In my two years of working for the Hunter family, I’d been inadvertently exposed to many of the perks of ‘high living.’ The wardrobe, the parties, the exclusivity. I’d once stood by and watched as a museum docent—eager to please—had actually removed a dinner jacket of John F. Kennedy’s that Nick had been admiring, and slipped it over his shoulders. (A jacket that, moments later, Nick had accidentally doused in champagne. But who was counting?)
Point was, although I wasn’t typically accustomed to being ‘spoiled,’ there were certain customs of the rich and the famous that I had come to very much enjoy.
None so much as the private plane.
“Well, that’s it for me.” I collapsed on a leather recliner the second we stepped on board, throwing my purse down beside me. “Wake me when we get back to Manhattan.”
Nick chuckled and took a seat next to me, nodding to the pilot that he was ready to take off. “See, you look like one of my girlfriends already.”
My lips twitched up in a grin, as I peeked out from beneath my complimentary sleep mask. “Tell me...does gifting me this plane technically count as ‘spoiling?’ Or is that a little above and beyond.”
He laughed again. Something he had been doing ten times more of since I officially said yes to his crazy little scheme. “You want the plane? It’s yours.”
“Perfect.” I tilted my head back like a lazy queen, calling out to the pilot. “In that case, Jimmy, I’m ready to go.”
Nick grinned indulgently. “It’s Ethan, actually.”
“Oh, Nicholas,” I took off the sleep mask and flashed him a smile, “how can I keep up with so many names that make your day-to-day life that much simpler?”
As he laughed yet again, a bemused voice crackled from over the speakers.
“Please take a seat as we prepare for take-off. In honor of Ms. Wilder, we’ll officially be experiencing a bit more turbulence than usual...”
I flipped him off with a grin as my phone buzzed in my bag. While Nick wrangled us two glasses of complimentary champagne (as if we needed any more to drink tonight), I dug around just in time to see my mother’s name light up on the screen. My face wilted for a moment as my finger hovered uncertainly over the two options to reply.
“Who’s that?” Nick asked, passing me a drink.
I ignored it quickly and stashed it back in my bag, surfacing with a grateful smile as I took my first bubbling sip. “It’s my mom. I’ll call her back later. Ironing out all the fine details of our arrangement is very important.”
His eyes twinkled as he held up his glass.
“In that case...to us. To wherever this crazy road may lead.”
Wherever indeed...
We clinked glasses and downed the champagne with the speed of two people who had long since numbed themselves to the taste of alcohol for the night. The glasses were refilled, and we leaned back comfortably as the plane took off and lifted through the midnight clouds.
“You should know,” Nick began with just the faintest hint of a slur, “this is already the most committed relationship I’ve ever been in.” He caught my sarcastic look, and shrugged innocently. “I’m serious. Nothing else comes close. Look at the contenders.”
“What about Janelle?” I reasoned.
Janelle Mirach was one of Nick’s only consorts that I had actually ever liked. Unlike the rest of the endless parade, she actually had a good head on her shoulders, and could match him at basically every level of conversation. If it weren’t for the fact that she’d been engaged to a European prince for most of their time together, things might have taken off. I was actually a bit sad to see her go. Sent a personal congratulations card to the wedding.
Nick shook his head slowly. “Janelle was just a friend. She was only ever just a friend.”
My eyebrows shot skeptically into my hair.
“The two of you had an awful lot of sex considering she was just a friend.”
He chuckled and took another swig of champagne.
“I fuck a lot of my friends. How do you think people get to be friends in the first place?”
...Nick always had a rather unique way of seeing the world.
I shook my head and decided to let it go. I’d learned long ago that if I was going to be working with Nick, I was going to have to pick my battles carefully.
You see, when people reach a certain level in the social sphere, certain misconceptions tend to take hold. The persona of a ‘mindless playboy’ seemed to fit, and those who didn’t know him tended to run with that assessment.
But Nick defied the stereotype.
It had only taken a minute of talking to him to realize that the guy had a rather brilliant head on his shoulders. Freakishly brilliant, in fact. Most of the time, it was those same people who underestimated him that were struggling to keep up.
He was beautifully educated, top of his class. Princeton and Harvard undergrad, followed by a stint at Oxford graduate school where he earned not one, but five different degrees.
Granted, he had once told me that all that paled in comparison to an orgasm. He was dripping in champagne at the time, and conspicuously missing his pants.
But like I said...pick my battles.
“Anyway,” I deliberately changed the subject, “we have an awful lot of planning to do if the merger is just three months away. You made some good progress with Ella, but if we’re going to be changing women, then we’re going to have to start from scratch.”
