28. Chapter Twenty Eight
Chapter Twenty Eight
Annie
The last month has gone by in a complete blur. One minute, I was watching Robbie and his friends splash around in the pool, and the next, I was standing on an airport tarmac, staring up at a private jet that was about to take me to a private island.
How did I get here?
I mean, I know how, obviously. Robbie wrapped up school, Cole wrapped up work—as best he could—and now we’re taking a vacation. Together.
I mean, technically, I’m here as a nanny, but I’m also sleeping with my boss?
Ugh, I’m such a cliché.
But the whole thing still feels surreal, like something out of a dream—or a movie I’m not fancy enough to star in.
"Annie, come on!" Robbie’s excited voice snaps me out of my thoughts.
He’s practically bouncing on the balls of his feet, clutching his T-Rex plushie, his tiny suitcase beside him. The kid has been talking about this trip nonstop since Cole suggested it .
I adjust the strap of my carry-on, swallowing down the weird knot in my stomach. I was excited. I was. I mean, who wouldn’t be excited about an all-expenses-paid trip to a secluded Caribbean island?
But at the same time, the idea of being completely alone with Cole for weeks, with no work distractions, no polite excuses to keep my distance—
No staff. Well, no staff that I usually see. He has people who specifically work on the island. But to them, I’m not Robbie’s nanny. I’m the woman Mr. Wagner is bringing to his private island.
It is terrifying.
Cole is already halfway up the jet’s stairs, dressed in a perfectly tailored linen shirt and dark slacks, looking effortlessly put together despite the early morning hour. He turns at the top of the stairs and glances back at me, one brow lifting in that way that always makes my stomach twist.
"Annie," he says, his voice calm, patient. "Are you coming?"
I clear my throat and force a smile. "Yeah. Just—taking it all in."
A small smirk tugs at the corner of his lips, but he doesn’t say anything else. Instead, he steps inside the jet, disappearing from view.
My stomach lurches at the thought.
I exhale and finally force myself to move. Deep breaths, Annie. You can handle this .
Robbie practically drags me up the stairs, his excitement contagious. "Annie, did you see the plane? It’s huge! Did you know this is Dad’s own plane?"
I let out a huge breath. “Yeah, it’s pretty awesome. And it’s huge ,” I say, hoping to make Robbie laugh.
Instead he just frowns at the plane. “But this is the small one.”
I blink. "Wait—What? The small one?”
Robbie nods enthusiastically. "Yeah! He has two! This is the small one."
I nearly trip on the first step. Of course he does. Of course Cole owns multiple private jets like it’s no big deal.
I swallow and finally take the first step, my stomach continues protesting.
Am I afraid of flying? I’ve never been afraid of it before. Is this something new?
Or maybe I’m just afraid of private-jet-flying. Which makes absolutely no sense.
So, why won’t my stomach settle?
Inside, the plane is even more ridiculous than I imagined.
It’s not just fancy—it’s insanely luxurious. Plush leather seats. A fully stocked bar. Wide windows that let in natural light, making the cream-colored interior feel open and spacious .
I hesitate at the entrance, feeling wildly out of place. This is the kind of setting reserved for billionaires and celebrities—not me.
Cole is already seated, his long legs stretched out comfortably, a glass of something dark in his hand. He watches me, his green eyes sharp, unreadable.
"You gonna stand there all day?" he asks, voice smooth as silk.
I clear my throat and step inside. Robbie immediately clambers into the seat next to Cole, chattering a mile a minute about how cool everything is.
I settle into a seat across from them, running my fingers over the buttery leather armrest. The seat is ridiculously comfortable, more like a recliner than an airplane chair.
A flight attendant—because of course there’s a flight attendant—approaches with a warm smile. "Can I get you anything before takeoff, Ms. Fox? Champagne?”
My stomach gives another lurch. I nearly laugh at how absurd this all is. "Uh, just water. Thanks. Maybe a ginger ale? If you have it.”
She nods and moves off to get it.
Robbie is still talking, and Cole is nodding along, answering his questions, looking more relaxed than I’ve seen him in weeks.
And me ?
I stare out the window as the jet prepares for takeoff, my heart pounding.
This is happening.
I’m flying to a private island with Cole Wagner.
And I have no idea what’s going to happen next.
***
The seatbelt light flicks off with a soft chime, signaling that we’ve reached cruising altitude. Around me, everything is calm—the plane glides smoothly through the sky, Robbie chatters happily from his seat, and Cole sits completely at ease, flipping through something on his phone like we’re just sitting in the living room instead of thousands of feet in the air.
But me?
I feel anything but calm.
I grip the armrests, my knuckles white, my stomach twisting in a way that is not normal.
It’s not just nerves—it’s worse. A slow, creeping nausea that started when the plane took off and has only gotten stronger. The air feels thick, pressing down on me, and the last thing I want to do is make a scene.
Nope. No way. Not in front of Cole, not in front of Robbie, and definitely not on a private jet .
I take a slow breath and try to keep my expression neutral. "Where’s the bathroom?" I ask, keeping my voice steady.
Cole looks up from his phone immediately, his green eyes sharpening then narrowing. "Are you okay?"
I shake my head. I can’t speak. If I do, I’m afraid I’ll throw up right here, all over this ridiculously expensive jet, all over myself. And Cole definitely wouldn’t find that attractive.
His expression changes in an instant, his brows drawing together in concern as he gestures toward the back of the plane. "Down the hall, second door on the right."
I don’t wait for anything else.
I fumble with my seatbelt, unclicking it with shaky hands before pushing myself up. The moment I’m on my feet, the world tilts. A cold sweat breaks out across my forehead. My stomach lurches, but I force myself forward, focusing on the hallway ahead.
One step. Then another. Just get to the bathroom.
I feel Cole’s gaze following me as I move. I don’t look back.
The second I reach the door, I wrench it open, step inside, and slam it shut behind me. My knees hit the cool tile floor just in time before everything inside me comes up.
Oh, God.
I grip the sides of the toilet, heaving violently, my body shuddering as I empty my stomach. I don’t know how long it lasts—seconds, minutes—but by the time it stops, I feel drained, weak.
After it’s over, I drop back against the sink cabinet behind me and rest my head against it, taking deep breaths.
This is so not how I imagined this trip starting.