Moira arranged the meeting with Elena, passing details through a burn-after-reading system that feels ripped from a spy novel—appropriate, considering what my life has become.
“We’ve been reviewing the planned meet location,” Brie says, ending her call and joining me on the leather sofa.“Very public, very safe for her.”
“And very observable,” I add, thinking of Gramercy Tavern, a place I’ve been but don’t frequent.It’s not monitored in the traditional sense—but it’s visible.Too many witnesses for anyone to act rashly.“That’s the point.She feels secure there.”
Brie curls into the corner of the sofa, studying my face.“You’ve been quiet since we left Paris.”
I take another sip of scotch, letting the burn distract from the knot in my chest.“Just processing.”
“Want to talk about it?”
The question hangs between us like the thirty-thousand feet of air beneath the plane.
“I keep thinking about what Moira said.”I set down the glass, turning to face her fully.“The truth is, Brie, I do understand my clientele.I’ve built my entire business around understanding what powerful people want, what they crave, the image they wish to project, what they’ll pay for.”
“It’s not the same thing as exploiting them.”
“No.But it puts me closer to the edge than I ever wanted to be.”I can feel the moral line blur even as I push forward.“I created an environment where people are free to act without fear of exposure.I would most definitely never monetize indiscretions or base needs.Or so I thought?But isn’t that exactly what I’m doing by offering safe spaces?”
Brie’s hand finds mine, her fingers intertwining in a gesture that’s becoming as natural as breathing.Skin to skin, it feels like confession granted absolution.“There’s a difference between providing safe spaces and violating trust.”
“It’s a fine line—one that’s easy to blur.Because sitting in that room with Moira, listening to her explain how she operates...It didn’t sound foreign.It sounded familiar.”I lean back against the headrest, closing my eyes.“My father built the family conglomerate by staying one step ahead of everyone.Learning that he did it by buying stolen competitive designs changes everything I believed about our family’s success.About my own moral inheritance.Margot willingly continues the tradition.I easily could have become them.That’s the part that unnerves me.”
“Maybe you’re exactly who you choose to be.”
I open my eyes to find her watching me with an intensity that clenches my chest.“And who do you think I choose to be?”
“Someone who walked away from guaranteed success for independence.Someone who’s risking everything to protect people he’s never met from blackmail schemes.”Her thumb traces across my knuckles.“Someone who spent months searching for a woman who might not have existed.”
Turbulence jolts us, and she shifts closer, bringing with her that scent—strength wrapped in softness—a presence I found impossible to forget.
“What happens after this is over?”I ask quietly.
Will she disappear again?It’s possible.Probable, even.She’ll likely move—someone proved her apartment isn’t safe.She’s trained to elude pursuit.If she doesn’t want me to find her, I won’t.The thought makes my chest tight.
“What do you want to happen?”
“I want to wake up with you in the morning.”The words come easier than I expected.“I want to argue with you about art for that empty wall in your apartment—or any wall in any place you choose to live.I want to take you to Paris properly.”I pause, gathering courage.“I want you to meet my parents as the woman I’m falling in love with, after they’ve forgiven me.I want time together without fearing I’ll wake and you’ll be gone.”
For a moment I wonder if I’ve said too much, pushed too hard.Then she’s moving—shifting until she’s straddling my lap, hands framing my face, and relief floods through me.
“I want all of that too,” she whispers against my lips.“But are you sure?Because my work won’t change.There will be other cases, other days where I may need to carry a weapon?—”
“Then I’ll learn to live with worry.”I cup her face, thumbs brushing her cheekbones.The idea of her in danger makes me want to lock her away somewhere safe, but I know better.She’d never forgive me, and I’d lose what makes her extraordinary.“Because the alternative—saying goodbye to you, living without you—is worse.”
Her lips meet mine—this kiss tastes like promises and possibilities, like the beginning of something that could actually last.Her hands work at my shirt buttons, and my gaze flits past her tousled blonde hair to the closed cockpit door.
There have been times—more than I’d care to admit—when I wouldn’t have given a damn if a flight attendant walked in mid-tryst.Discretion was their job, not mine.But this isn’t one of those times.This isn’t casual or careless.This is Brie, and she deserves privacy.Intention.Reverence.
I catch her hand, stopping her fingers but holding tight.“Come with me.”
I grab my scotch from the side table and lead her to the private suite at the plane’s rear.The door clicks shut behind us—solid, secure, ours.I set the drink on the nightstand and shrug out of my shirt, letting it fall carelessly.
With a tug on the hem of the top, she understands, and raises her arms, letting me lift the cashmere off, over her head.Her travel sweater set gives easily under my hands, the cashmere sliding away to reveal lace and skin—an ensemble that destroys composure.One simple push on the waistband, and the matching bottoms fall to her ankles, leaving my beauty in slips of the finest lace.
My fingers glide along her soft skin—the curve of her waist, the swell of her breast, her nipple taut beneath the delicate tapestry.I lean in, sucking and licking the sensitive skin of her throat, tasting the faint sweetness of her perfume mixed with something uniquely her.
The cabin tilts slightly with turbulence or maybe just the rhythm of my breathing.She backs up until her legs hit the bed and sits, immediately focused on my belt buckle with that intensity she brings to everything.
