Page 42 of Happily Ever After

A few hearts appeared almost at once. A thumbs-up from Cece. A quick, You’ve got this, from Paige. Blaise smiled and switched the phone to airplane mode.

The cabin filled slowly as more passengers found their seats. She hadn’t brought anything to do, figuring she’d catch a few winks so she’d look extra rested when she arrived.

She couldn’t help but think about Beau. She’d never been away from him before. Hopefully, he’d settle in all right at Brick’s.

They’d be back by now. Maybe he was already asleep. She pictured him curled up on Brick’s couch, confused but ultimately resigned. It made her a little sad, but she knew he was in good hands.

The plane taxied, paused, then surged forward. Blaise pressed her head back against the seat as the ground fell away, the familiar lightness of takeoff in her stomach. Once they leveled, she closed her eyes.

She didn’t dream. She just drifted, the white noise of the engines smoothing everything out, the morning and its emotions drifting away as she headed for this exciting new opportunity.

When the wheels hit the runway, she startled awake, heart jumping before she reminded herself where she was. Miami sunlight streamed in through the window, brighter and sharper than it had been back home.

She put her sunglasses on, grabbed her carryon and her purse and waited her turn to disembark, a little trill of excitement zipping through her at the thought of what might await. While she stood in line, she touched up her lipstick.

Once she was in the terminal, she went straight to transportation and spotted the driver immediately.

He stood a few feet back from the main exit, holding a neat white placard with her name printed in bold black letters. BLAISE MONROE.

She slowed, taken aback. That was a surprise. She’d assumed she’d have to get a taxi.

“That’s me,” she said as she approached.

The driver smiled. “Welcome to Miami, Ms. Monroe. Mr. Alvarez sent me.”

“Thank you. Wasn’t that kind.” Of course he’d sent a car for her. Blaise felt a flicker of something warm and unexpected. That was so thoughtful of him. Not to mention professional. If Marco was trying to impress her, he had succeeded. She handed over her carryon, which the driver took.

“Right this way, Ms. Monroe.”

As they headed toward the exit, she noticed movement to her left. Immediately, sounds followed, the soft staccato clicks very familiar.

Cameras.

Two men stood just outside the sliding doors, lenses trained on her. Nothing so aggressive as the old days. No shouting. Just the calling of her name. “Blaise? This way, Blaise.”

Blaise paused, instinctively hitting a few poses, glad she’d worn her most travel-friendly black knit pants and top.

The driver leaned in slightly. “Mr. Alvarez arranged for them,” he said quietly. “Just a few photos. He felt it would help generate interest ahead of the campaign.”

Blaise exhaled slowly. “He’s really thought about this.”

And why wouldn’t he? He was investing good money in her. He’d want to make the most of it.

She squared her shoulders, lifted her chin, and walked forward, giving them exactly what they wanted: more of her. Sunglasses on, expression calm with a hint of her signature Mona Lisa smile.

It was almost like the old days. As the cameras clicked a few more times, other people began to take notice, stopping to look. Some of them pointed and took a few photos themselves.

The driver ushered her on toward the car. She was looking forward to the air-conditioning. The heat had wrapped around her immediately, thick and unmistakable. Miami didn’t ease you in. It took hold of you.

As the driver opened the car door for her, Blaise glanced once more toward the photographers, then slid into the back seat, giving them a little wave.

She wasn’t overwhelmed or dazzled by the appearance of paparazzi, but she was amused. And impressed with Marco’s forethought. She hadn’t expected this experience to be this much fun so soon. Good on him for making the most of her name.

The driver closed the door, the windows’ dark tint giving her privacy once again. That’s when she noticed the basket.

It sat on the seat beside her, the contents beautifully arranged with a slim box of dark chocolates, apples and oranges wrapped in tissue, and two glass bottles of mineral water. A small gift bag bearing Marco’s logo rested next to it, the handles tied together with a swathe of gold ribbon.

She reached for it, untied the ribbon, and peeked inside.