Chapter Six

Over the weekend, Charlotte had tried to keep up with her inbox and had gone shopping for beachwear and a wedding-appropriate dress, because everything in her wardrobe was out of style or no longer fit or both.

When Lance had pulled up to her house in a silver Jaguar earlier this morning, she’d had a beat of panic where she asked herself what the hell she was doing. But she kept going back to that moment when he’d told her she’d been underutilized.

Over the years she’d often felt unappreciated, and for him to recognize there was more to her… Well, maybe it was a line and she was a sucker, but she was choosing optimism.

As they maneuvered out of the heart of the city, Lance still talking away on his earpiece, she had her second moment of doubting she should’ve come.

“Let me know what you find out,” Lance said, and then he tapped his ear, disconnecting the call. He swerved around a car, and Charlotte braced a hand on the dash.

“Listen up, Edward Cullen. I’m sure you think highly of your reflexes, but I’d like my skin and bones to stay where they are, so if you’re gonna keep taking calls and speeding, I’m gonna have to insist on driving.”

“What did you call me?”

“Don’t act like you don’t know who Edward Cullen is.”

“Does he play football? For which team?”

She burst out laughing. “Technically he plays baseball. In thunderstorms.”

Lance glanced across the car at her. “You lost me.”

“Never mind your lacking pop culture references—we have enough to work on right now, so those will have to wait. Basically, I’m offering to drive so you can take all your important calls without wrecking.”

“Pfft. As if I’d wreck.”

“I’ll take ‘famous last words people say before they wreck’ for one hundred dollars, Alex.”

“You say such weird things.”

“Thank you,” she said. “What it boils down to is that people think they’re really great at multitasking, but they’re really just half-assing everything.”

“Half-assing? Let me get this straight, I can’t tell my employees their heads are shoved up their asses or call what they’ve done to the organization a shit show, but you can tell me I’m half-assing stuff? Do I get to make a complaint to you about you now?”

“I’m not swearing at you, especially not in a derogatory way that’d violate section two of the handbook. Swearing is permissible when there’s not a better word to describe a situation.”

“I think you just know how to twist the rules so they don’t apply to you.”

She gave him an innocent smile and shrugged. “You have to know the rules to break them. And speeding applies to everyone, as I’m sure a cop will tell you if he pulls you over.”

Lance eased off the accelerator. “There. Better?”

“Yes.”

His phone rang, and she picked it up and read him the name on the screen, not to be intrusive but to be helpful with the not-wrecking thing.

“I’ll call him back when we’re in the air so I don’t have to endure any more of your cryptic responses and lectures.”

“I appreciate that.” She really was trying not to be a backseat driver—or side seat driver, as it were, especially since he’d slowed down as requested—but wasn’t he going to get over? She pushed her foot down on the nonexistent brake pedal on her side of the car and sat forward, unable to help herself. “You’re going to miss the exit.”

“I’m not.”

“Okay, but you just did.” She flopped back in her seat. This was why she should’ve driven—why she liked control. Guys always thought they knew the way, too stubborn to listen. Sure, she occasionally got disorientated enough to not remember which way was east or west, but at least she didn’t miss giant exit signs with airplanes on them.

“Relax,” Lance said, passing a car on the right when the left side was blocked by other cars, another show of thinking the rules of the road didn’t apply to him. “We’re going to the local airstrip, not the airport. I assumed you knew we’d be taking the company jet.”

“For a private trip?” She bit her thumbnail. “That’s way too fancy for me. I can just take a regular old airplane.”

Lance turned off the freeway. “It’d take longer for me to book you a ticket through one of the airlines, then I’d get there way before you and have to wait, and I plan on using the time in the air to go through résumés—in other words, I’m planning on using our time in the jet for business. You’re the one who made me sign a document that declared our arrangement was strictly business.”

After searching through the many forms stored in her laptop, she’d revised the consensual romance in the workplace agreement. Even though there was no romance, it was the closest fit. She’d ended up titling it the Wedding Deal.

There was verbiage about recognizing that they’d entered into an agreement where she was his plus one for a wedding in a strictly business capacity, where she’d be in close proximity during the festivities for the purposes of consulting and performing her work duties. There was a section about not engaging in public displays of affection that would create an uncomfortable work environment for others, and while it didn’t apply, it felt wrong to completely delete the rest of the form. It also stated they’d act professionally toward each other at all times, even after the—she’d changed “relationship” to “work trip agreement”—had ended.