My hands drifted down with something akin to muscle memory and pulled my laptop, phones, and day-planner from my bag. Even a half gallon of tequila couldn’t stop them.
“That means the works. Dinners, galas, award ceremonies, sporting events. In fact,” I raised my laptop frantically in the air above me, trying to get a signal, “when is that one horse race where everyone wears the stupid hats? That could do really nicely—”
“Aaaaaand that’s enough for you.”
With a wide sweep of his arm, Nick confiscated my computer, phones, and champagne all in one fell swoop. Before I could stop him, the top came down, the mobiles vanished, and he had drained the cup—tossing them all on the seat behind him in a careless pile
“Nick!” I screeched, staring after the phones like they were my long-lost children. “What are you doing?! You know better than to touch the—”
“—the what?” he challenged. As usual—he sensed a great deal more than I gave him credit for. A great deal more than I would have wanted. “The kids? They’re phones, Abby.”
I lowered my voice to a furious whisper.
“They can hear you.”
His face softened into an affectionate smile.
“I understand that there’s a lot to be planning, I really do. But before you start buying us horses to race in the Kentucky Derby—”
“—the Kentucky Derby, that’s what it’s called—”
“—let me suggest that you get a little sleep.”
I looked at him doubtfully, but he gestured to the chair with one of those self-righteous looks I’d come to know and love and despise so well.
“I’ll guard them with my life, you have my word. But you,” he pressed me carefully down into a chair of my own, coaxing that sleep mask back up to my eyes, “have drunk enough to make the boys of Ireland proud. Let’s say we sleep it off a little, yeah?”
The chair did look tempting. And what he was saying did make a hell of a lot of sense, but the workaholic in me didn’t really know what ‘sleep’ was.
“I’ll just write emails,” I promised, in what I took to be a very rational voice. “Save them as drafts for later.”
The mask snapped down over my face.
“Rest,” his voice drifted out of the darkness, “we’ll work it out in the morning. It’ll keep until then.”
I didn’t want to do it. I really didn’t. But the plush leather was so inviting, and the second my eyes were closed, I realized how very heavy they’d become. The last thing I remembered before drifting off was a soft rustling sound just over my shoulder. A pair of lips brushed against my forehead—so soft that it was possible I could have imagined it.
A second later, I was awake no more. Drifting in and out of a dozen different time zones as I surrendered myself to the tranquil clarity of sleep.
* * *
When I opened my eyes, what felt like years later, it was still dark outside. Still dark, and yet, I sensed that I had been sleeping for a good long while. It wasn’t until the wheels of the plane jerked hard against the runway, that I realized we had been flying with the clock. Meaning that we might have spent the last six hours in the air, but only thirty minutes had passed in actual time, making it just a little past one in the morning in New York.
“Nick?” I murmured automatically, trying to get my bearings as I glanced around the darkened cockpit. As if to reply, all the lights turned on suddenly to greet me.
“Good morning, sunshine!”
A hot cup of coffee was thrust under my nose. Followed by an insufferably bright smile.
How was it that no matter how many times he crisscrossed the globe, Nick always managed to look as if he’d slept a full eight hours? Even now, after a night of heavy drinking followed by a midnight sprint through downtown Spain, he was all lit up inside. Not a single shadow beneath his sparkling eyes as they beamed down at me, dimples and all.
“It’s dark outside,” I croaked in response, taking the coffee with a petulant swipe.
He grinned. “Yes, but technically morning.”
Remind me to set the Oxford Debate Club on fire.
“At any rate,” he reached down and pulled me gracefully to my feet, “there’s a car ready to take you back to your apartment, your briefcase is already packed, and I’ve had the stewardess lay out some clothes for you to change into.”
My face blanched, and he was quick to explain.
“Not that this late-night clubbing look doesn’t suit you, but I figured you might want something a little more put together now that we’re back on American soil.”
Okay...things were moving a little quick for me to keep up with. Scalding as it was, I gulped down the coffee, and felt as the synapses in my brain slowly blinked back to life.
“Um...thank you,” I murmured, unaccustomed to being on the receiving end of this speech. When Nick was up—he was up. But getting him there often required help from the governments of two separate countries. Wherever he was departing, and wherever he was arriving. Needless to say, it was a speech I had made many, many times myself. “How did you get clothes in my size—”
I started to ask the question, then glanced up at his sarcastic smile and caught myself just in time. Of course his private plane was stocked with women’s clothing. Wake up, Abby.
“I’ll just...get changed.”
