1
BILL
“It’s cancelled?” I ask Tate, even though I didn’t mishear him.
He nods yes.
“Is there another flight we can get on?”
He shakes his head no. Those gray, saucer-like eyes of his fill with disappointment. “No flights are getting out tonight.”
“It’s just a little snow.” I gesture out the giant windows of the airport and sigh, my shoulders slumping with the unfortunate truth. It’s more than a little snow. It’s a full-on blizzard. The runway is barely visible from our terminal.
“Shit.” I sink into the last available chair in the first class airport lounge. At least we weren’t in the regular terminal, packed with throngs of angry people desperately trying to rebook. Not even the free drinks and snacks in the lounge can appease my frustration.
Tate sits in the chair next to mine. His eyebrows lift with hope. I don’t know how Tate always manages to remain so sunny, no matter the circumstance. “I rebooked us on a flight leaving first thing tomorrow at eight a.m.”
“There aren’t any flights taking off earlier?”
“The snow isn’t expected to stop until about three of four, so this is the earliest flight that hasn’t been cancelled. I also booked you a room at the Darmody for tonight.” Tate taps on his phone, and mine buzzes a second later with new flight and hotel reservations. “It’s a suite.”
I roll my head back and stare up at the ceiling. “Thank you, Tate. You are a godsend.”
I bite my tongue to avoid what I really want to say: You’re such a good assistant, I could kiss you! And even if you weren’t that good of an assistant, I’d still want to kiss you.
Having Tate as my executive assistant has been a saving grace since I got promoted two years ago. After ten years at the company, this is my first executive role. Our CEO selected me over other more experienced individuals, candidates with Fortune 500 companies and Ivy League schools on their resume. I don’t come from money. Far from it. I had to work twice as hard to be noticed.
It was Tate who made sure I got up to speed and didn’t miss a beat when I landed the position. There are people in the C-suite eager for me to fail so their golf buddies and fraternity brothers can get a crack at my job. To this day, Tate is always one step ahead of what I need; no request or problem is too tough.
The downside to Tate is that he’s devastatingly handsome and achingly sweet, and yet he’s the one guy I can’t take to bed. As I do regularly, I push these thoughts out of my head.
“How’s your drink?”
“Delicious.” Tate takes a sip of his tequila sunrise, the orange and red glow a far cry from the cold white weather surrounding us. It’s against company policy to use the company credit card to purchase alcohol. After three hours in the lounge, I treated us both to cocktails on my own dime.
“I can’t believe this is happening. I truly don’t know what I would’ve done without you,” I say.
“You would’ve rebooked your flight and booked yourself a hotel no problem,” he says. “I’ve worked for some executives who were truly helpless. You are very self-sufficient, Bill. You know how to be in charge and take control.” He stares at me a beat too long, a loaded heat behind his eyes that makes my dick jump.
I look down at my glass, wondering if I misheard.
“I mean, you’re an executive. Of course you know how to be in charge.” He laughs off the charged moment.
“We should get the hell out of this airport,” I say, changing the subject for both of us. No way should I be drinking with a guy I find attractive who is totally off-limits. “Can you get us a ride?”
“Actually, how do you feel about public transportation? With the snow, the roads are a mess. The El runs from the airport straight to downtown, and our hotel is half a block from the stop. I figure it’ll be faster than trying to deal with cabs.”
“Smart guy,” I say, a common refrain when it comes to Tate. “You’ve thought of everything.”
“That’s why I’m here.” Tate blushes. Although he’s in his mid-thirties, he still has a boyish look to him with his clean-shaven face, pouty lips, and those moony eyes that perpetually radiate sweetness. Until a moment ago, when they were sparked with heat. Or so it seemed.
They make these cocktails really strong.
Tate chugs his. “Let’s go.”
What the hell. I chug mine, too.
I may be stuck in a blizzard, but at least I’m stuck in a blizzard in Chicago. Downtown Chicago comes into view from the elevated train we’re on, its mighty skyscrapers undaunted by the swirls of snow. Tate and I live in the quiet suburbs of New York state, too far from Manhattan to get this view.
