some reason, this irks me. “Hey, Carly?”
I stop with my hand on the door.
“I’m taking some of the crew to my island for the holiday. Real last-minute.” His tone is so distracted it confuses me. Did he actually say my name or did I imagine it? “You should come.” He doesn’t bother to look at me, like this is such a casual invitation it doesn’t even warrant eye contact. Private island?
“And leave all this?” Dramatically, I sweep a hand across the barren white patches illuminated in the hotel’s floodlights. “Besides, I’ve got a real special day planned with the roaches in my room.” I roll my eyes and glance over my shoulder into the stairwell. Warm air seeps from the opened door, blowing blond hair over my cheeks. The light flooding from inside chases the sick-looking yellow hue from his face. His head pops up from studying his phone and he howls with laughter at my joke. The sound is so carefree and wild that a smile twitches the corner of my lips. He rocks back onto his heels, leaning into the cement wall, appraising me with a new appreciation. It’s not at all a reaction I expect from an old man.
“Just come. It’ll be fun.” His focus shifts back to his phone, and his brow darkens as he reads something on the screen. “At the very least you can knock the chill out of your bones for a few days.” He shrugs without looking up at me. Oh, now that is tempting. A perfectly timed gust of wind scuttles down my back and I shiver, drawing the parka closer to me.
“I don’t have clothes.” Wait...am I actually considering this?
“I’m sure Heather has something you can wear at the island.” Oh, sun and sand would be so nice right now, but I can’t do it. I just can’t say the word he wants to hear. “Come on, you know you want to.” His voice is low and teasing as he brings the phone up to his ear and the blue backlight turns his immaculate row of white teeth into a violet smile. “Just say yes.” He’s whispering, and if he weren’t such an old man it might actually sound somewhat seductive.
“What the hell?” I throw my hands in the air and my head back to the sky, not wanting to see the smug smile of victory I’m sure is planted over his arrogant lips.
“Good. My jet’s at the airfield outside of town. Wheels up in two hours.” He wiggles a couple of fingers at me. Jet? Vomit! “Thomas? Devon. Yeah, I got your email...” His look goes all serious and businesslike before he turns away. Once again dismissed, I step into the hotel’s warm light.
“Say.” I nearly jump out of my skin. He’s right at my shoulder, whispering and holding a hand over his phone to mute the conversation. “Think you could grab a taxi? The last thing I need is stories circling stateside about us.”
Oh , I’m sure it is , Mr. Perfect.
Chapter Five
Three rows of double-sized, ivory leather recliners—divided one and one down a beige-carpeted aisle—line the considerable length of Devon’s jet. Behind the seats, a bank of buttery sofas surround a lacquered conference table. In the very back, a stainless steel and dark wood dining area sits in front of closed double doors I assume lead to an equally extravagant bedroom.
Illuminated in the warm glow of reading lights, polished wood grain tables sit in front of each seat. No fold-down trays for Devon Hayes. Through floor-to-ceiling oval windows at each seat, the runway’s blinking lights flash against the glasslike strobe lights on a disco floor.
I shrink back momentarily into the little alcove reserved for staff, feeling so far out of my element it isn’t even funny. Devon turns to me, and for a cold second I stare at him like some star-struck fan, bewilderment washing down my face. Recovering slightly, I gulp and force my chin into the air, looking away as if something has caught my eye. At my side, the worn-out Louis Vuitton duffel I carry is even more out of place than I am. I pull the strap forward and tuck the bag behind my
I stop with my hand on the door.
“I’m taking some of the crew to my island for the holiday. Real last-minute.” His tone is so distracted it confuses me. Did he actually say my name or did I imagine it? “You should come.” He doesn’t bother to look at me, like this is such a casual invitation it doesn’t even warrant eye contact. Private island?
“And leave all this?” Dramatically, I sweep a hand across the barren white patches illuminated in the hotel’s floodlights. “Besides, I’ve got a real special day planned with the roaches in my room.” I roll my eyes and glance over my shoulder into the stairwell. Warm air seeps from the opened door, blowing blond hair over my cheeks. The light flooding from inside chases the sick-looking yellow hue from his face. His head pops up from studying his phone and he howls with laughter at my joke. The sound is so carefree and wild that a smile twitches the corner of my lips. He rocks back onto his heels, leaning into the cement wall, appraising me with a new appreciation. It’s not at all a reaction I expect from an old man.
“Just come. It’ll be fun.” His focus shifts back to his phone, and his brow darkens as he reads something on the screen. “At the very least you can knock the chill out of your bones for a few days.” He shrugs without looking up at me. Oh, now that is tempting. A perfectly timed gust of wind scuttles down my back and I shiver, drawing the parka closer to me.
“I don’t have clothes.” Wait...am I actually considering this?
“I’m sure Heather has something you can wear at the island.” Oh, sun and sand would be so nice right now, but I can’t do it. I just can’t say the word he wants to hear. “Come on, you know you want to.” His voice is low and teasing as he brings the phone up to his ear and the blue backlight turns his immaculate row of white teeth into a violet smile. “Just say yes.” He’s whispering, and if he weren’t such an old man it might actually sound somewhat seductive.
“What the hell?” I throw my hands in the air and my head back to the sky, not wanting to see the smug smile of victory I’m sure is planted over his arrogant lips.
“Good. My jet’s at the airfield outside of town. Wheels up in two hours.” He wiggles a couple of fingers at me. Jet? Vomit! “Thomas? Devon. Yeah, I got your email...” His look goes all serious and businesslike before he turns away. Once again dismissed, I step into the hotel’s warm light.
“Say.” I nearly jump out of my skin. He’s right at my shoulder, whispering and holding a hand over his phone to mute the conversation. “Think you could grab a taxi? The last thing I need is stories circling stateside about us.”
Oh , I’m sure it is , Mr. Perfect.
Chapter Five
Three rows of double-sized, ivory leather recliners—divided one and one down a beige-carpeted aisle—line the considerable length of Devon’s jet. Behind the seats, a bank of buttery sofas surround a lacquered conference table. In the very back, a stainless steel and dark wood dining area sits in front of closed double doors I assume lead to an equally extravagant bedroom.
Illuminated in the warm glow of reading lights, polished wood grain tables sit in front of each seat. No fold-down trays for Devon Hayes. Through floor-to-ceiling oval windows at each seat, the runway’s blinking lights flash against the glasslike strobe lights on a disco floor.
I shrink back momentarily into the little alcove reserved for staff, feeling so far out of my element it isn’t even funny. Devon turns to me, and for a cold second I stare at him like some star-struck fan, bewilderment washing down my face. Recovering slightly, I gulp and force my chin into the air, looking away as if something has caught my eye. At my side, the worn-out Louis Vuitton duffel I carry is even more out of place than I am. I pull the strap forward and tuck the bag behind my
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