With as much dignity as I could muster, I headed to the back of the plane—the ‘bedroom’ portion that I had never spent more than a minute in on any day before. Sure enough, stretched out across the bed was enough ‘jet-setting garb’ to make the designers proud. I needed only a glance to see that it was in exactly my size. There was even a pair of boots to match.
With a secret smile, I slipped inside and shut the door to change. Thinking, for the first time since running away from the club, that being Nick’s girlfriend might not be so bad after all.
A few minutes later, I emerged. Dressed, sober, caffeinated, and ready for whatever the world had to throw at me. I was unaccustomed to these temporary lapses in order, and needless to say, when I stormed back into the main cabin, I had one thing on my mind.
Regain control.
In a lot of ways, this was the dream situation. A handsome, wealthy client. A regimented timeline. And a girl who’s every movement I could anticipate as well as my own. Literally.
It was time for me to take charge. The way I’d been doing for two years. The way I’d been programmed to do for even longer than that.
Of course, at that time, I had no way of knowing the simple truth.
...I was about to lose control completely.
“Okay,” I said brightly, the second I was back, “is everyone ready?”
Nick looked me up and down, before lifting to his feet. He looked rather dapper himself in a designer suit jacket paired with a simple white tee and some faded jeans. It was the ‘artfully cool’ look that so many people tried and failed, but seemed to come effortlessly to a select few.
“Ready.” He paused, then added, “You look nice.”
A faint blush rose up in my neck, as I smoothed down my new clothes.
“Um...thanks. You know that I’ll pay you back for these—”
“Abby,” he held up a hand with a little smile, “this is a professional arrangement, remember? You’re my girlfriend now, so you have to play the part. Let me take care of you.”
That blush rose even higher, but I nodded quickly—bowing my head.
“Fake girlfriend,” I couldn’t help but add. But at the same time, I shot him a sideways grin. He grinned back, echoing the words like a challenge.
“Fake girlfriend.”
As if to mock the sentiment, he stoke confidently forward and slipped an arm around my waist. A host of shivers shot across my skin, but I did my best to keep my composure—fixing on a poker face smile that was just as good as his.
Two could play at this game. I’d coached the best of them. Surely I could do it myself.
“Now that that’s out of the way,” I could have sworn he winked as his hand strayed a tentative inch lower, “shall we?”
There was a low creak as the door started lowering open. A gust of crisp air flooded inside, and almost instinctively, Nick’s arm tightened around me. It was only then that I started to realize something was very, very wrong.
The airport was under siege...by an ARMY of reporters.
“What the fuck?”
It slithered through my teeth before I could stop it, and I cringed backward, molding myself into the little curve beneath Nick’s arm. Since my first day in PR, I had seen more than my share of journalists and paparazzi, but never before had I stood on this side of the cameras.
For the first time, I understood that split second of initial terror that came into so many of my client’s eyes. That instinctual urge to run from the swarming hordes, tempered almost immediately by the practiced habit of standing there instead. Letting them drink their fill.
This was how Nick lived his life? It felt like...this?
“How the hell did they even know we were coming?”
“I may have made a few calls,” Nick answered mischievously, so used to this level of invasive harassment that he was completely immune. My mouth fell open in shock, and he chuckled under his breath. “What can I say? I learned from the best.”
He certainly did. Everyone was here. The Times. The Harold. Associated presses from up and down the east coast. Even the San Francisco Chronicle had sent a representative. I didn’t think there was anyone he had missed.
“I can’t...” I caught my breath and quickly changed the end of that sentence. “I can’t believe you did all this.”
All at once, the weight of my innocent Barcelona decision settled hard upon my shoulders. This wasn’t some frivolous agreement, made outside an ice-cream parlor. It was dedicating myself to an entire way of life for the next three months.
The pros...and the cons.
“Well, you’re stepping into my world,” Nick’s arm tightened around me, and he looked out over the hordes of press with a measured smile, “I thought it was only fair that I take a few pages out of yours...”
I tried to nod, but it felt like my head wasn’t working. With so many pairs of eyes upon me, I suddenly felt as though I couldn’t do anything. Nothing felt natural. Everything felt staged.
Was this how I usually stood? With my feet angled like that? What about my hands—so clunky and in the way. Where the hell was I supposed to put my hands?!
“Hey.”
A gentle voice cut through my panic, heading it off before it could begin. I lifted my eyes to see Nick staring down at me, those blue eyes twinkling back into mine.
“Are you okay?”
