Chapter 9
LANEY
I was sweating through both my tank top and my patience by the time I realized I was in the wrong terminal.
Airports were, and always had been, a complete mystery to me.
I’d been on a plane before, and I’d taken off from right here, but my flights were few and far between and nothing around here made much sense.
Least of all the words the airline representative had just said after I’d asked for her help. She glanced at the pass Sterling’s people had emailed to me again, and I stared at her, honestly dumbfounded.
“You’re sure?” I asked, gripping the strap of my overnight bag like it might launch me into the right place if I squeezed hard enough. “Like, you’re absolutely sure?”
She gave me a look that said, Bless your heart. “Yes, ma’am. I’m sure. This pass here? It’s for a private terminal. You want Executive Aviation. They’re on the other side of the airport. You’ll need a ride.”
A private terminal. A private terminal. Do they even have those here? I mean, obviously. She just said so, but really?
“Thank you. Okay. Thanks.” I backed away from the counter with the grace of a sleep-deprived raccoon and opened the Uber app, ignoring the knot in the center of my stomach.
When I’d decided to take this trip, I’d been prepared for a car ride to LA. Not a flight. Not a chartered flight. Not a private terminal. Not any of whatever the hell this was.
My phone rang just as I confirmed my ride.
Sterling’s name flashed across the screen like he could sense I was floundering.
His Grace— oh, so that’s why they call them that —would never flounder.
He moved with such grace and such quiet authority that I didn’t think he’d ever even been slightly flustered.
“Hello,” I said when I answered, trying not to sound like I’d just asked a stranger where I was. “Sterling, are you there?”
“Where are you?” he asked, his voice calm and clipped. “We’re supposed to be taking off soon.”
“I’m at the airport. The departures terminal. Like a normal person. In other words, I’m exactly where you told me to meet you.”
“I emailed all the information you needed.”
Annoyance broke the knots of tension in my stomach into little clumps of what-the-hell-am-I-doings . “Your email said, and I quote: Flight’s at ten. Pack light . That’s it. No address. No terminal. No gate. Just a timestamp and a suggestion.”
“I also offered to pick you up.”
I strode out of the air-conditioned building and into the chaos of the pick-up zone. There were people everywhere, most of them also on their phones, but some of them on video calls, speaking loudly to be heard above the fray while those they were speaking to were even louder.
Turning to my side, I pressed a finger into my ear and cast my gaze down to the concrete, as if that would help me hear better.
I even narrowed my eyes. “Yes, you did, but I didn’t want to give you my address only to wake up duct-taped in a basement tomorrow morning.
I think my caution is perfectly justified.
You’re the dude trying to close my family business. ”
I heard him sigh. “You’re not duct-taped in a basement. You’re waiting for an Uber, I’m sure, which, if it’s anything like the last time I used one, will smell faintly of Axe body spray and disappointment.”
I pursed my lips. “How are you always so smug?”
“Not always. Only when I’m right, but I suppose that means it is always. Just get here, would you? I wasn’t kidding about takeoff being soon.”
I hung up on him. Not dramatically. Just calmly. And with dignity. Well, whatever dignity I have left after being spoken to like a preschooler by that airline representative.
My driver arrived two minutes later, confused when I explained I needed to go to the airport, but the other airport.
It took fifteen extra minutes to get there and through security, but I also had to make two phone calls because the guards wouldn’t believe me, and then there was a moment when I had to actually say the words, “ I’m a guest of Sterling Westwood ” like an asshole .
But when I finally got through all that, I saw the jet. Sitting on a vast, clean runway all by itself. It was sleek and pretty, the windows blacked out, and the whole thing gleaming like a stealth bomber. It was ridiculous—and I was pretty sure it was what I was meant to be flying in today.
Unless Sterling had brought me all the way out here as a joke—but he didn’t seem like the type to play a prank. Let alone one as elaborate as this.
As soon as I saw it, I stopped walking, my knees trying their best to give out. When I’d been told to come to the private terminal, I’d thought maybe we were taking a Cessna. I’d seen those in some of the magazines my dad used to leave lying around.
The hobby version of them, anyway.
Or if not that, I’d thought maybe something with propellers. Something small that would crash if it saw a pigeon coming toward it. I had not, for one second, been expecting this.
