Chapter 17
Chapter Seventeen
Pippa
The shrill ring of my phone slices through my morning haze, and for once, I’m grateful for the sound.
I’ve been staring at my ceiling for far too long, replaying last night in maddening loops, the music, the dancing, George’s furrowed brow and his confusion about whether he wants me or Claudia, Rhett’s smile when he kissed me and made the rest of the world fade.
I scramble for the phone, hoping it’s Lucy so I can vent, but the screen flashes with Rhett’s name. My pulse does a strange little jump.
“Morning,” he says. It’s too early for his voice to sound like velvet poured straight into my ear, but it does anyway.
“Morning,” I echo, trying to sound breezy like I’m not still in bed with memories of last night keeping me company and driving me crazy in equal measures. “I wasn’t expecting you to call so soon. Should I be flattered?”
“You should always be flattered when I call,” he says dryly, then he sighs. “Something’s come up with work back at the New York office. I need to fly back today.”
The words hit like a slap, sharp and unexpected. “Oh.”
“Oh?” he repeats, like he’s trying to measure my disappointment level.
I sit up, clutching the sheet around me even though no one can see me. “I’m just surprised that’s all.”
“Yeah, me too,” he says. He pauses, then his voice softens. “I don’t want to cut things short with you, Pippa. So, here’s the question: do you want to come now with me, or would you rather fly out later in the week on your own?” There’s an undercurrent of something almost businesslike in his tone.
My head jerks back. “Come with you? To New York?”
“Yes. You’d be coming out for the wedding in a few days anyway, and you said yourself that you can work from anywhere. Plus, if you come now, I’ll get the chance to return the sightseeing favor. I still owe you for the tour of London.”
My body is screaming yes, but my brain is busy rationalizing.
Of course, my heart wants to go. The idea of being in Rhett’s city, seeing where he belongs, thrills me.
But then there’s the other voice, whispering George’s name, reminding me this whole charade is supposed to bring him back to me, not whisk me away into Rhett’s world.
I don’t belong there. Even so, the thought of watching Rhett walk away from me now makes something hollow open inside of me.
“You’re serious?” I ask, stalling while I try to make a choice.
“Deadly serious,” he says. His voice lowers. “Come on, what’s the worst thing that can happen? You’re not scared you’ll fall for me, are you?”
I laugh, too quickly. God, I sound like a horse. “I’m not scared.”
“You sound scared.”
“I don’t.”
“Then come with me.”
“Fine,” I snap. “I’ll come with you. Happy?”
He chuckles, warm and rich. “Ecstatic. Go pack a bag. I’ll be at yours in two hours. We’ll head straight to Heathrow.”
“Two hours?” I squeak. “That’s hardly any time at all.”
“You look good in anything,” he says smoothly. “Or, I imagine, out of anything.”
I choke. “Rhett,” I shriek.
He laughs again. The bastard is clearly pleased with himself. “Best get moving, Mrs. Rabbit. See you soon.”
The line clicks dead. I pull my phone away from my face, and I stare at my own reflection on the black screen.
My cheeks are flaming. I sit frozen like that for less than a minute before I jump into action.
I leap out of bed, shower, and get ready in record time.
I throw clothes into a suitcase like a madwoman, muttering under my breath.
Casuals, dresses, shoes, something nice for the wedding.
God, how does one even know what to pack for an impromptu trip to New York with a man who can make the air hum just by brushing your arm, but who you are not allowed to think of in that way because your heart belongs to someone else?
By the time Rhett buzzes me from downstairs, I’m all packed and raring to go.
I glance at the mirror. My hair is curled, and I am dressed in a fitted navy wrap dress with three quarter sleeves that hugs my waist without screaming ‘trying too hard’.
I’ve paired it with my nude heels that make my legs look pretty endless, but are still airport friendly.
Wish I could travel in my sweats, but one has to suffer to look good.
I tug at the hem of my dress one last time, inhale deeply, and grab my suitcase handle.
When I step outside, the sight that greets me is enough to stall my breath.
Rhett is talking to someone on his phone.
He has one hand placed against a sleek black car.
A pair of, no doubt, designer sunglasses pushes his hair back, and his suit jacket is, as ever, cut to perfection over his broad shoulders.
He looks glossy, polished, devastatingly male.
And when he turns his head, his eyes sweep up from my heels to my face, lingering in a way that makes my skin tingle.
I feel dangerously close to forgetting George altogether.
“You look …” He shakes his head slightly, a small smile tugging at his mouth. “Heathrow is not ready for you.”
Heat creeps up my neck. “This old thing,” I dismiss airily.
He bends to take my suitcase from me, his hand brushing mine briefly, and my pulse stutters.
“The tag is still showing,” he whispers, laughter hidden in his voice.
The drive to the airport is smooth, filled with his low-voiced anecdotes about New York, which I confess, I only half follow because I’m too busy cataloguing every flex of his hand on the steering wheel, every shadow of stubble along his jaw.
“So,” I say, forcing lightness into my voice. “You are planning to show me the tourist side of New York. I thought this was going to be business meetings with a side of overpriced coffee for me?”
“It’s called multitasking, honey,” he says, glancing at me with a quick grin. “Besides, there’s something poetic about you letting me play tour guide after London.”
“Poetic,” I repeat skeptically. “That’s one word for it.”
“What’s your word?”
“Risky.”
He smirks. “But you like risky.”
I glare out the window. He’s not right. I like safe and dependable.
At Heathrow, Rhett strides through the terminal with a quiet, prowling grace.
Confidence radiates from him. I feel people glancing our way, probably wondering who the woman at his side is.
The women wish they were me, and something in me straightens, as if I belong next to him. I want them to think I’m with him.
We check in my suitcase. Oh my, it seems we are flying first class.
We are treated like superstars and whisked off into a fast lane.
There is no waiting or taking off shoes here.
When we reach passport control, Rhett takes my passport from me with an ease that makes me feel I should object, but somehow, I don’t.
He’s efficient, calm, and in control. I hate that I like it.
We enter the first-class lounge, and somehow, I find myself holding a flute of champagne in my hand.
“Let’s drink to our exes,” Rhett says. “May they find happiness too.”
I sip my drink too quickly, my nerves raw under my skin.
“So,” Rhett says, lounging back. A man utterly at ease in these surroundings. “What are you expecting from New York?”
“You mean besides Times Square and bagels the size of my head?”
He laughs, genuine and rich. “Besides that.”
I chew on my lower lip. “I don’t know. Maybe … it’ll help me to understand you a little better. New York is your world, isn’t it?”
His eyes catch mine, suddenly serious. “And London is yours.”
For a beat, I’m caught, held by the weight of his gaze. Something tightens low in my stomach, a mix of fear and want. I tear my eyes away, focusing on the bubbles in my glass. This isn’t real. I remind myself of that fiercely. This is all about George. About proving something. And winning him back.
And yet, when Rhett leans close and murmurs that we should go because we’re boarding soon, the thought of being alone with him in New York makes my heart kick like it’s betraying me.
At the gate, we fall into line with the other travelers and holidaymakers.
Rhett rests a hand on the small of my back as we walk down the jet bridge, guiding me with that easy authority that should bother me, but it doesn’t.
It makes me feel safe. The heat of his palm seeps through the thin fabric of my dress, and my knees nearly give way.
By the time we step onto the plane, into the cool hush of first class, I know one thing with bone-deep certainty. I am in dangerous territory here. And I’m not sure that I want to find my way out of it.