All at once, I felt a sudden rush of confidence. Maybe it was the new clothes. Maybe it was the private jet. Maybe it was the fact that not only was I snuggled up in the arms of one of the most desirable men on the planet, but he was a man that I knew, without a shadow of a doubt, I could absolutely trust.
No matter what the reason, I lifted my chin and gazed boldly out across the hangar.
“Yeah—I’m fine.” My blood rose with the challenge. “Let’s do this.”
And that...was when everything fell apart.
I didn’t take one step—not one step—before the world around me lit up with blue. But not just any sort of blue. Not the kind that you could see through, or was, god-forbid, even remotely intermittent. No—this kind of blue pierced through your eyes even when they were closed, burning the retinas while effectively eliminating everything else around it. And it didn’t come and go. I realized this even as I caught my breath, waiting for some kind of relief. Nope, once it started, this kind of blue was here to stay.
I was blind. Absolutely, inescapably, blind.
“Nick—”
“I know,” he said softly, finishing my thought before I had to do it myself.
It was in this moment that I realized something: while all of this was terrifying and new to me, it was as normal to him as his morning run. As his two dozen cups of afternoon coffee. (of course I’m exaggerating about his coffee, but it was a lot!)
This whole time, the last two years, we’d been living in two completely different worlds.
Me—safe on my side of the camera lens.
Him—trapped on the other.
There was a shifting beside me, and I felt the tickle of warm breath as he leaned down to whisper in my ear. “It’s okay...I’ve got you.”
A second later, the ground beneath me disappeared.
I stifled a shriek as a pair of warm arms circled around me, lifting me off my feet as if I weighed nothing more than a doll. A cloud of familiar cologne misted over me, and I turned my head instinctively into Nick’s chest as he carried me effortlessly down the stairs—no doubt flashing his perfect smile the whole time.
I measured the time in terms of his heart beats—steady, despite the madness closing in on every side. One second...two seconds...three...
Every silent marker was punctuated with a million screaming cries, firing at us from every direction.
“NICK—who’s the new girl?!”
“NICK—what happened to Ella?!”
“NICK—will you sign my baby’s face?!”
...a baby’s face?!
Was that one normal? Had I always just tuned that one out before?
I cringed farther into him, and his chest shook slightly, as if he was trying not to laugh. I supposed, from a client’s perspective, this had to be the ultimate revenge.
Finally, the publicist learned how it felt on the wrong side of the camera. Finally, the publicist knew how hard it was to do what they asked their clients to do on a daily basis.
Just a few more steps to the car, just a few more steps to the car...
I chanted it over and over in my mind. But Nick had rather different plans.
When we got to the bottom of the stairs, there was a slight hitch in his breathing. He lifted me higher still, so that he could whisper again in my ear.
“Little detour...do you trust me?”
“What?” I lifted my head, but was blinded again by the lights. “Nick—no!”
I might as well have saved my breath. With a grand flourish worthy of princes of old, Nick lifted his head to address the crowd, cradling me delicately all the while.
“This is Abigail Wilder.”
His hands tightened protectively around me, and my breath caught in my chest. There was something strange about hearing him say my name. He’d said it a million times, of course, but for some reason, it never sounded like how it did today.
It was...possessive, somehow. Said not as a call for attention...but as a caress.
“What happened to Ella?” a brave reporter near the front ventured.
Nick’s body tensed for a moment, and his voice was sharp.
“We don’t say that name, anymore.”
Then, as quickly as it had flared up, his temper cooled. Softened. Giving way to something both gentle, but exciting all at the same time.
“Abigail used to be my publicist. But when we were on holiday in Spain, the relationship blossomed into...other things.”
It was impossible to miss the giant sexual implication in his voice. Even though my eyes were temporarily lit up with stars, I could imagine the exact, devilish smile.
“So what are you two doing now?” someone else shouted near the back.
“...now?”
For the first time, my vision cleared. The blue clouds in front of my eyes dimmed just long enough for me to see Nick staring down at me. A single eyebrow was lifted, and even standing beneath the darkened sky, it was impossible to miss that telltale twinkle in his eyes.
“Now...we’ll just see where the night takes us.”
With that—he swung me down into a cinematic dip. One so low that the tips of my hair brushed the ground. My mouth opened up in a silent scream, but there wasn’t time.
The next thing I knew, he was kissing me.
Really kissing me.
A brand new host of lights and stars erupted behind my eyes, but for whatever reason, this time, they didn’t scare me. In fact, they hardly even registered. My body was frozen, and my eyes were closed. My every thought was focused on this one thing.
Nick was kissing me.
I was kissing Nick.
...where the hell did we go from here?