But no, I’m evolved now. Mature. The kind of woman who can go three whole days without contact and not assume he’s either dead in a helicopter crash, has run off with a supermodel, or has suddenly realized I’m actually quite boring and decided to ghost me.
The helicopter door swings open.
There he is.
Patrick drops down onto the tarmac, broad shoulders silhouetted against the last of the light, and my lungs stop working.
The effect this man has on me is frankly terrifying.
But he’s not alone. Two women climb out after him, way more elegant in their descent from the helicopter than I was.
He takes their bags from the helicopter while hotel staff rushes out to help with the rest of the luggage. Both are clearly trying to flirt with him with the way they are looking at him and smiling.
I hadn’t known he was coming back tonight, but then again, he doesn’t owe me his schedule.
I take a steadying breath. This is fine. They’re probably clients or business associates. Patrick runs luxury hotels—of course he flies attractive, wealthy people around. This is part of dating someone like him. I can handle this.
Fee clocks my face immediately. “Uh oh. Somebody’s nervous.”
“I’m not nervous.” I sit up straighter, drag a hand through my hair, and take a gulp of wine. “Are they hotel guests, or… his guests?”
Fee tilts her head, squinting through the glass. “Hard to tell. They look... London-y. Expensive.”
The blonde one throws her head back, laughing at something he said.
“Actually, I think I recognize her,” I say, squinting. “She’s a major magazine editor. Must be press for him trying to get Skye on the Forbes list.”
Fee watches me carefully. “You okay?”
“I’m fine.” I touch the chain at my throat, grounding myself with its weight.
I think.
“So,” Fee says, “we still don’t know if he went up the mountain or not?”
“No.” I drag my gaze away from the helipad. “He says he didn’t. But it was weird when I asked him about it.”
“I know the guy who works at the café at the bottom of Storr. He might have seen Patrick’s Land Rover. I could ask him.”
“That’s stalker territory,” I say quickly, even though a part of me is already calculating how casual that conversation could be made to seem.
“When are you seeing him next?”
“I don’t know. It’s fine.”
I hate not knowing. I live off schedules and certainty. And whatever this thing is with Patrick—it’s like trying to nail jelly to a wall. No definition. No parameters. Maybe it’s already done and I’m just the idiot who hasn’t got the memo. Especially with Jake arriving any day now.
“Oh shit!” Fee grabs my arm, nearly sending wine everywhere. “He’s coming in! Walking this way!”
I fumble for my phone, angling the screen toward me to check my reflection. Hair—passable. Lipstick—mostly chewed off but still faintly visible. It’ll have to do.
Patrick strides across the lobby, deep in conversation with the women.
“Act normal!” I hiss.
Fee bites down on her lip to keep from laughing. “This is you acting normal?”
I choke on a laugh. “Stop it. Talk about something. Say words.”
