Chapter 5
“What if she doesn’t show?” Duke asked as he looked out the window of his private jet.
“She’ll show,” Perry assured through the line. “She’s a professional. You think she’s going to toss her whole career over an ex-boyfriend? Please.”
Duke wasn’t sure if he was more relieved or offended at the comment.
Riley Shay, with the help of famous photographer, Zee, had come up with a vision for the spread. He didn’t know much about it, only that it would highlight the perks of his billionaire lifestyle.
For that reason, Vivi—the one who’d be reporting on that lifestyle—would accompany him on his private jet. Then stay in his personal multi-million-dollar estate on the island.
The irony was rich. The last thing Duke would want to do—if given a second chance with Vivi Tripoli—would be to flash his fortune in her face. She’d come to despise money, something she relayed to him when he tried to get her back a year after the breakup.
His mind darted back to that moment. Vivi had moved off campus at that point and was taking several of her courses online from what he’d heard. But he had spoken with her over the phone. Pled with her was more like it.
With a year of reflection under his belt, Duke had explained his side of things, asked if she’d consider meeting in person, but she’d refused. ‘Whether you know it or not,’ she’d said, ‘money and status matter to you. You’ll be happier with someone like Sylvia.’
The words never had rung true, but that didn’t matter. What he’d done had left a lasting impression. One he hoped to, after all this time, dispel once and for all.
Duke glanced around the interior of the jet once more. “It’s not very original to focus on the whole money thing.”
“I think it’s genius,” Perry said.
“Yeah, you would.”
Duke paced the length of the jet’s den. A long, leather sofa stood to his right, a flat screen and wet bar at his left.
“Stuff like this doesn’t impress her.”
“You don’t even know her anymore,” Perry said.
Duke slowed his pace, eyes settling on the diamond-crusted base of the ice bucket. “I know her well enough.”
His pulse picked up as he pictured Vivi’s hypnotizing brown eyes. The way she’d reacted to him at the meeting. He’d watched her shift from polite to pissed in point two seconds. Talk about intimidating.
As it was, Duke was barely stomaching his first taste of humble pie after the whole twin swap thing. Now he chanced eating more of it—possibly a hefty serving right to the face, courtesy of the one and only Verit?.
“What time did you say she’d get here?” he asked, ducking to glance out at the runway.
“About ten more minutes.”
Duke was starting to regret his habit of arriving early. In business deals, he used the extra time to soak up the environment, get acquainted with his surroundings, and often use them in some way to help close the deal.
Even on the Benton family’s TV show, The Lion’s Den, Duke would arrive early, absorb the energy of the live audience from backstage, and muse on the struggling businesses he hoped to score over his siblings.
But having to wait for Vivi to show was putting Duke on edge.
“You are so lucky she said yes to this,” Perry said with a sigh. “This is going to be a life changer. Mark my words.”
Duke had no doubt that it would. He just wasn’t sure which ways it would change. In the week that had passed since their meeting with Slipper Magazine, he’d spent night after night stewing over the pros and cons of doing the article.
The odd thing was, his focus had taken a drastic shift from the moment he’d seen her. No matter how hard Duke tried to focus on his public image, it kept darting back to the same place like a stubborn compass.
Forget his plummeting popularity and damaged image. All he could focus on, all he could think about, was getting a second chance with the woman herself.
Ambivalence.
It wasn’t the first time Viv had gone into an interview dominated by the emotion. While flying to Austin, Texas for her job with football legend, Tom the Bomb, a man made infamous by his chauvinist persona, she worried he’d only prove the public right.
Viv had known that being a female would give her an advantage during her time with him—allow her to experience the way he spoke to her, looked at her, and treated her when no one was around. Would his obnoxious manner go on behind close doors, or was it all just for show, keeping up with an image?
She compared it to how he treated the somewhat awkward makeup artist who blushed every time he looked at her. Or the way he spoke to their waitress at his favorite steakhouse.
In the end, Tom the Bomb wound up being one of her few subjects who came out looking worse after the feature. Sure, she’d discovered—and written about—plausible explanations as to how those views formed back in his youth, but even that wasn’t enough to redeem him.
“I can’t believe you’re going to Costa Rica,” Mom came from the speaker.
