CHAPTER THIRTY
LINA
I have no clue where we are, and despite having lived in Boston almost my entire life, I still can’t identify the long strip of wooded road that we have been driving on for nearly the entire ride.
“Can you tell me where you’re taking me yet?” I ask.
Grant stays silent for a moment, leaving me with no idea what to expect. Until he says, “Take a look for yourself,” as he turns into what looks to be a giant parking lot, with only a few objects in the distance that I can’t quite make out.
The Mercedes gets closer to the giant thing that looked like a white blob a few moments ago.
My eyes widen. “Is that a plane?” I look over at Grant in shock, and he’s grinning like the village idiot.
He stops the car a ways away from what I confirm to be a private fucking jet. Grant gets out of the car, but I feel like a statue.
Looking back at me, Grant crosses his arms over his chest, making his sweatshirt way more form-fitting to his biceps than it once was. He tilts his head at me, silently asking why I’m not following him, and the look on his face makes my cheeks heat in a way I can’t explain.
He is dangerously attractive in a way that words cannot do justice—the kind of good-looking that makes everything around him fade. In fact, if I didn’t already have a photographic memory, I would have a Polaroid camera implanted in my brain, just to capture the way he’s looking at me right now.
I don’t want to like Grant in the ways my brain is suggesting to me. But he’s making that really hard.
I’ve only known him a couple of months, but in that time, we’ve become friends . I’ve been left trying to bury these feelings of attraction ever since.
Yet somehow they always resurface.
It’s the way his presence seems to fill up every space without effort.
The way his confidence practically radiates off of him in waves.
He doesn’t need to say much to make an impact.
Every move he makes—from the way he walks to the way he talks—feels intentional.
Like he knows exactly how to keep everyone, including me, on the very edge of his orbit without even trying. And I hate how much I like it.
Grant Vandenberg is exactly the kind of guy I should stay away from. But the way he looks at me now, like he’s daring me to take a step closer, makes it feel like that might be impossible.
Eventually, Grant notices my frozen state inside the car and comes to the passenger-side door.
I’m still stuck in my thoughts, though, and for a moment I wonder: Is this Grant’s attempt at seducing me?
He opens it and deadpans, “What am I? Your chauffeur?” before his straight face becomes laced with another cocky grin.
I snap out of my gaze, looking at him as he leans on the open door of the car.
“ You brought me here. The least you can do is be a gentleman.” I step out and fall into step behind him.
He glances over his shoulder, eyes dragging over me like he already knows he’s won. “Well, with a face like yours, maybe I’m feeling generous.”
As I get closer to the runway, I see four large men in fully black suits. Grant politely nods at them before turning to glance at me.
Does he seriously have fucking bodyguards?
“Are we going somewhere in this?” It’s a stupid question.
“No, we’re just going to sit inside, maybe have a nice brunch.” The sarcasm is dripping from his voice as we approach the steps of the aircraft.
Then Grant steps to the side of me, motioning for me to go up the steps before him. “Ladies first.”
He holds out his hand, and I take it with a nervous laugh. I carefully take each step, praying to God that I don’t trip. When I take the last step, I realize that I’m standing in the aisle of a private jet . Specifically, Grant Vandenberg’s private jet .
Grant’s hand lands on my shoulder from behind. “Welcome to your first private jet ride, pretty girl.”
“Wow” is all I can manage.
I cannot believe what I’m seeing. These types of luxuries feel reserved for people in movies. I knew that they existed in real life, but I did not think that seemingly regular people just had a private jet in their possession.
Then I think back to what Grant said earlier when we were standing in the guest bedroom of my aunt’s house. “ I have a private jet at my disposal.”
I look back at him. He’s grinning at my reaction. “Is this yours?”
“One of them.”
“Funny.”
“I’m not kidding.” He sits in one of the seats, crossing one leg over the other and pulling his phone out of his pocket.
“Why the hell would someone need more than one private jet?” I also sit, taking one of the seats across from Grant, putting a table between us.
“Don’t ask me. They’re technically my dad’s.”
