The Temptation (Filthy Rich Americans 5)

The restroom was at the back of the plane and spanned the entire width, making it as spacious as it was elegant. It had gold taps perched over the sink. Gold fucking taps. I stared at myself in the mirror after washing my hands, looking horribly out of place in my t-shirt, sweatpants, and sneakers. I was a girl who’d grown up in the streets of NYC, struggling with her family just to get by. How was I going to fool anyone into believing I belonged in this world?

Pull your shit together, Emery. You can do this.

I paced my way back up the long aisle, past the couch and desk the Hales probably used as a workstation whenever they flew and needed to conduct business, moving until I reached the seat Vance was occupying. Like last time, he stood, but this time I didn’t hold back. I set my left hand on his hard chest, using it to steady myself as I attempted to shuffle past. His attention went to that, but also the way I brushed my body against his.

It meant I was free to help myself to his back pocket with my right hand. While he focused on the way my breasts skimmed against the front of his sweater, he was oblivious to my fingers latching on to his phone. Getting it out of his pocket was done in one quick, clean lift, and to ensure he didn’t notice, I let out a soft sigh. Like I was acknowledging the awkward dance between us for me to return to my seat.

His smile confirmed he wasn’t aware of anything but me, which was exactly how I wanted it. He didn’t see when I slid his phone into the pocket of my sweatpants because the whole lift was done in under three seconds. I took my seat, and he took his, and we made it through dinner and another glass of wine before he attempted to retrieve his phone.

I played dumb as confusion ran through him. I watched him stand and slide a hand into his back pocket, only to discover it empty.

“Is something wrong?”

He turned and looked down at the seat, perhaps wondering if it had fallen out. Then he bent and looked on the floor, while worry filled his voice. “I can’t find my phone.”

“Oh . . . you mean this phone?”

He paused at my question.

Then his head slowly turned so he could spy me cradling the thin, sleek phone in my hand. The one with a black case that was most definitely his, and a victorious smile burned across my lips.

It only took him a fraction of a second to realize how I’d gotten it. Rather than look annoyed, excitement burst through his expression. “Teach me.”

His demand punched a laugh from my chest.

SEVEN

EMERY

After we disembarked the plane at the airport in Nice, we took a short helicopter flight to Monaco and landed on the helipad atop a hotel in Monte Carlo. I’d barely slept on the plane, too excited and anxious about the week, and adrenaline pushed me through the helicopter transfer. But now time was catching up to me, and I stifled a yawn as we rode the elevator in the luxury hotel.

Vance was faring better than I was. It was eleven in the morning here—but felt like five a.m. after a restless night to me. He’d at least caught a few hours of shuteye after he’d given me a primer on Formula One racing and finished going over the itinerary. There were so many events, I wondered if we’d get a moment to breathe between them.

Dark whiskers dusted his usually clean-shaven face, and his eyes weren’t as bright as normal, but leave it to him to still look amazing when he was tired.

Last night, I’d declined to show him how I’d lifted his phone. He’d insisted at first, but when he kept pressing, I told him the first one was free. After that, he’d have to show me something in exchange.

He knew exactly what I wanted, and that got him to back down.

The elevator doors were polished to a mirror finish, and I combed a hand through my hair to get it to lay right. The customer relations manager standing beside me noticed and gave me a gentle smile through the reflection in the doors. He was a tall, elegant man with a thick French accent and perfect posture that would make a ballerina weep.

“Here we are,” he said after leading us down the hall and unlocking the only door at the end of it. “The Carré d'Or Suite.”

He said a bunch of other things after that, something about an award-winning designer and the Louis XVI furnishings, but I couldn’t process anything once I stepped inside. My gaze was drawn to the floor-to-ceiling picture windows that had sweeping views of the city and the sparkling ocean that lay beyond it.