Especially not since I’d been planning to drive down the coast with my windows down and my music up while I mentally yelled at Megan for two hours. But it seemed Sterling Westwood had decided that a half-hour flight on a private jet was the way to go.
Just a normal Tuesday for a guy like him, I suppose.
A guy like him who was nowhere to be seen.
I frowned, but then an efficient-looking woman came racing toward me with a clipboard in hand.
She wore heels like skyscrapers and, to be fair, they really did make her ass look great, so I had a feeling she’d think they were worth it.
She propelled herself toward me in them without wobbling or teetering once, and my jaw dropped open.
“Laney Rhodes?” she said as if she already knew the answer, but I nodded anyway.
“That’s me.” Please teach me how to be a high-heeled goddess. “Where is he?”
“Mr. Westwood is already onboard, Ms. Rhodes. Follow me please.” She shot me a polite smile and hurried me toward a set of stairs leading up to the door. “Thank you and enjoy your flight, ma’am.”
I wasn’t sure what she was thanking me for, but before I could ask, she spun on those incredible heels and she was hurrying back toward the hangar.
Meanwhile, I felt like someone had made a gigantic mistake and transplanted me, very much accidentally, into the life of someone exciting.
Perhaps someone who actually had a life.
Exhaling a deep breath, I grabbed the railing and climbed up the stairs like I was walking the plank, each step slow and heavy. Someone who lived like this wasn’t going to keep a store like Baby Blossom open.
Not for nothing.
I’d thought he might’ve been impressed the other day when I’d shown him around. I’d honestly figured that he’d decided against shutting us down outright because he’d seen that we had room for growth. Potential.
A man who traveled like this instead of just driving two hours, though? That wasn’t someone who would’ve been impressed by what we had to offer. Right now, I didn’t even know why he was humoring me with this trip.
Obviously, it was just going to end with him telling me that it was all over. A nagging voice deep inside my brain disagreed, though.
A guy who owns a private jet isn’t going to humor someone by taking her on a trip if he’s just going to shut the business down anyway. He would just do it. Just shut it down and move on to the next one
That was true, too.
Since I’d reached the top of the stairs, I didn’t have any more time to wonder about it. I ducked my head a little—completely unnecessary given how short I was—and walked in. Somehow, the interior of the jet was more impressive than the outside.
Plush cream seats had been arranged on either side of the aisle. Gold-accented fixtures like door handles and cabinet pulls. More gold in the inlays of the wood paneling and even the upholstery of the seats. A mini fridge stuffed full of bottles of wine I could probably never afford.
Sterling was seated near the middle of the aircraft, tray table down and his laptop open on top of it. His fingers were hovering over the keyboard like he’d just closed another deal and was about to do another.
I took the seat across from him, trying hard not to look impressed.
Also trying really hard not to look like I was suddenly wondering what it would feel like to run my hands through that thick, dark hair—and definitely trying not to look like I was dying to know what he looked like under the tailored suit.
The way that fabric stretched over certain parts of his body?—
“Everything okay?” he asked, clearly amused.
I glanced up, realizing that he’d closed his laptop and was now studying me with that unreadable expression he wore like cologne. “All good. Actually, I was just wondering how many kidneys I’d have to sell to rent this thing for an hour.”
Without skipping a beat, he said, “I suspect that depends on the kidneys. The black market for organs can be volatile.”
I snorted and snapped my seatbelt into place. The jet began to taxi. The cabin hummed with quiet power and I realized that I was about to fly private for the first time in my life. With the man I was becoming much too attracted to, and who I still hated— so there.
“Okay,” I said, focusing on those unnervingly blue eyes and trying not to get distracted by how gorgeously they were framed by his eyelashes. “How much money are you actually worth?”
He didn’t even blink. “That’s a very rude thing to ask someone.”
“It’s not rude if someone actively flaunts their wealth. This plane is worth a million, at least.”
“Way more than that,” he said with a shrug. “The interior, maybe.”
“You’re not humble at all.”
“Nope,” he said, and then he smiled.
Sterling Westwood actually smiled right at me, again, and it tickled something in my brain. I was caught completely off guard by how much I liked it when he graced me with one of his rare, real smiles.