Chapter Eleven
“Are you flipping serious?”
Probably not the smoothest thing that could’ve come from my mouth. Not even close really. But how else am I supposed to react when we pull up beside a sleek jet?
Blake laughs. “I love how open you are.”
“You do?” I feel a little skeptical. I’m the girl who’s constantly putting her foot in her mouth.
“Sure. It’s refreshing. You’re refreshing.” He pats my exposed knee, and I notice the way he lets his hand linger just a second longer than it needs to.
Not that I mind. Not even a little bit. He looks and smells so delicious; it’s taking a great deal of my self-control to keep from jumping into his lap.
I mean, while I need things to go in that direction—a peck on the cheek isn’t much to work with, and that’s all I’ve gotten so far—I can’t imagine him taking it well.
Refreshing or not.
“You didn’t tell me we were flying somewhere,” I point out while climbing from the car.
“I wanted it to be a surprise. Besides”—he grins, taking my hand and leading me to the stairs—“it’s not like we’re going halfway around the world. Don’t worry. I’ll have you back safe and sound.”
“Who’s worried?” I laugh, though it sounds shaky, even to my ears.
“You are. I can tell.”
He stops before we reach the bottom stair and turns to me, taking my other hand so he’s holding both. He has a firm grip but a gentle one. I can’t help but remember how heroic he was when I fell and how safe I felt, thanks to him.
“This was just an idea, you know. You said you needed information on how wealthy people lived. Research, right? But if you’re feeling nervous, it’s okay.
You can take a look around inside the jet, jot down a few notes for reference, and then we can go someplace else.
” His thumbs slide over my knuckles. “Whatever you want.”
No, we cannot do whatever I want since what I want when he murmurs that way and looks down at me with those twinkling eyes of his is to drag him up the stairs and join the Mile-High Club, though I suppose we’d have to leave the ground to make it official.
Is it possible? Could he be as perfect as he seems?
“I want to see what you have planned for this evening,” I decide.
After all, nobody ever got anywhere by being too cautious.
And in spite of myself, I can’t help but look back and recognize how cautious I’ve been.
Cautious to the point of coasting on my past success, unwilling to stretch and grow. This is as good a start as any.
That is how I end up seated in a butter-soft leather chair beside Blake, sipping champagne, which just so happened to be chilled and waiting for us.
“It’s incredible,” I murmur, looking around.
“The champagne or the jet?” he jokes, winking.
“Both, smarty-pants. Is this good champagne since I’m such a plebeian when it comes to these things?” I tease right back.
He holds up the glass like he’s examining the contents. “This is a 2008 vintage,” he explains. “That was a very good year—one of the two best years of the aughts.”
“I should be taking notes, shouldn’t I?”
“I’d be glad to remind you whenever you’d like.”
His eyes meet mine as he takes a sip of the fizzy liquid. Now, I feel all fizzy inside too. He has that effect on me.
“I’ll have to take you up on that.” I finish off the glass just as we’re about to take off. Good thing, too, since I can’t hold a champagne flute while gripping the armrests like my life depends on it.
“Oh no. You’re afraid of flying? Why didn’t you say so?” Blake asks, concerned and clearly upset.
“It’s not the flying that bothers me,” I confess, eyes closed. “It’s the taking off and landing. Those are the two most dangerous times.”
“For what it’s worth, I spend a ridiculous amount of time in the air, and I’m still here.” One of his hands closes over one of mine. “We’ll be okay.”
And I believe him. He has a way about him, an energy that instantly calms me. Maybe it’s his confidence, his self-assuredness.
“Have you always been this way?” I ask through clenched teeth as the world pulls away from us—or rather, as we pull away from the world.
“What way?”
“So sure of yourself? Does that come with success, or is it the other way around?”
“You mean, has my attitude led to success?”
“Yeah, that’s what I mean.”
“That’s a funny question.”
I have to open one eye to look at him. “I hope I didn’t insult you.”
