"How do you know that?"
"My mother used to get motion sickness." His expression softens. "She swore by saltines and ginger ale."
I take a small sip of water, then nibble on a cracker. He's right—it does help.
"Thank you," I say quietly. "For not... I don't know. Being weird about this."
"Why would I be weird about it?"
"Because I just threw up on your fancy plane?"
"Our fancy plane," he corrects with a small smile. “The company’s plane. And you threw up in the bathroom, which is literally what it's there for."
I almost smile. "You're being very understanding."
"You're sick, Emma. I'm not going to be an asshole about it." He leans back in his seat. "Get some rest. We still have two hours, and you need to be sharp for tonight's dinner."
Right. The dinner. With investors.
Where I need to be brilliant and professional and absolutely not pregnant-sick.
I close my eyes, letting the gentle hum of the plane and the lingering nausea lull me into something resembling sleep.
I wake up an hour later feeling marginallymore human.
Donovan's working on his laptop, reading glasses perched on his perfectly aquiline nose, looking like every CEO fantasy ever written.
"Feeling better?" he asks without looking up.
"Yeah, actually. Thanks for the crackers."
"You're welcome." He closes his laptop. "We should prep for tonight. Michael Cho from the VC firm is bringing his legal team, and they're going to have questions about the IP protections and licensing agreements."
We spend the remaining time going over every possible question and objection, and I'm reminded why I love this job.
The strategy. The problem-solving. The way Donovan's brain works through complex issues.
By the time we land in Chicago, the worst of the nausea has faded, leaving just exhaustion and a dull pressure behind my eyes.
Below us, my hometown stretches wide and steel-blue, the skyline sharp and precise against Lake Michigan, and I almost feel normal again.
Almost.
Forty minutes later, I start to get settled back in unfamiliar surroundings.
Though I’m from Chicago, this definitely isn’t my version of the city. Probably because the hotel is ridiculous.
The shiny building is a behemoth, a shrine to five-star luxury overlooking Lake Michigan, the windows stretching floor-to-ceiling with views of Navy Pier and the skyline.
My bathroom alone is bigger than my entire New York apartment, and I’m unpacking my items into it when my phone rings.
FaceTime. Sasha andRiley.
"Hey," I answer, propping the phone against a nearby mirror.
"EMMA!" Riley's face fills the screen. "You're back in the Chi! How was the trip? The plane ride? And most importantly, how's your hot billionaire boss?"
"The trip is fine. The plane was... eventful. And Donovan is my boss, not my hot billionaire anything."
