That’s it. Black and white, neatly collated by Gareth and our assistant Bianca. With any luck, this will be the last joint deal I do with him. My eyes drift to the bottom of the page, where Gareth’s signature is scrawled, and my heart does a funny little tremble because in a few short hours he’ll be signing his name like that on a wedding certificate.
Nausea perforates my belly and I blink furiously. I will not cry. I’ve done that. I’ve done more than enough. I think I spent the first three weeks after he left me curled in a ball whenever I wasn’t at work.
No more.
I want to put him behind me, I want to live my life and I want to be happy. I’m never going to let myself depend on anyone else again. I’m never going to let myself care for someone more than they care for me. From now on, it’s me against the world. Okay, me and Penny.
‘Which way, love?’
‘Oh—’ I scan the green road signs above the busy six-carriageway entrance to the airport ‘—left—private tarmac.’
‘La-di-da.’ The driver grins. ‘Going somewhere fancy?’
‘Work,’ I say with a grimace, skimming my eyes over the road as he turns into a separate lane and then steers us to the private terminals.
I suggested I meet Mr Billionaire J Ryan Hart in the Whitsundays, but he had business in Sydney and suggested the flight would be a good time to go over the financials—who was I to argue? It’s my first time on a private jet. And while Old Me might have balked at the very idea—I’m not exactly a confident flyer—New Me is saying ‘yes’ to new experiences. Even this one.
‘Only ten minutes behind schedule,’ my driver chirrups as he pulls the car to a stop on the tarmac. ‘Here okay?’
I look at the jet and a kaleidoscope of butterflies launches in my gut.
‘Perfect,’ I murmur. This isn’t a little twin-prop plane. This is a proper Airbus or Boeing or something. It’s big. With HART BROTHERS emblazoned down the side in gold lettering. And while there’s no red carpet on the metallic stairs, I seriously feel like there could and should be.
This is a whole other world.
‘Thank you.’ I offer the driver cash and step out of the car, moving to the boot. He clicks it open and I pull my suitcase out myself, barely able to take my eyes off the plane.
There’s a solitary staff member at the bottom of the steps, wearing a generic airport staff uniform.
‘Miss Llewellyn?’
I nod, and the airport worker takes my suitcase from me. ‘Do you have identification?’
I pull my driver’s licence from my purse, holding it for inspection.
‘Great. Plane’s all ready. Head on up. Mr Hart is waiting.’
Mr Hart is waiting. Crap.
I hoped he might have been caught up in the same traffic jam I was, but apparently I’m just not that lucky.
‘You’ll take care of that?’ I nod to my suitcase.
‘Of course, madam.’
‘Thank you.’ I smile, over-bright, trying to appear more confident than I feel. But it’s silly to be nervous. This is what I do. What I’m good at. Really good at. I match people to property. I see what’s special about something, and someone, and I match those qualities together.
The traffic couldn’t be helped, but everything else is within my control. Mr J Ryan Hart has no idea I’m a bundle of emotions today because of my ex’s marriage and my very hot, very kinky one-night stand. I’m going to walk onto this jet and be the consummate professional I actually am.
This is business.
All business.
Pep talk firmly in place, I take the steps, smiling at a steward just inside the doors. ‘Good morning, Miss Llewellyn. Mr Hart asked you to join him in the boardroom. Halfway down on the right.’
I resist an urge to laugh. A boardroom on a plane? I’m definitely not in Kansas any more.
‘Sure.’