32. Jet
Chapter 32
Jet
“Signed and sealed. Just to be delivered now.”
“Yup,” I grunt, swirling the deep amber brandy in my glass as Hayden’s fucking cheery tone grates on my nerves as it carries down the phone.
“And the next batch of engines?”
“All ours, as I agreed with Rich.”
I tip the rim of the glass and inhale the alcohol fumes before taking a throat burning swig.
“He okay?”
“Yeah, fine.”
“Great,” Hayden says.
I tip my chin at the bartender, motioning for the remainder of the bottle. He places what’s left of it down on the bar beside me.
Yeah, fucking fantastic. Going back to the Silver Estate was just what I wanted to be doing today. But I pride myself on my business connections. Where possible, I prefer to meet face-to-face. What’s it say about the CEO of an airline if he doesn’t make the effort to travel?
“You getting the morning flight back?”
A woman wearing a tight-fitting dress slides onto the bar stool beside mine. Her eyes flick up to mine and she gives me a flirty smile.
“Yep,” I reply, letting my eyes roam over her.
She bites her lower lip with a smile and pushes her black hair behind her ear.
“All right, I know when you don’t want to talk. See you tomorrow, Boss.”
I grunt in response and Hayden hangs up.
“What’s the whiskey like here?” I ask the dark-haired woman.
“Isn’t that what you’re drinking?” She looks at the bottle beside me, the label facing away from her.
“No. This is brandy.”
“Are you sure?” She narrows her eyes playfully and reaches over, past the bottle to pluck my glass from between my fingers. She takes a sip, her eyes holding mine over the rim as she lowers it and licks her lips. “So it is.”
She hands the glass back with a wink and my eyes drop to the shiny pink lipstick mark on it.
“You used my glass.”
“Who’d drink from the bottle when you have a glass?” She rolls her eyes with a giggle, tucking another loose strand of hair behind her ear. “You know what’s better than the whiskey here?” she purrs .
“What’s that?” I follow her hand with my eyes as she plays with her necklace, running the pendant side to side over the swell of her breasts.
“The whiskey at my place.”
“Really?”
“I don’t live far.”
I slide off my stool, and she giggles as I hold her eyes and throw a wad of notes down onto the bar before tipping my head toward the door.
“Time to go.”
“Fuck!” I lean down and rub my knee. Since when did my father have a table there in the hallway?
My shoulder bounces off the wall as I straighten up and continue my creep through the dark house.
“Fucking hell!” I yell as I stub my toe on something. “Enough of this bullshit.” I move along the wall, hitting the first light switch I find. “Ugh.” I squint as the glaring light fills the front hallway.
I spot the source of my throbbing toe.
A suitcase.
“Ava’s things that she left here. William’s coming by to collect them tomorrow.”
I blink, making out my father’s figure as he descends the stairs.
“Jesus, Son. How much have you had to drink?”
“One or two,” I mumble, stepping toward him, then cursing as I bump into the suitcase again.
“What? Bottles?”
I grunt. “Of course… Never glasses. Always bottles… Or cartons.”
My father lets out a tired sigh. “Let’s get you to bed.”
He walks over and throws my arm around his shoulder.
“Did you pack her things?” I turn to him and he screws his nose up as my breath hits his face.
“Margaret did. I didn’t want to be looking at her… her female items.”
I nod as we take our time going up the stairs.
“Margaret’s not spoken to me since I came to visit.”
“She will. She misses her, that’s all.”
“She’s not coming back, and Margaret blames me.” I puff out my cheeks, gripping the handrail with one hand so Dad doesn’t have to support all my weight.
“I don’t know what happened between you two. But Ava sure looked upset when she came into your office. You’ve not mentioned her once since then.”
“She hates me,” I slur.
“Hate’s a big word, Son.”
“Better this way,” I mutter .
My father sighs again. “William sent her here where he thought she’d be looked after. He thought she’d be safe.”
I wince as his words drip through me like acid.
“She should have been.”
“You have company tonight?” My father frowns as we reach the top of the stairs and amble down the hallway toward my room.
“Why?”
His eyes zero in on something, and I slap a clumsy hand onto my cheek, wiping the spot he’s looking at. Shiny pink lipstick coats my fingers as I pull them away.
“It was nothing.”
He opens the door, flicking on the light and helping me into my room. It’s just like it always was. All traces of her gone. Packed into a suitcase that’s sitting in the hallway downstairs.
“Get some sleep.” Dad sits me on the bed and pats my shoulder.
I watch him leave, then unbutton half of my shirt, getting annoyed when it’s taking too long. I rip it over my head instead. I undo my pants, pulling them off and tossing them onto the floor. Then I collapse onto the bed, turning onto my side and burying my head into the pillow.
I inhale.
Nothing.
I toss it out of the way and try the one underneath instead .
Laundry detergent.
I toss that one too and pull the covers back, sniffing the sheet on the mattress.
Lavender.
“Fuck!”
I stagger to my feet, lurching across the room and into the dressing room. I yank open the top drawer so hard that it almost breaks away from the runner.
I stick my head inside and breathe in.
“Useless fucking—”
I slam it shut and stagger back into the bedroom, over to my suitcase I dropped off on my way to meet Logan Rich after landing from LA this morning. I throw out my neatly rolled clothes, hurling them all over the floor until I find what I’m looking for.
I clutch the cool glass to my chest as I sink to the floor, resting my head back against the bed behind me. My heart hammers, sweat breaking out across my hairline as I ease the cap off and lift it to my nose.
“Goddamn,” I groan as I inhale waterlily and caramel.
I inhale again, my nostrils flaring wide as I fight to get enough. I curse. It’s not enough. No matter how many times I suck hard through my nose, taking in enough air to make my head explode, it’s not fucking enough .
I put my finger over the gold pump and squirt.
One. Two. Three….
I keep squirting until all the hair on my chest is doused in enough perfume that I’d go up like a cheap nylon suit on a barbecue. Then I slam a heavy palm against my skin, rubbing it in, her scent finally filling my nose, reaching my senses.
I tip my head back and stare at the ceiling as I inhale, remembering the way she smelled when her head was resting against my chest in bed. Remembering the way her perfume clung to her hair, scenting the strands that I’d run through my fingers as she slept in my arms. Back when sleeping with me kept her nightmares away.
Before I became one to her.
I let out a pained groan. The dark-haired woman with the pink lipstick smelled like wine and oranges when she whispered flirty things in my ear that most men would kill to hear, before trying to kiss me.
I threw another couple of fifties on the bar and told her it was my time to go. I could have taken up her offer. But I’m not sure I’d have even been able to get hard. The only way I’ve been able to since walking into my father’s kitchen that day and finding a bratty guest barefoot at the fridge is if I picture her .
Only her.
No one else comes close.
If it’s not flame-haired with a fiery attitude to match, I don’t want it.
If it’s not berry-flavored lipstick, I don’t want it.
If it’s not waterlilies and caramel, I don’t want it.
If it’s not Ava Roberts, I don’t fucking want it .
What the hell have I done?