Page 10 of Final Approach

I didn’t buy the timepiece because I liked shiny things. Shiny things had a purpose: proving your worth to others. The watch was as good as a three-page legal document highlighting all of my accomplishments as the owner of Park Industries these last few years. Which, in all reality, would have told a very different story of my failures and desperation.

So, I let it do the talking as they mulled over my words with inscrutable expressions. Wealth meant power, and power meant competence.

It was all bullshit, but people believed it, and that was what mattered most.

Lakes of sweat soaked into my undershirt as I waited them out. Biting the inside of my cheek to hide my disgust, I held their stares with stoic brown eyes as they tried to see through my shield.

No one on the planet knew trusting Erik had nearly burned down everything my father had reluctantly handed to me, and this deal was the ticket to rebuild it from the ashes. Our bank accounts were nearly dry, and my former business partner was off on a beach in Fiji somewhere, laughing his ass off while I suffocated in the aftermath.

Drowning in my own fluids, more like. I fought to keep my expression neutral as another bead of sweat dripped down my back. I’d sat across from more powerful people than these, with far more money than they had, and landed deals worth more than a small country’s GDP. If Fake It Til You Make It was a brand, I owned the trademark.

I’d done my due diligence on Ravi’s company, reviewing every single line item of every single published financial document in the last five years. I was never getting swindled again.

Sign the deal, Ravi. Sign the deal, so I can get the fuck out of dodge and save this sinking ship before everyone finds out Erik Lancaster fucked me harder than a wrought-iron dildo.

After a minor time warp and a burgeoning case of serious heartburn, Ravi’s mouth broke out into a satisfied smile. He reached across the table and stuck out the well-manicured hand of a man who didn’t know what hard labor was.

It matched mine.

Stifling the wave of relief that tried to consume my face, I shook his hand firmly and offered another practiced smirk of my own. “You won’t regret this, Ravi. I look forward to working with you. I’ll have my team send over the official agreements this afternoon with my signature already on them. I’ve got to catch a flight back home in a few hours.”

“Leaving so soon?” Ravi’s partner’s bushy brows raised in clearly feigned politeness. “Your visit to our country was strictly business, then?”

As if I had time to sightsee when my whole fucking world was collapsing.

Standing, I adjusted the cuffs of my jacket and refastened its button. I stretched my grin to the point of pain. “My whole life is strictly business, my friend. I look forward to including yours in it.”

Gripping my briefcase tightly in one fist, I strode outside the glass and metal patio fencing and into the white Mercedes where my driver waited for me. Just another bill to add to my ballooning debt, but appearances were everything. I’d make up for it when we sent our first shipment.

“Airport, senhor?” the driver asked in heavily accented English. I knew Spanish, but I didn’t know a lick of Portuguese. Luckily, they had enough similarities for basic requests, which helped me make it through the last five days.

Nodding, I looked out the window as he weaved through the narrow streets of São Paolo’s downtown core. My bags were already in the trunk, ready to escape this sub-tropical climate and all the lies that came with it.

“Excuse me?”

The pretty flight attendant’s face was apologetic but firm when I attempted to check into the airline, fully ready to shower and pass out in my first-class bunk for the next fourteen hours.

“I’m sorry, senhor, but your flight’s been canceled.”

Bitter acid rose in my throat, burning the last of my patience.

This. Was not. The plan.

The adrenaline from my meeting had long worn off. Every inch of my skin was coated in a thin film of grime. I smelled like an expensive Kombucha, and I’d worn socks for so long I was desperate to rip them off and put them in a dumpster where they belonged.

It was tempting to feed the anger inside of me and snap her into submission, but it wasn’t her fault the flight had been canceled. My mother had drilled me enough on etiquette, even if I was an asshole on a good day. Drawing in some blissfully air-conditioned air into my lungs, I held it for a second before releasing it on a count of eight.

“What are my options, then?” I asked once I’d fully deflated the balloon of perpetual anxiety in my gut.

Her relief was palpable as the smile on her face brightened. “We have a smaller chartered airline leaving tomorrow late morning. It will bring you to Mexico City, and we can get you on a flight to Los Angeles three hours from landing. The next direct flight out of here won’t be until Friday.”

Three days from now. It wasn’t a choice. The Board of Directors met in five days to deliberate whether I was still fit to lead the company. I needed to get home as soon as possible. I needed to plead my case and present the new contract to show them I still had this. More than that, I needed a fucking shower.

“All right, I’ll take a first-class ticket on that charter, then.”

Her sunny expression fell. “Senhor, first class is not an option on that flight. The plane only holds twenty people, and so all seat options are the same.”

Fuck. The twinges of unfiltered fear mixed with the agitation in my stomach. Fuck, fuck, fuck.