Grant stands from his seat, approaches where I’m sitting, bends down, and reaches for something beside me. I’m confused for a moment, but then the seatbelt gets pulled over my lap. He buckles it like he had done in the car before returning to his own seat.
“God, it’s like that one scene in Fifty Shades of Grey when Christian buckles Ana into the helicopter,” I joke, before the realization of what I said hits me like a ton of bricks.
Grant looks amused, chuckling to himself as he fastens his own seatbelt. “ Fifty Shades of Grey, huh?”
“That’s not what I meant.” I try to recover quickly, but Grant is still laughing.
Great. Now Grant thinks I relate him to Christian fucking Grey.
He continues to tease me though, “I’ve always wondered what you do in your free time. Are all the documentaries you watch just a cover-up?”
“I’ve seen the movies once .” I try to sound convincing.
“I’m sureee,” he drags, a tell-tale sign that he doesn’t believe me. “And here you are comparing me to Christian Grey.”
“I’m not comparing you to a BDSM-loving billionaire.” I snap defensively, even though I walked right into it.
Grant raises an eyebrow, the corners of his mouth twitching. “Didn’t say that’s what you thought of me. Just interesting where your mind went, is all.”
He says it casually, but there’s an edge behind his grin—like he’s clocking me for more than the accidental comment.
I cross my arms, trying to play it cool. “It was a joke.”
“You sure about that?” he asks, looking far too pleased with himself. “Because I wouldn’t mind if it wasn’t.”
My entire body feels magnetized toward him. I’ve read about magnetic fields—how they can’t be seen, only felt.
They’re persistent, always quiet, but still constantly pulling. It’s exactly what it feels like to be around Grant. Like there’s an invisible force humming between us, and no matter how much I pretend to be unaffected, I’m already moving in his direction.
Thankfully, before I can try and argue, a flight attendant comes out of the front cabin. “Mr. Vandenberg, we are going to be taking off soon. Is there anything we can get you?”
Grant turns in his seat to meet the lady’s eyes. “Champagne would be great, thank you.”
“You know how old I am, right?” I ask underneath my breath, leaning into the table between us.
I’ve never been a stickler for rules when it comes to underage drinking. That’s not why I asked if he knew my age; I asked because I’m realizing how little the two of us know about each other.
Our connection feels stronger because we know more about each other’s deep-rooted issues rather than basic facts. I don’t know Grant’s birthday or his favorite color, but I do know about the love he has for his sisters and the tattoo he got for his mom.
It feels wrong in a way.
“Calm down, Lina; it’s champagne, not heroin.”
“I would hope not, because heroin is illegal no matter what age you are,” I counter. “Are they not going to card us?”
“It’s my dad’s private jet. They’re not going to care. Trust me, he pays them enough.”
As soon as he finishes his sentence, the flight attendant comes out with two glasses of champagne in her hands. “Merry Christmas!” She says cheerfully.
Grant only smiles.
“Merry Christmas!” I say back.
“We’ll be taking off any minute now. Let me know if there’s anything else I can get you guys.” The bright white smile never leaves her face as she walks back into the front cabin.
I take a small sip of the champagne in front of me and almost moan at the taste of it. I tilt my head back in contentment right as the engine of the plane sounds.
“You’re not scared of planes, are you?” Grant then asks, looking the slightest bit concerned.
“Probably would have been a better idea to ask that before you dragged me on one. Don’t you think?”
“Can you ever just answer the questions I ask? Without attitude, maybe?” His tone is playfully sarcastic, but his expression is stern.
“Okay, Dad.” I roll my eyes, taking another sip of the champagne.
But I almost spit it out when Grant says, “Wow, Lina, didn’t know you were into that .”
I’m coughing too much from almost choking on champagne to even respond. Then the plane begins making its way down the runway.
I look out the window to see the blue sky as we slowly rise toward the clouds. My eyes don’t stop moving, looking all around me as I watch the sun gleam high in the sky.
“And… we’re off,” the pilot says through the overhead speaker once we’re in the air.
Grant looks at me with a crooked grin. “You better be prepared for the best trip of your life, pretty girl.”