“No, not one bit.” Though the creases in his normally smooth forehead say otherwise. “It’s just that I’ve never thought about it before. I guess my personality is what it’s always been. Yes, to a degree, I’ve always been sure of myself. I knew I was going to be successful.”
“Did you imagine this level of success though? I’m sorry if I’m asking too many questions,” I add in a hurry. “Sometimes, my curiosity runs away from me. You don’t have to answer anything you don’t want to.”
“Why would I not want to? Now, if your idea of getting to know me better involves sharing my Social Security number, that’s when we’ll have a problem.” He snickers.
“Hold on. Let me make a note of that …” I mime writing a note on my palm. “No … Social … Security … number. You know this is going to make my life a lot harder, don’t you?”
“Cute. But I mean it. You don’t have to feel sorry for being curious. I’m curious about you too.”
“Yeah, but you can go into my records with the publisher and learn just about everything you want to know. Including my Social Security number.”
“Oh, I already have,” he assures me with a wave of his hand.
“Good luck with trying to steal anything.” I laugh. “You won’t get far.” Besides, I’m sure that the savings I’ve worked so hard to put aside would be like a drop in the bucket for somebody in his position.
“That’s not the same as knowing a person though,” he points out, and he’s serious now. “Learning what a person likes and what they don’t. Where they’ve always dreamed of visiting. What the name of their imaginary friend was when they were a kid, if they had one.”
“Emily,” I confide without blinking.
“Mine was Fred. I used to talk to him before going to sleep at night,” he replies. “I think he lived inside the wall next to my bed, but I’m not sure. I was never clear on it. Anyway, that’s the sort of stuff I want to know about you.”
“I have to admit, I’m finding it hard to believe you’d want to know anything about me. No, I’m not fishing for compliments,” I add when he scoffs a little. “I’m a normal person. I’m not that special.”
“Not that special? A number one New York Times best-seller six times over by the time you turned twenty-five? You don’t think that’s special?” The corners of his mouth twist upward. “Trust me. I’ve seen more failures and fizzles than you could ever imagine. Do you have any idea how unique you are?”
“Okay, when you put it that way, I sound completely out of touch, like I take my success for granted,” I admit. It doesn’t make me feel very good either.
“I’m sure you don’t. You’re too down-to-earth.
But not everybody lives on the Upper West Side.
I mean, I grew up just outside Philly. Mom would’ve stayed there if the doctor hadn’t told her she’d do better to live in a drier, warmer climate.
I’m still a Philly boy at heart, right down to the teams I follow.
And I’ve eaten in five-star restaurants around the world, but there’s nothing so good as a cheesesteak from Jim’s. ”
“I’ve never had one,” I admit.
“You’re kidding.”
“I’m not.”
“We’ll have to change that.”
“I can hardly wait.” And that’s a fact. I’d go just about anywhere with him. Which brings me back to the present moment. “Where are we going?” I have to ask. “You never did say.”
“Oh, right.” He laughs. “I thought we could have dinner in Chicago.”
“Chicago! You can do that? Just decide on a city where you want to have dinner?”
“Sure.” He shrugs like it’s completely normal. “I have an apartment there for work anyway, and one of my close friends is the executive chef at probably my favorite steakhouse in the entire world. I hope you’re in the mood for meat.”
Lord, how my cheeks burn. For somebody who hates writing about graphic sex, I sure do have a dirty mind. If he notices, he’s nice enough not to make a big deal about it.
“Yes, I could go for … meat,” I manage to say before my throat closes up.
Wait a second. Did he just say he has an apartment in Chicago? Is that the endgame? Inviting me to spend the night?
It occurs to me that I wouldn’t mind. Not one bit. And not only because I need to research.
When he offers more champagne, I can’t help but accept. It’s time for Kitty Valentine to stop writing about exciting romance and start living it for herself.
Even if I accidentally dribble some champagne down my chin when Blake’s not looking. I’m nothing if not consistent.