Emily was sitting at her desk at The Sentry going over her notes for the first installment of “The Bishop Chronicles,” as she was now calling them. She had been mildly concerned before she had even started that her childhood affection for Nathan would somehow show in the story; now she was panicked that the story would scream I am hopelessly in love with this man!
Nathan Bishop was a lot of things to a lot of people. The surprising thing was that he didn’t seem to mind being thought of like a careless partier, a shameless playboy, or a ruthless shark; what he did not want to be portrayed as was a hero. He discouraged any mention of his time in the military and out-and-out forbade her to recount any of the stories he had shared “off the record” about his service. If he was going to be a hero, he was going to be the unsung kind. It was funny, but Emily understood. He was not bothered by misperception; he just didn’t want anyone to know the real him. His need for privacy was innate. He didn’t care if a sex tape leaked, but he would hate it if the world knew his secret habit of keeping a small seashell in his pocket and rubbing it for luck. He didn’t want the world to see the most private parts of him, the parts he showed to her, and that made her feel... cherished.
She had notes typed on her tablet, handwritten on a legal pad, and scrawled on Post-its, but slowly she was making sense of it all. She glanced up as her phone buzzed, dancing on her desk. She scrolled to the text.
Mr. Wonderful: Pack a bag.
Emily: Is that an order, sir?
Mr. Wonderful: I like the “sir,” but no, it’s a request.
Emily: Any specifics?
Mr. Wonderful: Pack for a sunny surprise.
Emily: So just sunscreen then?
Mr. Wonderful: You just made me drop my phone.
Emily: So, I’m getting better at this flirting thing?
Mr. Wonderful: I’ve created a monster. Should I be worried?
Emily: Never.
Mr. Wonderful: Friday at 2. I’ll send a car.
Emily: I have a job.
Mr. Wonderful: I thought I was your job.
Emily: You have a point.
Mr. Wonderful: See you then, Emily.
Emily: Looking forward to it...
She noticed that since he’d discovered the truth, he only called her Emily, not Em, no endearment. It was like he couldn’t say it enough. She certainly couldn’t hear it enough.
On Friday, Emily stood in her lobby holding a Louis Vuitton weekend duffle and a small La Perla shopping bag. Her tease was wasted, as it turned out because only Andrew greeted her when the Range Rover pulled up to the curb. He was a bit more conversational than he had been in their past interactions. He asked about her day. When Emily mentioned he didn’t say much, he confessed that was the facetious source of his call sign, “Chat.” Nathan had a work emergency. Andrew clarified, “He said it’s nothing of concern and he would meet you at the airport.” By airport, he meant Teterboro, where one of the Knightsgrove-Bishop Gulfstreams sat poised near the runway. Emily flew private all the time, but even for her, this was beyond. After depositing her things in the plush bedroom, she settled into a cream leather seat and sipped on the bottled water the attendant, a gangly man named Brian, offered up.
Emily had done a lot to overcome the claustrophobia that had gripped her intensely when she first came home, but extended time periods alone in small spaces still induced panic. After twenty minutes, she started to shake, and she knew a panic attack was in the offing. Fortunately, the cabin hatch was still open, awaiting Nathan’s arrival, and she quickly moved to the doorway. She sat on the top step and took even breaths, focusing on the sky. In the distance, a black Bugatti Chiron tore across the tarmac. She rolled her eyes. Seriously? Sometimes she forgot the Nathan Bishop of today had an image to uphold. He parked, and the doors popped out and up like the wings on Mercury’s helmet. He emerged and jogged to her, taking the stairs two at a time.
“What are you doing out here?”
“Just getting some air.” It was the truth.
“Emily?” He leaned into her face, kissing the small wrinkle between her eyebrows.
“Sometimes small spaces... it’s not a big deal.”
He sighed into her neck. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think...”
“Stop. You can’t anticipate every little quirk I’m going to have. And trust me, there are plenty.”
He kissed her then. “And I look forward to discovering, and in the future, anticipating every single one.” She smiled against his lips, and he spoke against hers, “Can you go back in?”
“Yes, I’m fine.”