Page 21 of Her New Billionaire Bosshole

“Great,” he says, smirking, holding out his hand to me, fingers splayed just like that first day. Again, the thought of touching him is intimidating, but I thrust my free hand into his, ignoring the electric shock that pulses up to my elbow when our skin touches.

“Great,” I repeat, realizing too late that even though our shake is done, we’re still clutching hands, gazes locked together.

“Uh, Coach?” Lena asks, and I yank my hand out of his, turning to her with a flustered rush. She smirks, too, eyes flashing to Elliot, then says, “We’re boarding now.”

I discover the massaging feature on my seat as we’re boarding the plane, and turn to Molly to show her. “Okay,” I say, holding up the remote, “I have to admit — this is cool.”

But it’s not Molly standing there, getting ready to sit in the seat next to me. It’s Elliot, and he raises an eyebrow at me, smirking at the remote in my hand.

“Is that so?”

I feel how hot my cheeks are as I drop the remote back into its holder, shaking my head and looking around him to the aisle.

“Where’s Molly?”

“She asked me to switch,” Elliot says, folding himself into the seat, his spicy cologne floating over to me as he does. “Said she wanted to be closer to the bathroom.”

Curse that woman and her small bladder.

“Okay.” I bite my lip, then sit back down in my seat, carefully tucking my elbows in so I don’t brush against him. I’d expected Elliot Altman to be the manspreading type, but instead he stretches his legs out in front of him, crossing them at the ankle.

I have to snap my eyes away, keep them from running the length of his body, realizing how athletic he is, despite how sleek his suits look on him.

“Are you going to admit it, then?” Elliot asks, a smirk on his face, his eyes closed. Flushing again, I realize that when I looked away from his legs, I only resettled on his face, which is much worse.

Huffing, I reach into my bag and pull out my tablet, intending to watch some film. “Admit what?”

“That flying is better than bussing?”

There’s no way in hell I’m admitting that to Elliot Altman, even if we made up in the airport. Even if we agreed to work together from now on.

I’m not admitting that I had no idea planes could evenhavemassaging seats — likely because I’ve never been on a plane like this before.

Not public. Chartered. Just for us. Enough room for the players to spread out, relax.

A separate section in the front, where Elliot and I sit, along with a few other admin people, then Molly and Skylar few rows back.

“Come on,” Elliot says, leaning over, his breath warm against my ear. “Admit it, Coach. You like the plane.”

Without warning, I remember what he said to me in my office:You’re afraid of change. You’ve been sitting here, treading water for years, and now that I’m here, trying to make some progress, you feel threatened.

Maybe he was right. Maybe those things are true. But if Elliot wants to psychoanalyze? I can return the favor.

Twisting in my seat, I plant an elbow on the armrest and face him, watching surprise register over his expression when we come face-to-face.

“Why does it matter to you so much that I like the plane, Elliot?” I ask, batting my eyes a few times for good measure.

His eyes widen, “What?”

“You keep bothering me about admitting flying is a good idea, but why do you care if I like it?” My voice is low, and the whispering back and forth feels intimate, even though the tone is still adversarial. “Maybe it’s because you’ve realized I’m an essential part of the team, and without me, you won’t make any money? So now you’re trying to suck up to me?”

Elliot stares at me for a long moment. Long enough that my smile starts to slip off my face, and I get the strangest feeling like I’m missing something.

So quickly that I almost miss it, his eyes dart down to my lips, and the fact of it — either that it happened, or that I imagined it — makes the heat compound on my cheeks.

Mercifully, Elliot ends the eye contact, letting out a laugh, shaking his head, and dropping his head back against the seat. In a blasé tone that completely betrays the gaze we just held, he says, “Touché, Coach.”

Five minutes later, when he falls asleep, I’m still trying to calm my rapidly beating heart.