“What do you mean we’re not flying into Denver?” I ask as I shoot a text off to my sister.
The corner of Damian’s mouth pulls up, amusement etched into his chiseled face, even though he is trying to remain stoic. He doesn’t answer as he travels down the highway to an unknown destination.
Damian pulls into a small airport twenty minutes away. He drives directly onto the tarmac, and as soon as he stops the car, a man comes up. He greets Damian first and then starts to come around to my side of the car.
“If you could get the bags, please,” Damian tells him, redirecting him.
One of the things I’ve learned about Damian is that he likes to open the car door for me. And he doesn’t like anyone else doing it. I wait until he comes around, helping me out of the car.
“What is this?” I ask, my gaze fixed on the shiny plane in front of us. It’s smaller than a commercial jet, but larger than a little Cessna.
“Our flight.”
“When you say ‘our flight,’ do you mean…”
His full smile catches me unaware, and my heart patters rapidly before I can squelch it. “Yes, Brielle. I mean it is ours. Just ours.”
My jaw unhinges. “You chartered a private plane for this?”
“Your flight was booked, so I improvised. Come on.” He takes my hand, threading our fingers together, and tugs me along to the airstairs.
I’ve never seen anything like this in my entire life. I feel like I’m in a movie as Damian escorts me onto the plane. Four oversized, comfortable seats are positioned in a square, two facing forward and two facing back. A small aisle goes down the middle, and on each side, a table comes between the two seats. A folded blanket, pillow, eye mask, and noise-canceling headphones rest on each seat.
Damian takes his seat while I’m still standing, dumbfounded at all of the luxury around me.
I take the items from the other forward-facing chair and sit on the left, on the other side of the aisle to Damian.
“Sit on this side,” he says, looking down at his phone.
“Oh, sure.” I get up and move to the backward-facing seat. “Is that a weight distribution thing?”
“No.” He smirks, putting his phone in his pocket.
I kick his leg as I try to glare at him for making me move. Damian catches my foot and brings it to his lap under the table. Our eyes lock, and a shiver rakes down my spine as Damian peels my sneaker from my foot. I move my other foot to his lap. His lips twitch in an almost smirk as he removes my other shoe for me as well.
A beautiful woman appears out of nowhere, and I pull my foot free so I can right myself in my seat.
“Mr. Edgerton. Thank you for choosing us to serve you again today. Is there anything I can get you before we take off?” There’s a suggestion to her voice. Her eyes rove over him, more familiar than I care for.
“Just an ice water, Alessandra. Brielle?” He barely even looks at her, turning his attention back to me. I almost feel bad when I see her straighten her back and turn to me with a fake customer-service smile.
“I’m fine, thanks.” My lips pull into an imitation of a smile that drops just as quickly.
“Of course. If you need anything at all, please let me know. I’ll be right over there. I’m here to serve you.”
“Just the ice water. And, Alessandra…”
“Yes,” she answers quickly.
“Get someone to take this table out. When we want to eat, we’ll use the other one.”
“Of course. Right away.”
She bounds away, and I have to look away to stop myself from glaring at him.
Damian has his head in his phone again, typing away as work never stops for the CEO.
“What could I have possibly done that’s made you upset?” he says without looking up.
