If I’d known how things would turn out, Ineverwould’ve gotten mixed up with a trainwreck like him.
“Not a surprise that the Jetliner Jackass refuses to apologize for his mistake,” I seethed at him, still holding the wet fabric away from my skin. “Kind of how you roll, huh?”
“Oh, please,” he sighed. “Don’t tell me you’re one of those damn Scarlet Rush groupies.”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “Hey, I’ll support anyone who reveals the real you.” His beef with the hottest pop star in the world meant he was facing a wholeoceanof bad press lately, in a way that was deeply, karmically satisfying.
“The real me?” Harrison sputtered, moving a half step closer to hover over me. “You have no idea what I’m like.”
“Believe me, I already know more than I want to. I wouldloveto snap my fingers and forget all about you,” I sniped back, holding my ground as I glared up at him. “But I do know for a fact that you’re good at magic tricks, like disappearing. You like to keep things mysterious, huh?”
“And you don’t.” He nodded to my see-through blouse.
My mouth dropped open in shock, and I shifted my carry-on to cover my chest. “This free show is one hundred percent your fault!”
“Iwasn’t the one running through the terminal like I was fleeing wolves,” he said.
“Well, most of us don’t have a fleet of airplanes at our beck and call. Speaking of, why are you even here, slumming it with the rest of us poors?” I couldn’t imagine the CEO of a private luxury jet company ever having reason to fly commercial.
He stifled a laugh. “Just passing through. Where are you off to?”
“Thanks to you, nowhere.” I glared at him. “My connector was late, and I was trying to make my flight to Vegas.”
“You didn’t miss it,” he replied casually. “It’s delayed.”
“No, it’s not,” I huffed at him as I pointed to the display on the wall beyond where we were standing. “It’s…”
“Delayed,” he finished for me. “You’ve got plenty of time.”
I squinted to read the departures monitor. “Wait, how did you know that?”
“Knowing is what I do.”
His unflappable certainty was almost soothing, and for a moment I was transported back to when I believed the man was actually decent. Yeah, hedidhave a knack for figuring shit out, like my need for white noise at night and real sugar in my coffee in the morning—not the artificial stuff.
The Harrison Ashford I’d thought I was getting to know had been perceptive and thoughtful. Too bad he’d turned into the drink-spilling asshole confronting me now.
The man I’d met a few months ago was nothing more than an illusion.
“Well, even if I’ve got an extra thirty minutes, I look shipwrecked thanks to you,” I said.
“Eh, I’d say the effect is more stripper-adjacent,” he replied as his eyes skimmed down my body. “The hot pink is achoice.”
“And that’s all you get to see.” I clutched my bag tighter against my chest. “Damnit, I need to figure out what I’m going to do. It’s not like I can show up to my meeting in an ‘I heart California’ T-shirt from the duty-free shop.”
I started to walk away, fuming at his audacity. “Have a nice life, Harrison. Stay the hell out of mine.”
“The code is 4313,” Harrison called after me.
I turned to glare at him. “Excuse me?”
“There’s a secret first class lounge in Terminal B, which you’ll pass on the way to your gate. It’s down a hallway by the Cinnabon. Opaque doors, no signage. The keypad code is4313, which will give you full access to the lounge, and more importantly, the concierge who will dry and press your blouse.”
I was dumbfounded he was actually doing something to help me.
“Uh, thank you?”
Harrison adjusted his tie. “Least I can do. People like you need all the support they can get.”
