I try to meet Slayer’s eyes through lowered lashes. My heart doesthat ridiculous flutter. For a fleeting second, I fear Slayer can hear or sense it.
But it’s impossible to gauge his reaction to anything through his shades.
“Bix,” he says, his voice low. “You clean up well.”
I can’t make out whether he’s being sarcastic or complimentary. Either way, the sound of my new nickname on his lips sends an electric current through me. Which I desperately try to ignore.
“All Antoine’s doing,” I say lightly, catching my reflection in a nearby mirror.
The blue suit, white silk camisole, and bold, gold jewelry make me look like someone who belongs in this world of private jets and record deals. Someone who isn’t me.
“Have a seat,” says Sterling.
I perch on the edge of a chair, feeling utterly out of place as Sterling asks about my life. I respond briefly but honestly, pausing only when he asks about Hilary.
“She passed last year,” I say, then quickly change the subject. “I loved seeing the pictures in the lobby at your office. Was it your great-grandfather who created Sterling Records?”
As Sterling launches into a long story about his family dynasty, I steal glances at Slayer.
He’s not on his phone and doesn’t appear to be listening to music. He’s just sitting perfectly still, eyes hidden behind dark glasses, like he’s meditating. Or plotting an escape.
“Ms. Bismark?”
I jump, finding myself face to face with a woman holding a small recorder.
“Tessa Lane,Music Pulse. May I ask a few questions? Everyone’s dying to know how you and Slayer met.”
Before I can stammer a response, Slayer’s hand lands on my shoulder, warm and steady.
“Private moment, private couple,” he says, his voice carrying a dangerous edge that makes the reporter step back. “No interviews.”
“Just one question,” she persists, turning to me. “What’s it like dating the Dark Prince?”
Milo’s training kicks in. I smile, just wide enough to seem genuine. “It was unexpected. We connected over our passion for...brownies.”
I lean closer to Slayer, channeling every rom com I’ve ever seen. “He’s nothing like his public image.”
Slayer’s eyebrows rise slightly above his sunglasses, but his hand remains on my shoulder.
The reporter scribbles furiously until a lounge attendant appears and escorts her out.
“Well handled.” Sterling nods. “You’re a natural.”
“All right, everyone,” Milo announces. “Captain says it’s time to board.”
Milo waits for me to start forward, then follows. I sense eyes on my back as I move toward the plane, wondering how I’ll navigate the steps in these ridiculously high heels Antoine selected.
It’s a wobbly process, but once inside, I’m stunned by the lavish décor. Instead of rows of seats, the plane is divided into sections, starting with a clubby lounge—white-on-white, modernistic, and futuristic, with leather sofas and small tables.
“You’ll find your cabin farther down,” Milo says. “Would you like to see it now?”
“Oh yes, thank you.”
Milo skirts ahead of me, swishing slightly as he walks. “Voilà,” he says, opening the door.
I gasp in surprise. It’s small but exceptionally well organized—a narrow dresser, a vase of fresh red roses, and even my own lavatory.
“I’m afraid this room doesn’t have a shower,” he says.
