Chapter 3
GEORGIA
The private jet is… not what I expected.
I mean, I knew it would be nice. Rich people don’t fly commercial. But as I climb the stairs with Ella on my hip and Lois following behind me, I realize I’ve severely underestimated what “nice” means in Calvin Aarons’s world.
The interior is all cream leather and polished wood. The armchairs look like they belong in a living room, not an airplane. There’s soft lighting. Fresh flowers in a crystal vase secured to a side table. And a carpet so plush my feet sink into it.
“Holy mother of—” Lois starts, but catches herself, glancing at Ella. “—Moses.”
I bite back a smile and try to keep my expression neutral. I will not gawk. I will not act impressed. Men like Calvin Aarons are used to people being impressed by their money, and I refuse to give him the satisfaction.
“Ms. Halford, welcome aboard.” A flight attendant appears, immaculately dressed in a navy uniform. “I’m Alana. Can I take your bags?”
“Oh, that’s not necessary—”
But she’s already lifting my rolling suitcase with a professional smile. “Please, make yourself comfortable. We have several seating options. The rear cabin has more space if you’d prefer that for your daughter.”
“Thank you,” I manage.
Calvin is already settled in one of the armchairs, laptop open, phone pressed to his ear. He gives us a brief nod but doesn’t interrupt his call.
Lois and I exchange a glance. She raises her eyebrows as if to say Well, isn’t this something?
We make our way to the rear cabin, which turns out to be even more spacious. There’s a couch, more chairs, and a small area that looks like it could convert into a bedroom.
“Ba!” Ella squeals, pointing at everything with delight.
“Yes, baby. Very fancy,” I murmur, settling her on the couch.
Alana reappears. “Can I get you anything? Champagne? Wine? We have sparkling water, fresh juice, coffee, tea. I can also prepare a meal if you’re hungry. We have salmon, filet mignon, or a vegetarian pasta. For the little one, I can make something simple—perhaps some fruit and crackers to start?”
I stare at her. “Um… water would be great. And yes, some fruit for Ella, thank you.”
“Of course. And for you, ma’am?” She turns to Lois.
“Do you have tea? Earl Grey if you’ve got it.”
“Absolutely. I’ll be right back.”
When she leaves, Lois lets out a low whistle. “Georgia, honey, what have you gotten us into?”
“I have no idea,” I admit, looking around. Through the window, I can see the tarmac, the regular people boarding regular planes in the distance. This feels like a different universe.
Ella is already trying to climb off the couch, and I grab her before she can tumble onto the floor. “Oh, no you don’t. Let’s get you buckled in.”
By the time we’re settled—Ella in a specially provided car seat that Alana produced from somewhere, Lois and I in the impossibly comfortable chairs—I’m feeling thoroughly out of my depth. The jet’s engines hum to life, smooth and quiet.
I sneak a glance toward the front cabin.
Calvin is still on his phone, gesturing with one hand while he types something on his laptop with the other.
Even from here, I can see the sharp line of his jaw, the way his blond hair is perfectly styled.
He’s taken off his suit jacket, and his white shirt is rolled up at the sleeves, revealing tanned forearms.
He really is attractive. Objectively speaking.
It’s a shame the personality doesn’t match.
Back at my cottage, he’d briefly seemed almost vulnerable when he talked about his grandmother, and I’d thought that maybe there was more to him than the cold businessman exterior.
But since I agreed to this project, he’s been nothing but efficient. Professional. Distant. He’s had his assistants handle all the logistics, had detailed itineraries delivered to both Lois and me, arranged for our things to be packed and shipped. Everything organized, nothing personal.
And now, here we are, and he hasn’t said more than ten words to us since we said our hellos on the tarmac.
But what should I care? This is business, and in fact I’m a little ashamed to want Calvin to like me. It feels like being back in high school, desperately pining after the popular boy’s affections.
I’m an adult now. I need to get a grip.
Men who act like work is the only thing that matters tend to stay single. Who wants to date someone who can’t look up from their laptop long enough to have a conversation?
Then again, I’m not really in a position to judge anyone’s relationship choices.
My picker is clearly broken. I chose Mike, after all.
Charming, funny Mike, who seemed so supportive when we first met.
Who said he loved how passionate I was about my work, how driven.
Who moved in with me after two months and said he was “between jobs” but would find something soon.
Except he never did.
And “between jobs” turned into “the job market is really tough right now,” which turned into “I’m focusing on my art,” which turned into me working fifty-hour weeks while he played video games and complained that I never had time for him.
When I got pregnant, I thought maybe it would change something. That impending fatherhood would motivate him. Instead, he told me he wasn’t ready to “give up his freedom.”
His freedom. While I was six months pregnant, paying all the bills, doing all the housework, and teaching full-time.