She’d even notarized it and made Lance a copy. Not that he’d appreciated it. He’d jammed it into his desk drawer, most likely never to be seen again. Still, it made her feel better.

As they pulled up to a hangar, those better vibes were quickly dissipating. “Don’t tell me you’re flying us there.”

Lance slid his sunglasses into his shirt pocket and gave her a sidelong look. “Will you relax?”

“Depends on if you’re pretending you’re also a pilot.”

His signature you’re exhausting sigh carried across the space. “While I do have my pilot’s license, we also contract with several qualified pilots, and I plan on working while we’re in the air.” A mischievous gleam entered those blue eyes. “But if there’s an emergency, I’ll be ready to take the controls and fly us to safety.”

“So reassuring,” she muttered, and he laughed.

Charlotte began gathering her purse and extra bag, and somewhere between picking them off the floor and checking for her sunglasses, Lance had rounded the hood and opened the door. He extended a hand.

“While I appreciate you opening my door, it feels too relationship-y. Would you do the same for a male consultant?”

“For the love…” He grabbed her hand and tugged her to her feet. “You’re going to meet my Southern mother, who raised me to be a gentleman and would skin me alive if I didn’t open the door for a woman, so get used to it.”

She could feel her features wrinkling into an expression that would’ve earned her a remark about getting stuck that way when she was a kid. “You’re so grumpy this morning. Did you not get enough coffee?”

“Me?” he asked, exasperation filling the word. “You’re telling me how to drive and how you don’t want me flying the plane and questioning every damn move.” He popped open the trunk and reached for her suitcase. “So if I’m grumpy, it’s because you’re driving me crazy.”

Her mouth dropped. “Excuse me for being cautious.”

“You told me the other day that there was a problem with being too cautious.” He set his suitcase on the tarmac next to hers.

“Yeah, for a coach. Not for my life.”

A low grumble sounded in the back of his throat, and she wondered again if this was a bad idea. Somehow over the weekend she’d forgotten how much he tested her patience. They managed to get along for the most part while going through résumés and discussing stats, but the little between moments…they clashed a lot.

“Maybe this is a bad idea,” she said. “I don’t want to create drama at your brother’s wedding.”

“Then stop being dramatic.”

She gritted her teeth. “Then stop being a bossy ass.” Yep. In this situation, there was no other word for it, and if he filed an official complaint with HR, she’d simply judge it was completely justified.

Lance opened his mouth like he was going to snap at her, but then he took a deep breath and slowly let it out. “Charlotte dear—”

“Terms of endearment are a little close to crossing a line and hardly fall in the super-professional range.” It just sort of popped out, her frustration and nerves taking the wheel. Part of her wanted to push hard enough for him to tell her never mind, he’d simply go to his brother’s wedding himself.

Lance lowered his voice, and it had a deadly calm edge to it. “Hey, human resources manager person.”

She hitched her chin. “Jokes on you. I think that’s perfectly appropriate.”

“Get your perfectly appropriate ass—self on that plane,” he said, and she reached for the handle of her suitcase. He grabbed it before she could and started toward the plane, striding so fast with his long legs that she practically had to run in her heels to keep up.

Apparently this truly was happening. At least it was okay to curse a lot in her head.

…

Lance ducked inside the plane and guided the suitcases into the bins so they wouldn’t roll around during the flight. Admittedly, he’d also wondered if this trip with Charlotte was a bad idea. It was like the more used to each other they got, the more they meshed on discussing football—and the more they clashed on everything else.

He’d never met anyone so by the book, and his mom could—and often did—quote Bible verses at him. He wasn’t kidding when he said she’d be appalled if he didn’t open doors and act like a gentleman, either.

With everything situated, he turned to make sure Charlotte had followed him on the plane instead of stormed away—to where, he had no idea. Not like there was anywhere to go. Unless she drove off in his car, which he wouldn’t put past her.

No, that’d be too close to stealing, so I’m probably safe.

Her dark eyebrows arched as she took in the cushy interior, a bit of an Alice-in-Wonderland awe on her face. He’d been born into money, and while he tried to stop and be grateful, he sometimes forgot how things that were ordinary to him were extraordinary to other people.

Charlotte smoothed her hands down the form-fitting floral dress she had on. He didn’t understand the big belt, since it clearly didn’t hold up anything, but it did accentuate her waist and the flare of her hips. Today her shiny brown hair hung in loose waves, and the cool air had pinked her cheeks, adding to the stunned innocent look.

