“What does that mean?”
“Slate, I don’t know what Potter is up to yet?—”
“Nothing good.”
“I agree with Wilder,” I say.
“Everything points to it,” Dad says. “Until I’m dialed in on what he has up his sleeve, it’s best he doesn’t know I’m—we’re—onto him. Understood?”
We all nod our agreement.
“Let’s all be careful around Potter,” my father says before turning his attention to my wife. “And you, Michaela, whatever you do, avoid him at all costs.”
“Okay,” she says, the tremor in her voice audible.
Chapter 24
Phoenix
The jet just reached altitude and we’re cruising across the sky.
“This is living large, King König,” Michaela says, bouncing in her seat as if she’s testing the springs.
“You approve?” It’s a struggle to contain my amusement. She’s like a kid on the morning of her birthday.
“Most definitely,” she says. “The smell of leather is unmistakable. White. Nice touch. I appreciate how buttery soft these are.” She caresses the chair’s armrest. “Way better than vinyl or that horrible fabric they have on some commercial flights—so unhygienic. On top of that, we don’t have to worry about airborne germs like we would if we were flying coach. Even if we were sitting in first-class, we’d still be breathing the same recycled air. Not here. It’s just us and the small crew.”
“It’s one of the many perks of owning your own private jet.”
“That, and the legroom.” She extends her short legs and wiggles them in the air.
My gaze travels from her painted toes trapped in strappy heels, runs up her legs, pausing at the hem of her dress before my eyes scrape back up to her face.
“You can recline the seats fully,” I say. “There’s no space restriction.”
Her eyes snap up at mine.
“There’s a footrest. It’s perfect for catching some shuteye during long trips.” I point to the armrest.
She takes me up on my offer. “Do we get blankets?”
“And pillows and sleep masks.”
“I love your life.”
“You mean you loveourlife.”
She blushes. “Yes, for as long as it lasts, I freaking loveourlife.”
I can’t help my smile.
The flight attendant approaches us with a tray.
“Congratulations again, Mr. and Mrs. König,” she says.
Michaela grabs a flute of champagne. “Thank you.”
I grab the other. “Thank you.”
