1
GWEN
My career was eighteen minutes away from complete disaster.
And that right there is why I hate air travel. The minute I set foot in the terminal, I’m at the mercy of forces completely outside of my control, which is my personal version of hell. I could do absolutelyeverythingright pre-trip, meticulously planning my itinerary down to the minute, and bad weather three states away could muck it all up.
Which was exactly what was happening right now as I sprinted through Terminal 1 on my way to Terminal 4. Because of course my connecting flight was at the opposite end of the airport, and the flight that brought me here arrived late. As usual, I was wearing pumps that looked lethal but were as comfy as sneakers, so aside from the lumpy carry-on clutched to my chest, I was built for speed.
I felt myself getting a little sweaty as I dodged my fellow travelers. I was going to spend the first half of my flight to Vegas blotting and primping, so I’d be presentable for my nextmeeting. Was it my fault I scheduled two client intake sessions back-to-back with minimal margin for error?
Okay, yes, it was my fault. But the first one had been a quick hop up to Denver to get a contract signed—an in-and-out no-brainer meeting. If the plane hadn’t been delayed, my plan would’ve been seamless. Hence my hatred of flying.
Flying was exactly what I was doing, though, juking, bobbing, and weaving through the crowds of travelers like an athlete. I narrowly avoided knocking over a pair of sweet senior citizens, so I turned to apologize to them, still running backward. They laughed and waved sympathetically, which made me realize I probably looked like an absolute lunatic.
I didn’t care, though; I just cared about not missing that damn flight.
All of the decision-makers were scheduled to be in the meeting, which meant I needed to be on my A-game. Up until the whole running-for-my-life thing, I looked like the professional I was, in a smart navy skirt and cream blouse. I was representing the firm on my own this trip, which was a huge professional win for me. Alan rarely showed any faith in my abilities despite my strong track record. I wasn’t going to let anything screw this up.
It didn’t matter that the late flight was out of my control. All my boss cared about was signing new clients.
I glanced down at my phone to check the time.
Fuck. I was cutting it close.
The terminal map on the wall made it look like I still had a couple miles to go. I squinted at it as I ran past, picking up my pace until?—
WHOMP.
I slammed into what felt like a brick wall. Except, of course, brick walls didn’t smell like expensive cologne and weren’t quite this warm. For a split second, I was pressed against a very solid, very male chest before I stumbled backward.
The splash of cold liquid that hit my chest immediately after we ran into each other was shocking enough to make me squeal.
“What the hell?” I recoiled a few steps back and plucked the wet fabric away from my skin.
“Gwen?”
I looked up at the person who’d just annihilated my chances of making the flight and froze.
My stomach dropped like I was in a free fall.
“It’s…you…” I managed as shock and anger welled up inside of me.
I never in my wildest dreams thought I’d see Harrison Ashford again, but there he was, looming over me in a bespoke suit and bright blue tie, staring like he’d just planted his Ferragamo loafer in a wad of gum.
“It is me. But I wasn’t expecting to see you,” he said in a sarcastic tone that made it clear he was just as pissed off as I was. “Certainly notallof you.”
He pointed at my chest, and when I glanced down, I saw that whatever he’d just spilled on me had turned my blouse see-through, to the point where my formerly invisible hot-pink bra was now on display for the entire airport.
Perfect, just perfect. Even if I could make my flight, I’d now be forced to lead the meeting looking like I’d come straight from a spring break wet T-shirt contest. And the jerk had yet to apologize!
Actually, he looked downright pissed atme.
Just my shitty luck that “downright pissed” looked incredibly hot on him. Of course, I already knewmostthings looked hot on him. It came with being ridiculously, unfairly gorgeous.
I was usually drawn to tall, dark, and handsome guys, but there was something about Harrison that short-circuited my normal settings. He had the tall thing going for him, but he was fair, with light hair that was perfectly styled now, but I’d seen it in full bedhead mode. And his eyes…they were a dreamy, clear green that didn’t look real.
I could still remember staring into them, up close and personal, and wondering how I’d gotten so lucky.
