting, though,” Jake clarifies. “I got you onboard for the museum project. I know you must have other plans, especially since we’ll be visiting one of the cities on your wish list.”
I almost choke on my champagne.
“Assuming you haven’t visited it yet, of course,” he says, politely, ignoring the fact that I’m now almost coughing up a lung.
I take a few moments to recompose. “How the hell do you remember that?”
He chuckles, and thankfully doesn’t appear to be offended.
“It’s all you could talk about senior year. Remember how you just wanted to take the year off to go off to Paris?”
I find myself staring back at him. His deep blue eyes look so beautiful from the light that is reflected off the passing clouds drenched in the dull light of a setting sun over the horizon.
We had a vision board and everything. We were supposed to go to Disneyland. It was just a silly teenage dream.
“It doesn’t matter,” I say. “I’m going there now.”
“I’m glad it is with me.” He says this so softly that I almost miss it. “But I did mean what I said. You’re free to use your time as you please when we’re not working on the museum project.”
“I don’t have any plans,” I say. “Although my friends had this crazy idea that I might meet a dreamy Frenchman in the city. Of course, they’ve watched too much Emily in Paris .”
Jake raises a brow. “Is that so?”
Shit. Did I just admit that to him?
“I mean, we were just kidding around,” I say.
“Was that Tammy?” he asks.
“No, Ellie,” I say. “You don’t know her. I met her in college.”
“Oh.”
That single sound fills me with a longing for something I didn’t know I needed until that moment.
We’ve lost out on so many years because we stopped talking, because I decided that we needed to cut each other off our lives completely. He did try, several times. I was the one who made sure the door remained closed.
"So, what made you leave the Boston Art Museum? It's a prestigious institution, and you seemed to be doing well there."
I take a moment to sip my champagne, allowing the bubbles to settle before responding.
The last thing I want is to discuss Derek, of all people, with Jake.
"Sometimes, you hit a point where you feel stagnant, and it's time to explore new horizons."
Jake raises an eyebrow, clearly sensing there's more to the story. "Just a change? I mean, you were heading some major restoration projects there."
I nod, trying to keep my tone casual. "Yeah, but I needed a fresh perspective, new challenges. You know how it is."
"I get that.
Any regrets about leaving?"
I shrug, trying to keep it light. "Regrets? Maybe a few. But overall, I think it was the right move for me.”
He leans back, studying me. "Fair enough. But Boston's loss is our gain, I suppose."
My heart skips a beat when he says that, and I have to duck my head so he doesn’t see the smile on my face.
What’s happening? I’m certainly not supposed to be enjoying Jake’s company.
"So, I guess you don’t have anyone special in your life? Except maybe a Frenchman,” he says.
“I think you’re forgetting that I haven’t actually set foot in the city yet.”
“The world’s a small place now,” he says.
“What about you? Do you have a paramour back in Paris?” I say. “You’ve been there many times.”
Jake smiles.
“What?” I ask, confused.
“Why do you ask?”
“Just curious, I suppose.”
He looks at me, a glint of amusement in his eyes. "Nope, no time for that. Been too busy focusing on the company. You know how it is."
"Yeah, I get it.”
“See, this works,” he says. “We haven’t argued in the last two hours and we’re getting along pretty well.”
Crap, it’s been two hours already?
I look out the window and see that the sky has darkened, and I didn’t even notice.
I stand up quickly.
“You good?” Jake asks, looking confused.
“Yep, I’ll be back.”
I make my way to the lavatory, my mind buzzing.
I didn't anticipate finding such ease in Jake's company, and the unexpected comfort unsettles me. I look at myself in the mirror and all those years being his friend play like a movie in my head.
I miss my best friend. I never even knew how much.
When my mind is more settled, I take a deep breath and open the lavatory door.
As I return to my seat, I find Jake peacefully asleep, his book lying beside him. The sight is unexpectedly endearing, his features softened in slumber.
In the dim light, I notice his chest's subtle rise and fall, the lines of tension smoothed away. He barely looks like a teenager.
I approach the air hostess and request a blanket, which she promptly brings. Gently draping it over Jake, I get the urge to ruffle his hair. I reach tor the strands on his forehead but stop myself a couple of inches before I touch him.
I can’t. But the reasons are getting fuzzier and fuzzier as time goes by.
Returning to my own seat, I settle into the plush comfort of a book, but eventually, my thoughts drift back to Jake.
What would have happened if he hadn’t stopped talking that night? What if he had never lied to me?
Eventually, the gentle hum of the jet and the subdued lighting lure me into the realm of sleep.