Page 29 of Mr. Perfect

“I did,” I say, smiling.

“Then take your own advice. Leave the nest, baby bird. And fly.”

Chapter Twelve - Ellie

After breakfast I drop Adeline off at her studio where she will be singing live in two hours, and I promise her I’ll be back in time to see it. Then I go back to the airport hangar just as Paul Sabon’s jet lands and taxis towards us.

Ming comes out of the fishbowl and greets me. “How was breakfast?”

“Good,” I say, still worrying about my promise to Adeline about the book. Not to mention the sex I had this morning with my boss, my resignation, being kicked out of the office I’ve had for the past seven years, and how I’m going to get that phone back so I can erase those messages.

“Did you…” Ming trails off.

“Did I what?” I ask, crabby now that I realize I have a lot on my mind.

“Did you guys talk about the book?”

“We did, Ming. I’m sure you were telling her all kinds of things while she was waiting for me earlier. And I know you guys mean well, but I’m just not ready to put it out there yet. I need more time.”

“Time to do what?”

I ignore her and walk into the fishbowl. Paul’s plane is waiting for something down at the end of the runway. “I’m going to check my email real fast. I didn’t have time to do it this morning.”

“What were you doing up there then?” Ming asks, following me in.

“Nothing,” I say too quickly. And then I realize she will catch on way too fast and I need to distract her. “I need to get Heath’s phone back from McAllister.”

“McAllister? You’re on first names now?”

“It’s his name, Ming.”

“What happened to Mr. Stonewall?”

“There’s more than one Mr. Stonewall. It’s confusing. Anyway,” I say with a sigh. “Will you help me try to get that phone tonight? I have to meet McAllister at six for a meeting, so maybe I can get him in my office and then you can slip in and look for the phone in his desk.”

“What if it’s not in his desk? What if Stephanie Guards-the-door is there? What if we get caught?”

“We won’t get caught, Ming. We’ll get Adeline to make a big commotion. Anyone left on the floor at six o’clock will be treated to an impromptu appearance. Maybe she can break out into song or something. She’ll come up with something. Then I’ll have my meeting with McAllister in my office and you slip in his, look around, get the phone, slip out. Voilà. Crisis over, we all go out for happy hour drinks and forget our problems.”

I sit down at my old desk and pull up my email as Ming thinks this over.

“You know, your boyfriend came in here while you were at breakfast.”

“Who?” I ask, sighing at all the unread emails. I have seven scheduling issues to deal with, one guest canceled for the end of the month—not my problem—and an official welcome to the “executive newsletter” courtesy of Jennifer Sluts-around.

“McAllister Stonewall,” Ming says. “He came in here and looked around. Sat at your desk and everything.”

“What? Why the hell would he do that?”

“I dunno.” Ming shrugs. “Looking for your schedule?”

“That asshole. It’s not my fault we didn’t have time to go over it this morning.”

“Whose fault was it?” Ming has a little grin on her face. Like she knows something.

“What are you hiding from me?” I ask, just as Paul’s jet comes to a stop inside the hangar.

“I think the better question is, what are you hiding from me?”