Viv glanced at her phone mounted to the Mazda’s dash. Her mom, bless her, had been repeating the sentence every conversation they’d had since she told her about the trip. And still, Viv had to agree.
Sparks of excitement sputtered through her, but it only added to the unease of it all. Viv forced herself to release a slow exhale and loosen her grip on the steering wheel. “I can’t either.”
She’d already gone through the security at the main airport, which had given her access to the property designated for private, personal aircraft.
Almost there. She tuned into the inviting warmth of the sunlight on her shoulder and exhaled again, slower now. Her heart followed in reluctant obedience—a more paced and even rhythm against the seatbelt strap.
“Here your dad and I felt bad about taking the boys to Disneyland without you, and now you’ll be soaking up sun on an island in Cost Rica.”
With Duke Benton. That final thought unraveled the sense of peace she’d harnessed in a blink. “Yep. It’s crazy.”
After the breakup, despite the anger and the hurt, Viv hadn’t been able to rid herself of the feelings she had for him. So she’d stored them away instead.
When Mom wanted Viv to get rid of her stuffed animals as a kid, she’d placed them in a box and set them in a corner in the closet. The act put Viv at ease and showed her that—while they were still close by—she didn’t need them after all. Eventually, Viv allowed Mom to give the box away.
She’d used a similar application with the overflow of emotions that threatened to paralyze her after the breakup. Viv had visualized cramming the unwanted feelings into a lockbox, securing it nice and tight, and pushing it to an outer edge of her heart.
Only Viv hadn’t gotten rid of Duke’s box quite yet. It was still there, a safe distance from the central matters of her heart, sealed shut and locked tight.
“You’ve never seen the rainforest, have you?” Mom asked.
The question pulled Viv from her musings. “No, not yet.”
“I can’t believe you get to travel for your job,” Mom continued. “You’ve been to New York multiple times. And Texas when they shot on that cattle ranch for the football player…”
Viv nodded. “And France for Jeanine Labelle,” she added, recalling the misunderstood model. They’d been in a hurry for that one. “Sadly, we had to go from the airport to an eight-hour shoot outside the famous tower, then back to catch our flight out.”
“Yeah,” her mom said. “I remember that. The twins were—what, maybe five?”
Viv nodded. “Sounds about right.”
“We took them to see the rodeo that time,” Mom said. “Your dad bought them cowboy hats.”
She smiled at the fond recollection, but all too soon, her mind drifted back to today’s destination. This trip really would be different from the rest. Five full days in Duke’s multi-million-dollar vacation home on a private island in Costa Rica.
Riley Shay said she wanted Viv to get a good taste of what a vacation for Duke might actually look like. Was he the sort who’d fill his spare time with work and tell Viv she could do the same? Or was he the type who’d—despite his countless demands—make time for fun while he was away?
Viv had only just hugged Dante and Diego goodbye less than an hour ago, but as she neared the private part of the airport, her mom let them holler one last goodbye before ending the call, leaving Viv with her thoughts once more.
She’d spent the last week mentally preparing herself for the interview with her ex.
It was different from her routine preparation—it’d had to be.
Prior to coming face-to-face with him in the greenroom last week, Viv had steered decidedly clear of the famous billionaire bachelor.
Call it natural preservation if you will.
Was she supposed to let down her guard all in one day? Invite him back into her heart and head? And even if she decided to only let him back into her head—she couldn’t avoid it, after all—who really held the key to the box in her heart?
Viv’s approach to the project had been one of great and purposeful design—sort of like immunity by exposure: gradually increased doses leading up to the days she would, inevitably, spend with him.
It was her job to research her subjects before the interview, after all. A process she started by reading the online stories, articles or posts with the most traffic.
On day one, she spent one hour reading what in-your-face tabloids had to say about him. Just one hour. And even still, she’d dreamt about Duke that evening. A disjointed dream where he showed up on her doorstep selling framed photos of himself. She’d told him no thank you.
On day two, Viv doubled that time, sticking with the tabloids again—they were most read after all—reading the ones dating further back in his career.
He appeared in her dream that night too, showing up as her waiter at Bizoli’s Deli and Pub.
Dante and Diego were there too, and in that dream, Duke hit it off with them—an act that made her mama heart melt even after she woke.