“I know,” I say, not slowing as I stride away. “You can get the door.”
She huffs but doesn’t argue further, falling into step beside me as we reach the SUVs. Sera wrenches her bag from me and throws it in the back with too much force, and it thunks next to the bags we’ll be taking on the plane.
Elite’s preparedness for disaster is something I’m not used to, but if—when—I return to my life, I plan on incorporating some of their ways. Emergency medical supplies, including everything from sutures to blood clotting agents, would come in handy.
“We’re equals in this,” Sera says through gritted teeth. “Both professionals.”
“I know.”
“It’s bad enough my brother is treating me like I’m fragile?—”
“That’s not what I’m doing,” I cut her off. “But if you think you’re ever going to carry your luggage when it’s just the two of us, Seraphina, you can think again.” I give her a heated look, letting some of what I feel show.
I’ve been holding back. Not wanting to rush her. Needing her to trust me.
But that ponytail was the green light. The signal I’ve been waiting for.
It’s time for the next phase of my plan.
The private airportis already busy when we pull in. The jet belonging to Atelier Florian sits waiting on the tarmac, small and sleek, with the stairs down. A slender man in a polo shirt and pants is standing watch at the base of the steps. The security we are replacing, I assume. Even through the windshield, he looks exhausted, and there is a definite look of relief before he masks it.
When Sera reaches up to pull her hair loose from the rubber band, I want to reach out to stop her, already missing the view of her profile.
We get out, and I move to open the back of the SUV, lifting our bags and carrying them to the base of the steps. I hand off the larger bags to the ground crew to be loaded below, while Sera introduces herself to the man.
“They’re already on board,” he says.
Sera’s gaze flicks past him to the jet. “They?”
The man doesn’t roll his eyes, but his jaw tightens like he wants to. “Her makeup artist Dani and her PA-slash-stylist Marco.” He gestures vaguely toward the plane. “She likes an audience.”
Sera hums under her breath. No one mentioned there would be others.
“We’ll need to adjust the logistics. Ms. Novak is the primary. Do they all understand that?” She directs the comment to the security guard, who sighs.
“I told them, but I’m not sure they understand what that means—thatshe’sthe client being protected, and they are secondary.”
I shrug. “We’ll explain it further if needed. Any suggestions?”
He exhales, a long, weary sound. “Not really. There hasn’t been any action around her but…” He glances behind him before looking at me again. “She’s temperamental.” The guard dips his chin. “Good luck.”
Sera and I exchange a glance.
“Oh…” He smirks and points at me. “You might want to wear a cup. She’s handsy when she’s drinking.”
He turns, climbs into his SUV, and pulls away without another word.
“I don’t remember that in the training,” I laugh.
Sera glares at me, and as she turns to grab one of the tactical bags, I swear I hear her mutter something that sounds like, “I will cut off the bitch’s hands.”
I do my best to smother a smile, because I seriously doubt Sera will appreciate my amusement at her jealousy.
Sera watches the vehicle disappear, then looks back at the jet.
“Well,” she says, squaring her shoulders. “Ready for this?”
“With you?” I say, meeting her eyes. “Always.”
