Chapter 12 #2
“Do you need something?” I ask.
“No,” he replies. “I just wanted to make sure your car is still set for tomorrow.”
“It is.”
“Then you’re done.”
He turns toward the door.
“Daniel.”
He looks back.
“Make sure Sophie’s airport transfer is confirmed before I leave.”
“It already is.”
“Confirm it again.”
Daniel gives one short nod. “I will.”
***
The following evening, I board the flight to Milan with the itinerary stored on my tablet and enough work to occupy most of the trip. I answer emails through dinner, review the European projections, and spend the remaining hours trying unsuccessfully to sleep.
By the time we descend toward Milan the next morning, sunlight is breaking across northern Italy, turning the landscape beneath the plane gold at the edges. I look out through the window and watch as the runway rises below.
From the moment I arrive, the schedule moves exactly as planned.
The regional strategy meeting runs through most of the morning, followed by a review of the European expansion numbers with Matteo Ricci, our managing director for Italy, and Alessandra Conti, who oversees operations across Southern Europe.
Matteo has been with Blackwell for nearly fifteen years and knows the Milan office well enough to identify trouble before it reaches New York.
Alessandra is newer, sharper in her delivery, and unimpressed by hierarchy in a way I appreciate.
“The manufacturing numbers are stronger than the forecast,” Alessandra says as she slides a report across the conference table.
“But if procurement keeps approving suppliers at the current pace, the margin disappears by the fourth quarter.”
Matteo glances at her. “That’s an optimistic interpretation.”
“It’s the polite interpretation,” she replies.
I scan the figures before closing the report.
“Then fix procurement before we have to discuss the impolite version.”
Alessandra smiles. “Already started.”
The rest of the day passes in the same rhythm: meetings, site reviews, numbers, decisions. By the time I sit down for an early dinner with several associates near the hotel, I have answered enough questions to occupy my attention without effort.
Still, I check the time twice. Sophie lands tomorrow morning.
Her car is confirmed. Daniel sent the driver's information this afternoon, along with the arrival details and a reminder that her flight could be early depending on winds.
I know all of that because I read the message more carefully than necessary.
Dinner ends shortly after 9:00. Back in my suite, I loosen my tie and stand near the windows with my phone in hand, looking over the itinerary for the following morning. The driver is scheduled to meet Sophie at the terminal. I stare at the line for several seconds before calling Daniel.
He answers on the second ring. “Everything all right?”
“Yes,” I reply. “Change tomorrow's airport transfer.”
“What changed?”
“I'll meet her.”
Daniel is quiet for half a beat. “At the airport?”
“Yes.”
“The car is already arranged.”
“Keep the car. I'll use it.”
Another pause follows.
“All right,” Daniel says. “I'll notify the driver.”
“Thank you.”
I end the call before he can say anything else.
***
The following morning, the car takes me out of central Milan while the city is still settling into the day.
Traffic thins as we approach the private terminal, and by the time we pull onto the access road, the sky has cleared into a bright, pale blue.
I arrive several minutes before the flight.
The driver remains with the car while I step closer to the terminal and check the arrival board.
Sophie's plane has landed. A ground attendant opens the secured door a few minutes later, and passengers begin emerging in small groups.
Then I see her. Sophie steps through the secured doorway with her handbag over one shoulder and her suitcase rolling behind her.
Her dark hair falls loose and full around her shoulders, shifting in the morning breeze as she crosses the tarmac.
She is wearing a fitted black dress that follows the shape of her body before ending neatly at her knees, leaving the long line of her legs bare above a pair of heels that should look impractical for travel and somehow don’t on her.
My attention moves over her before I can discipline it.
I notice the confident length of her stride, the curve of her waist beneath the dress, the way she pushes a strand of hair away from her face when the wind catches it.
I remember those legs around me in Boston with enough clarity that heat settles low in my body, immediate and inconvenient.
Then she looks up.
Her steps slow when she sees me waiting beside the car.
Even from several yards away, I catch the surprise on her face before it softens into something warmer.
She hadn’t expected me here. She expected a driver holding her name on a placard, another perfectly arranged piece of Blackwell logistics waiting to move her through the itinerary. Instead, she gets me.
Sophie begins walking toward me again, and I stay exactly where I am, watching the distance disappear between us.