I’d told him to leave, and he’d had the audacity to seem hurt.
“You’re choosing the baby over me?” he’d said.
“I’m choosing myself,” I’d replied. “And yes, the baby. Who is also me. So maybe work on not being such a selfish ass.”
He’d left. Signed away his parental rights. Sent one text after Ella was born and saw her picture through the friend grapevine: “Cute kid. Good luck.”
That was it. Fourteen months ago, and I haven’t heard from him since. And good riddance. The only thing good about that relationship was that I eventually left it.
Unfortunately, it’s left me scarred in a way I haven’t been able to yet evaluate. I know it has. Going through the last year and a half without a partner is something that might have broken me. Except I’ve never had the luxury of breaking, because I have Ella, and I need to stay strong for her.
So, no. I’m not going to judge Calvin Aarons for being single and married to his work. I’m married to my role as a mother.
At least he’s honest about his priorities. At least he’s not pretending to be something he’s not.
The jet begins its takeoff, and I tense a little bit. It’s Ella’s first time on an airplane. We drove when we moved out of the city and to the coast. She takes it well, though, thoroughly distracted by one of the new cardboard books I packed her for the flight.
Alana returns with our drinks and a beautiful plate of cut fruit, cheese, and crackers for Ella. “We’ll be serving dinner in about an hour. The flight time is approximately twelve hours to Jumayah, with one refueling stop.”
Twelve hours.
I glance at Ella, who’s happily munching on a piece of melon. Twelve hours on a plane with a toddler. She’s doing well now, but we’re only ten minutes in. With a kid her age, hell can break loose at any moment
“Mama!” Ella’s voice pulls me back to the present. She’s finished her fruit and is trying to unbuckle herself from the car seat.
“Hang on, baby.” I free her and lift her onto my lap. She immediately tries to grab my phone.
“No, that’s Mama’s. Here—” I pull out one of her favorite books from the diaper bag. “Let’s read this instead.”
We settle in, and I start reading about a caterpillar who eats way too much food. Ella points at the pictures and babbles along, and I try to focus on her instead of the handsome, cold billionaire in the front cabin.
An hour passes. Alana brings dinner. The salmon for Lois and me, and a perfect toddler meal for Ella with pasta, peas, and tiny pieces of chicken. Everything is delicious, of course. I’m starting to think this woman is a magician.
After dinner, Lois crashes in her seat, an eye mask on.
Ella seems headed in the same direction, and I get her settled in one of the beds along the wall, but she starts getting fussy.
She’s tired but too stimulated to sleep, overwhelmed by the new environment.
I walk her up and down the cabin, bouncing her gently, singing softly.
She’s whining, on the edge of a full meltdown.
“Shh, shh, it’s okay, baby. I know. I know it’s weird being on a plane. But you’re okay. Mama’s here.”
She buries her face in my shoulder and starts to cry in earnest.
“Oh, sweetheart,” I sigh.
I hear footsteps and look up to see Calvin standing in the doorway between cabins. He has noise-canceling headphones around his neck, and his expression is carefully neutral, but I can read the subtext. Can you please make that stop?
“Sorry,” I say over Ella’s wailing. “She’s tired. New environment. I’m working on it.”
“Right.” He nods once and disappears back to the front cabin.
A moment later, I see him through the doorway. He’s put the headphones back on and returned to his laptop.
Great. Wonderful. This is going to be a fantastic six months.
Ella finally exhausts herself into sleep about twenty minutes later. I settle her in the car seat, carefully buckling her in, and collapse into my own chair.
My movement startles Lois, who whips off her face mask, suddenly awake. “I’m up!” she shrieks, then blinks at me. “Are we there?”
“No,” I laugh, though it comes out as a half sob. “We still have about ten hours to go.”
“Oh.” She presses her hand to her racing heart. “My. I don’t like flying very much.”
“Neither does Ella. She only fell asleep because she’s so exhausted.” I glance at the front cabin, my lips pursing.
“What is it?” Lois follows my gaze.
I lower my voice. “Calvin came back here and gave me a dirty look because Ella was crying. What does he expect? Babies cry. It was his idea to bring her along.”
“He’ll adjust,” Lois says confidently. “Men like that are used to being in control. Babies are chaos. It scares them.”
I snort. “If a crying baby scares him, he’s in for a rude awakening.”
As I settle back in my seat, I can’t help but feel a pang of worry. What have I gotten myself into?
I’m about to spend half a year in the middle of nowhere with a man who can’t be bothered to make conversation, let alone handle a fussy toddler. A man who’s gorgeous but cold. Successful but isolated. Rich but apparently alone.
A man who is, in other words, exactly the type I should stay far, far away from.
It’s going to be a very long six months.