“So would that technique work now?” he teases, one side of his mouth lifting.
“Sorry, I don’t negotiate with terrorists.” I hold them close to my chest.
I spend the next hour of the flight working on everything I need for my meeting later today. I need to freshen up before we land as I’m heading straight into a developer meeting with Pacha’s freelance team ahead of the beta launch.
Spencer is fast asleep, his head resting against the closed window. I don’t see him in this relaxed state very often anymore; he looks so much younger. Despite me only being four minutes older than him, it feels like we have years between us. Not in an “I’m so much more mature” kind of way, but I have aged faster. He has the privilege of acting his age and being treated as such. I lock my seat upright, place the bag of pretzels and my orange juice on his tray, and get up to go to the bathroom at the back of the plane.
There are some rows of empty seats at the back of the plane that I wish I’d seen earlier, instead of having Spencer take up the entirety of the armrest between us. I rub my neck and shoulders in the aisle and wait for a bathroom to become vacant, sighing as I roll my muscles from side to side.
“Need some help with that?”
My pulse races at the deep tone. For a second, I think I’m imagining his voice. Flashes of his hands gripping my bare waist, pushing me up against the wall and dipping his fingers between my thighs. “I’ve been told I’m very good with my hands.”
I turn around slowly, my gaze traveling up a pair of black sweatpants and a navy-blue hoodie withOdericco Investmentswritten across the chest until I hit a pair of amused hazel eyes. The moment our gazes lock, it feels like someone turned off the gravity in the plane. I don’t know if that is a thing, but we could be in space for all I care as his smirk turns into a knowing smile.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, clearing my throat to get rid of the shock.
He slides a hand out of his pocket and leans his forearm against the side of the empty back row of seats for stability. “Oh, I’m just here because I heard this place has really good food. What do you think I’m doing here? I’m going home.”
I roll my eyes. “No, thissideof the plane. You’re sitting in business.” I gesture with my free hand down the aisle toward the front of the plane. I glance and catch sight of the side of Dominic Odericco’s face talking to the flight attendant, my stomach dropping. What if Dominic sees us talking and gets suspicious? Do we look like two people who showered together last night?
Oliver doesn’t follow my line of sight, his eyes staying trained on me. “Have you been spying on me? Why didn’t you come to say hello?” He pouts his bottom lip out playfully.
“You know why.” I cross my arms, feeling the heat creeping up my neck ready to color my cheeks crimson. The bathroom door makes aclickas an older lady steps out, smiling at both of us.
“Ma’am,” Oliver says, tipping his chin ever so slightly to the woman, the Southern twang made evident in his accent. For a second it sounds like he should be wearing a cowboy hat and a lasso over his broad shoulders.
Fuck, I am into cowboys now? Let’s put a pin in that to overanalyze later.
I give the lady a polite smile, as I pull the bathroom door back open to head inside.
As soon as she’s gone, I whip my head back around to him. “I don’t want to be seen with you; it’s too risky.”
His eyes flick to me. “You’re seriously overthinking this”—then they flash with a moment of hesitation—“unless you didn’t have a good time last night?”
Studying Oliver’s sloping jaw, the need to reassure him bubbles up in my chest, but I swallow it down like a mouthful of thumbtacks and say in the most neutral tone I can muster, “No, I had a great time it’s just—” I take a long breath. “It was nice to meet you.” I hope he will walk away, because I’m not sure if I can.
His rosy lips curve upward into a devilish grin. “I saw that Wyst is coming to Paris, congrats.”
“Thanks,” I say monotonically as I step into the bathroom, glancing back at him one last time.
He shifts, his head tilting to keep eye contact. “And willyoube coming?”
“Most likely,” I answer with as little detail as possible, still on alert that anything I say to him is potentially high risk.
He smiles, stepping in closer. “Good.”
I glare at him. “Not like that.”
He glances back down the galley before tucking a strand of hair behind my ear, an electric jolt running down my spine. “Are you sure? Well, I’ll be around if you happen to change your mind. Y’know, about round two.”
My eyes flare, and I take his wrist in my hand. Before mybrain can catch up, I’m using it as the lever to pull him into the bathroom, locking the door behind us.
I use my forefinger to poke his chest. “Listen, let’s get one thing straight, buddy. There will be no ‘round two’ or anything of that matter because, no matter how good it was, what happened last night was a humongous mistake.”
He huffs a laugh as I continue. His peppery scent immediately fills the space, opening up a yawning chasm of want in my stomach.
“Pleasesay you haven’t told anyone about it?” I plead, hanging my head.