The pilot stepped out of the cockpit, and Lance told him hello and introduced him to Charlotte.

“Charlotte’s a bit nervous—she’s never been on a smaller plane like this.”

She shot him a scowl, and then the red lips that matched the roses on her skirt curved up as she turned to the pilot. “It was more that I was nervous when I thought he was flying us there. And I’ve been on one of those little prop planes before. It was stormy and super bumpy, and I had to grab the puke bag out of the seat in front of me, but luckily I didn’t have to use it and…” A nervous giggle came out. “Okay, now I’m feeling a bit nervous.”

“You’re in good hands, Miss,” the pilot said, giving her a wide grin. While Lance wanted her to feel safe, he experienced that slight pinch in his gut again, the same one he’d felt when Foster had been on speaker and she’d so happily talked to him.

She’s my strictly business plus one.

“Wheels up in ten,” the pilot said, and Charlotte walked past Lance to check out the rest of the plane. He, in turn, took the opportunity to check out the back of her outfit. Her sky-high heels emphasized her ass and her calves, and the straps around her ankles made his fingers ache to unbuckle them.

For a rule follower, she was dangerously sexy, something he definitely shouldn’t be thinking about.

And reason number two why this might be a bad idea rears its ugly head.

But they needed to work, and with his brother getting married, Mom’s pushing for him to settle down had dialed up into the obsessive range. Charlotte would make a good buffer, and she was a safe one at that—not only was she as uninterested in a relationship as he was, she was so set on not crossing the lines that he couldn’t even sarcastically call her “dear” or open her door for her without getting a lecture.

The pilot announced they were about to take off, and Charlotte rushed over to the seat next to his. She fumbled with the seatbelt for a few seconds and exhaled as soon as she finally got it secured in place. She glanced around, her eyebrows drawing together—they did this cute upturned thing in the middle that he’d never seen before, and now he was studying her eyebrows?

Snap out of it, Quaid.

He rested his arms on the cream-colored leather. “What’s wrong?” he asked when Charlotte continued to fidget. “Looking for a puke bag?”

“No.” She wrinkled her nose. “Do they have them?”

Yeah. This flight might be a mistake. He needed her next to him so they could go through résumés, but he wasn’t sure getting barfed on was the best way to start off their trip. Strike that—he was sure. “Under the seat.”

She bent and studied the underside, and then popped up, her hair halfway over her face. “I don’t think I’ll need them.” She fixed her hair, tucking it behind her ears. “I’m just…”

“I’d say a bit nervous, but I got in trouble for saying that earlier.”

She fired a dirty look at him. “I didn’t want everyone to know.”

“Me and the pilot are everyone?”

“In this plane, yeah.”

He covered his smile with the back of his hand, sure it’d get him in trouble, too. The whine of the engine grew louder, and her green eyes widened to the point he worried they might pop out of her head like some kind of deranged cartoon character.

“I just hate the takeoff part. And the landing part. Even in big planes.” Her fingers curled around the armrests. “Usually it helps for me to see Goliath. I wish on him, which I know is weird, but it’s my process.”

“Goliath? Does he also play baseball in the rain?”

Another dirty look—at this rate, she’d set a record by the time they arrived in North Carolina. “The horse at the airport? The giant statue with the glowing eyes? I call him Goliath, and I know a whole bunch of people want to remove him because they think he looks demonic, but I like that he looks all badass. It makes me think of what the Mustangs used to be. How they could be again.”

He vaguely recalled a horse statue in the familiar Mustangs red and black colors but hadn’t ever paid much attention.

“I’ll be fine once we’re in the air.” Her breaths came quicker and quicker, and she winced as the plane rolled into motion. “Just consider this my ten-minute break, okay?”

“Okay, but I’m timing you,” he said, twisting his wrist like he was checking his watch. She didn’t laugh, though, and her skin paled.

It was no fun to tease her if she crossed into freaked-out territory.

The plane quickly gained speed as they accelerated down the runway, and her grimace grew. Unable to help himself, he gently placed his hand over hers, readying himself for a lecture on how it wasn’t professional, and then he’d get to discover which section of the handbook it violated.

She lifted her hand and he thought, There’s the brush-off I expected. But she simply twisted her wrist so their palms met. Then she squeezed his hand so hard that if it were back in the day, taking a flight before a big game, he’d worry he wouldn’t be able to throw the football.

Since those days were long behind him, and he found he liked being her lifeline, he squeezed back. He even decided to pretend not to hear the tiny squeal she made as they lifted into the air.