“At Riptide, correct? Isn’t that where you worked before joining us?”
“Technically,” I say, “I still do. I’m on leave until January.”
“In other words,” he observes, “my son hasn’t convinced you to stay as of yet.”
“Not exactly,” I say. “It’s complicated.”
The elevator opens and he motions me forward. We now have the awkward walk to the garage elevator. Together. This encounter just won’t end and as if proving that point, the minute we’re in the second elevator, Jack is facing me again. “Define complicated.”
“I never intended to stay,” I reply, “and now the question of staying or going, becomes, as I said, complicated.”
“Ah,” he says. “Complicated is personal. I understand.”
The doors open and I all but bolt into the garage, eager to escape to my car, but he’s not having it. He steps into my space and pauses beside me. “Perhaps I can make it less complicated, Allie. We’ll talk when you get back from New York.”
He gives me a warm look, almost too warm, though I feel as if Jack Hawk flirts with the world, it’s just his way before he walks toward what I believe to be a Jaguar. Once I’m in my car, I replay the conversation. What exactly does that mean? He’s going to make it less complicated?
And why does it make me uncomfortable?
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
Dash books us in first class for the long flight to New York City, and does so with the hopes he can get in some good quality writing time. It’s mid-day when we settle into our seats and I’m a bit emotional about the trip.
The flight attendant offers us drinks and Dash orders some sort of whiskey while I welcome a glass of champagne.
“You’re nervous,” Dash observes.
“Why do you say that?”
“I’m observant like that. Talk to me. What are you feeling?”
“Excited for your signing. Nervous about dealing with my boss.”
“Why nervous?”
“Well, if you knew Mark Compton, you’d understand that he creates that in everyone. But bottom line, he’s going to pressure me about my loyalty to Riptide over Hawk Legal.”
“And where does it lie?”
With you, and my mother, I think, but also to the job I’m tasked with performing. “To the charity,” I say. “I’m passionate about what I’m doing with it. I want it to be wildly successful.”
“I’m glad you are,” he says, and it feels as if he’s talking about more than my commitment to the charity. Almost as if he knows that commitment is part of my commitment to him.
“Didn’t you say you’ve traveled with your job?” he asks.
“I went to Germany, London, and Italy, and a couple of different states, all for publishing events.”
“And you liked those places?”
“Italy and Germany quite a lot. I didn’t get to see much of London. The event was just too far from the tourist sites.”
“London is a lot like New York City, familiar in a way you don’t expect. Did you ever travel with your father?”
“No,” I say. “He was literally gone my entire childhood. My understanding is he left my mom behind when he went on the road. It made it easier to play around on her. When I first got the job in publishing, she was jealous. Books and travel were as much her dream job as mine.”
“Good thing you like both considering books and travel are my life. I’m pretty sure we can find some ways to turn her into an adventurer.”
“Dash,” I whisper, my heart squeezing with his words that suggest we are so much more than a three-month playdate. His eyes meet mine, tenderness in their depths, as he lifts my hand and kisses it.
The moment is cut short when the intercom sounds and announcements are made, forcing us to prepare for takeoff. “You need to write,” I say. “We both know you’re going to get pressured about that book in New York.”
“Yeah. You have no idea, baby. But yes, I’m going to write.”
We settle back into our seats, and I rest my head on the cushion. I’m going to New York with Dash, which in and of itself, is really quite surreal. But even more so how I feel about my return to the city. It’s hard to believe that the city of lights, action, and magic that it had once been to me, is more a muted story that feels overdone.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
After a flight delay and dinner in the airport, we arrive at the Jersey airport at eight that night. By the time we’re in Manhattan, it’s after nine. By the time we’re in the fancy presidential suite of a high-rise hotel, we’re halfway to ten. The bellman escorts us to our room, and while Dash talks to him, I take in the room of blues and creams that includes a living area kitchen combo, and a full dining table. Of course, there are windows. Lots of windows, with the kind of views that only the rich and famous enjoy in this city.