“Knock, knock,” I chime, rapping my knuckles on the doorframe.
“Charlotte.” His face breaks into a smile and my stomach erupts with nerves.This is such a bad idea.“Please, come in.”
I cross the dark carpet and sink into one of the chairs opposite him. Crossing my legs and folding my hands over my knee, I clear my throat.
“I wanted to let you know I’ve managed to work out coverage for all the things I needed, and I am available to accompany you on the trip to visit and schmooze Tom.”
Noahs’ eyebrows shoot up and I panic. Did I overstep? Maybe he already declined for me. He was ready to do just that until I insisted he wait.
“Unless you’ve already made other arrangements, that is,” I stutter. Smoothing the fabric of my skirt, the snarling tiger tattoo reminds me of all the reasons he might second guess taking me. I am, after all, a curvy, tattooed wild card he first met while I was stumbling out of a dive bar bathroom, post hook-up. “I realize, I’m not exactly family-friendly, and we’ve had plenty of exchanges that might disqualify me from being the face of Flourish in a deal like this.
“If you wanted to go alone, or take someone else I totally understand—Amy is totally great and I bet she’d . . . I just thought, you know what, I have some things to get done. I should?—”
“Charlotte.” Noah cuts me off, standing at the same time I do. “No. I didn’t make other arrangements. In fact, I’m glad to hear you’re available.”
“You are?”
“I am.”
“I just thought . . .” I take a deep breath. “Well, to be honest, your hesitation made me think you’d slept on it and decided I wasn’t the image you wanted to present.”
He opens and closes his mouth a few times, as if grappling with how to respond.
“I don’t want anyone else to go,” he says, finally. “Even if I hadn’t told Tom who was coming,youare the one who knows this launch, and you are the one I want championing our brand. Tom only needs to spend four minutes with you to recognize the same drive and heart I know you’ll pour into this project.”
His compliment trickles warmth into my toes and I can’t help but break into a full smile.
“Thank you.”
“You’re very welcome. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I do have a conference call with our favorite tabloid star, so I can brief him on the apology you wrote for him. He doesn’t deserve it, but we all appreciate it.”
He sinks back into his chair. I turn to leave, but pause at the door.
“Did you want me to arrange flights with Shawna?”
“No need,” he says, without looking up. “I secured a private flight. In fact, if you’d like I can swing by and pick you up that morning. Might be more economic that way.”
My jaw aches under the way I’m clenching it. A private plane. Ghosts of my prior judgments about Noah and his frat boy friends dance at the edge of my vision. Of course we would fly private. Only the best of the best, environment be damned, right? Not to mention the kind of money that has to be thrown around before someone considers personal access to a private plane.
Noah’s phone doesn’t give me a chance to respond, it’s ring signaling the start of his conference call, and I click his door shut behind me as he answers.
It’s clear we are not only in two separate social classes, but also separate economic lanes. I’m not so dense as to not have thought about this before learning about the private plane, but the way he casually mentioned it as if it isn’t the most luxurious thing I’m sure to experience makes it that much easier to accept nothing can or will ever happen between us.
I have no interest in entertaining the idea of a wealthy asshat lay, and he has no business downgrading tax brackets on my account.
As freeing as I feel this should be, as I settle in for a morning of approving marketing mock-ups, I can’t shake the slump of a fantasy undone. I hate to admit it, but Noah was starting to unravel some of my prior opinions, and this cinched too many of them tight again.
The morning we’re set to leave for California rolls in with a Portland exclusive: gray clouds and a chilly wind. The heaviness in the sky matches the weight that’s settled in my chest since learning about our transportation. I’ve flip flopped about bringing it up at least a dozen times, but as our travel date grew closer, it seemed less and less reasonable. Still, that feeling at the base of my neck I swore I’d never ignore again—the one that prompts me into speaking up for myself—hasn’t subsided.
This, combined with insecurities about my clothing options, leaves me as jumpy and jittery as a sand flea in June. After packing and repacking my bag, and figuring I can change before we meet with the Barker’s, I settled on a pair of wide leg trousersand a loose knit sweater for the plane. I’m rifling through my mess of a sock drawer and cursing my inability to organize anything in my personal life when a knock at the front door echoes through the house.
Shit. He’s early.
Because of course he is.
Fearing anything Kara might say to Noah while I’m still getting ready, I grab a mismatched pair of socks off the top and snatch my duffle off the bed. After throwing the strap over my head and across my body, I hop on one foot down the hallway, struggling to pull on the first sock.
As I approach the top of the stairs, Kara, still wrapped in her pink floral bathrobe, shuffles towards the door. She yawns and reaches for the handle.
