Chapter four
The Next Evening
EventhoughIflewin from New York early this morning, I’ve been at Clay Lacey Aviation for most of the day.
Control is comforting, and this flight could change my life.
Everything has to be perfect.
The industrial hangar lights cast soft halos over the polished steel of my Gulfstream, which is capable of crossing oceans without strain. The fuel trucks pulled away half hour ago. Thetransatlantic routing has been filed. Weather over the Atlantic clear enough for a smooth crossing.
My pilot, Magnus, is slowly and methodically walking the exterior with a flashlight, tracing lines along the fuselage, checking panels, intakes, surfaces.
Inside the cabin, catering is being arranged with quiet precision. I step into the galley and nod once to the attendant, who straightens immediately when she sees me.
Cristal is chilling for take-off. Screaming Eagle is decanting for our dinner.
Beluga caviar nests next to a basket of linen-wrapped blinis.Crème fraîchein porcelain. Mother-of-pearl spoons aligned beside the setup.
On the prep counter, Balik salmon has been sliced thin as silk. Oysters rest on ice with carved lemon spirals and a shallotmignonette. A5 wagyu steak and Maine lobster are already prepped for a final sear and butter poach after takeoff. An entire white truffle is ready to be shaved over the top.
Dinner is set up perfectly, so I move on to the aft suite.
The bed is made. Crisp white linens pulled snug enough to reflect light. A full-size gray Minky Couture blanket is folded at the foot of the bed. I smooth my palm over the fabric, noting how soft and cozy it feels. A few months ago she mentioned falling asleep wrapped in one of these on Marisol’s couch.
Details matter and tonight I’m going to make it impossible for her to misunderstand my intention.
Now, all I have left to do is wait for her.
Strolling back into the forward lounge, I lower myself down in my lounger and let my shoulders sink into the soft leather. My briefcase rests near my feet. Inside, a copy of the final purchase agreement awaits my review. Two hundred pages, including exhibits, documents the transaction.
If I sign, I’ll be five hundred and twelve million dollars richer.
Selling is going to change everything in my life, including my identity. Strangely, this milestone doesn’t seem urgent right now. The sale can wait.
Tonight isn’t about valuation.
It’s about destiny. I can’t wait for Sky to step through the cabin door and notice the shift in our dynamic before I even say a word. Champagne instead of Rose. Caviar instead of olives. Purpose instead of routine.
I try to gather myself by clasping my hands together and steady my breathing.
Magnus interrupts my thoughts when he places a hand on my shoulder. “She’s here.”
My heart rams in my chest.
“Thank you.” I manage to rise without rushing.
Through the oval window I catch the sweep of headlights entering the hangar. The black sedan I sent for her rolls into position beneath the wash of overhead lights. I watch from the airstair door as the car comes to a stop. The driver exits first. Then the rear door opens.
Sky steps out into the night.
Her black trenchcoat catches a faint crosswind, hair loose around her shoulders, violet thread flashing under hangar lights. She pauses for half a second, scanning the aircraft, taking in its’ scale without letting it show.
She reaches back into the car for her suitcase. Two crew members approach and intercept with quiet efficiency.
“Evening, Ms. Morgan,” one greets cordially, already taking the handle from her grip.
She holds it for a beat, stubbornness flickering in her eyes. “I’ve got it.”
