Chapter 19 #2
Therese pats her shoulder. “Only the best pilots for the Rutherfords, Begonia. You’re in good hands.”
“It’s on my bucket list.” Begonia’s voice has suddenly turned into the squeak of the mascot of Razzle Dazzle’s largest competitor. “But over a glacier in Alaska or into the heart of a dormant volcano in Hawaii. You know, so I can die in paradise and not over upstate New York.”
I put a hand to the small of her back, oddly grateful to have her back within arms’ length. “You keep saying you want adventure, bluebell, and then you keep being afraid of it.”
“It’s not that I don’t want to take a helicopter ride. I do. But I need mental preparation time to be in a small metal whirlybird of potential death, and my dog .”
I open my mouth, and no words come out.
Therese eyes me, then Begonia, and then quietly steps out of the office as Nikolay peeks in. “Bird’s ready, sir.”
“Marshmallow cannot get in a helicopter. You—you go on ahead without me. I’ll take the limo. Or I’ll stay in that adorable little inn around the corner and I’ll see you in the morning.”
“The inn is for show. It’s office space behind the facade. Your dog will be fine.”
“He’ll open the door and leap to his death!”
Once more, my mouth is open, my lips are moving, and no sound comes out.
Not because I doubt her.
More because as I give it more thought, I’m afraid she might be right.
Opening an airplane door was beyond the dog’s strength.
A helicopter door might not be the same.
Right now, the damn dog’s trying to bite the trunk of a small tree in the corner as if either the tree is a chew toy, or he’s decided his next career move will be interior decorator and the tree is in the wrong place.
It could honestly be either option with that dog.
Begonia’s eyes go shiny.
And that’s how I find myself holding a hundred-pound beast in my lap, getting dog hair all over my suit and up my nose, making me wish Benadryl came in ironman strength as we make the flight from Razzle Dazzle headquarters to my estate farther south in the Hudson Valley.
Nikolay guards one door. Robert is shielding my pilot should the dog attempt to climb out of my lap and help fly the damned chopper. Begonia’s plastered to the other door.
And Marshmallow keeps staring at me as though I’m the bloody King of England, and he’s my loyal court jester.
This dog is going nowhere.
He thinks I’m his god.
“I had fun today,” Begonia says, one wary eye still trained on her beast. “I’m exhausted, and I’ll probably sleep like the dead for about two days to recover, but it was fun.
Not the part where I had to tell like fifty women that they probably weren’t right for the job, but the part where I got to meet so many fascinating people. ”
“Human resources will be a headache when I tell them I want two executive assistants.”
“I haven’t had enough food or playtime today to offer to do that for you. Besides, you’re the boss. You could order everyone to have at least two executive assistants, and they’d have to do what you told them. You should too.”
My nose itches almost as bad as my throat, and my sinuses are beginning to clog, even with the daily allergy medicine regimen I started in Maine. But it’s oddly tolerable.
This might be gratitude. “You’ll have to mention that to my father. He ’s the boss.”
“Do you think he’ll like me as much as your mom does?”
This eyeball twitch has nothing to do with my allergies. “Most likely.”
“Thank you for your honesty.”
I nod to her. “You should look out the window.”
She’s sporting bags under her eyes, her bright hair is mussed in a way that makes me think she just crawled out of bed, and it’s a good thing there’s a very large dog blocking the view of my lap. And she still finds a smile for me.
I rarely find a smile for anyone when I’m hangry and exhausted.
I rarely find a smile for anyone when I’m not .
Yet here she is, supposedly both, smiling as she turns to peer out the window.
And, just as expected, she gasps.
“ Oh , Hayes, this is beautiful ,” she whispers. “Do you get to see this every day?”
To this point in my life, I’ve avoided the corporate offices as much as possible, but I’ve still made this journey often enough that I know what she’s asking. “No. I’m generally working during my commute.”
“No wonder you’re grumpy all the time.”
Nikolay’s lips twitch.
I try to glare at him, and instead, I sneeze all over the dog.
Begonia turns away from the view, cringing. “Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry. Marshmallow’s sorry too. For his fur making you sneeze, I mean.”
Marshmallow doesn’t look sorry.
He looks like it’s an honor to wear my snot. The damned dog’s tongue is lolling out as he pants, looking for all the world like he’s flirting with me the same as half the women and at least three men in the snack bar today.
If they’re not kissing my ass because they want to date me—and honestly, why anyone would want to date me is beyond me—then they’re kissing my ass because I have power and money and connections.
Not for the first time in the past few days, I wish I’d been born into a family like Begonia’s.
My nose twists again, and Nikolay silently hands me a handkerchief.
“Oh, wow, look at that fancy house.” Begonia’s staring out the window again.
“It’s massive . It’s not a house. It’s—is that a hotel?
And the lawn! It’s so green. I know, I know, grass is green, but it’s like—it’s like it glows .
It’s preening because it knows it’s the proverbial red carpet for whatever celebrities and CEOs and royals can afford to stay there.
And the fountain ! When I was little, Hyacinth and I would sometimes check this book out at the library all about the world’s greatest fountains, and we used to tell each other we’d live in gorgeous mansions with fountains in our driveways, but naturally, we didn’t.
I don’t think I’d want to. Can you imagine the upkeep on a fountain?
And it’s not like a fountain like that would’ve fit at summer camp, and I wanted to live at summer camp more. ”
She spins, beaming at me, and her smile drops away.
I have no idea what my face looks like, but I do know one thing.
Begonia’s just realized that the hotel she’s gaping at isn’t a hotel.
It’s Sagewood House.
And where every last one of my former girlfriends would’ve fussed over its beauty, none would’ve quite like Begonia.
And none would be having second thoughts.
It doesn’t matter that I’ve known her a little more than a week. I can see the second thoughts.
“I’m gonna need a minute,” she squeaks.
“It’s a house, Begonia.”
“Chad’s company had a holiday party at the fanciest hotel in Richmond one year, and there were passing servers with cocktail weenies on trays, and he got so mad at me when I called them cocktail weenies, and said he didn’t want to take me places when the hired help outclassed me.”
My first assignment for my new assistants will be to find Chad’s address so that I can personally go beat the shit out of him.
I’m a damn Rutherford. We don’t beat the shit out of anyone. We watch a fucking Razzle Dazzle film and hug.
But I will beat the ever-loving shit out of Chad Douchecanoe Dixon for making Begonia feel inferior for merely being who she is.
“Begonia.”
She doesn’t look at me.
“ Begonia .”
I get a squinty-eyed cringe. “Yes?”
“It would be the highlight of my life if you were to ask my mother to serve you cocktail weenies while we’re at Sagewood House.”
She flaps a hand about. “Sorry. I’m being ridiculous. It’s because I’m tired. If I wasn’t?—”
“I would rather be back in Maine too.”
Her eyes finally connect with mine, and it’s like watching a puzzle click into place. She nods, and she probably has no idea just how regal that simple action is on her. “Okay. One more adventure.”
“Sagewood House is a home. Feel free to treat it as such, regardless of how it looks.”
I’ve said many, many things to Begonia that I never would’ve said to another girlfriend. And I don’t think it’s the non-disclosure agreement and the fraudulent nature of our relationship insulating me from having to mean it, though I do mean it.
I think it’s that she’s Begonia.