“Just relaying their epic vacation disasters.”
“Well, we’re not going to have to worry about any of that on our travels.”
Her brow crooked. “How can you be so sure? The airline could easily lose our luggage and we’ll all be fucked.”
“Hard for them to lose our luggage when we’re not flying commercial. I’m chartering a jet. Your clothes will be safely stored onboard, never to be separated from you.”
She stared at him for endless moments. Christian wasn’t quite sure in which direction her thoughts ran, so he sipped his champagne while she gaped.
Eventually, she came around and said, “We’re flying on a private jet?”
“Gulfstream. Very well appointed. You’ll like it. No miniature bottles of hooch, though. All full-size.”
“Wow.” She reached for her own glass and sipped much more gingerly than before. As though she was suddenly wary of getting tipsy. Like her glittery vision of a private plane would turn into a pumpkin if she didn’t keep her wits about her.
Christian said, “I’ll take care of all the details. You just have to narrow down your thoughts on locales. You’re a bit all over the place. No problem there, but you haven’t really hit upon anything that lights you up. So far, these are all destinations your friends have told you about.”
“That’s because I’ve never been anywhere, Christian.”
“Not true. You lived in San Francisco and are now in Manhattan, Bayli. Top global destinations. Ask anyone. Ask the Japanese.”
She laughed. “You just had to bring that up.” Though she couldn’t disagree, and he knew it. “Put that way, I do feel a bit worldlier than I did five seconds ago.”
“Perspective is everything, sweetheart.”
Bayli leaned in close and said, “Thank you for not judging, Christian Davila.”
He kissed the tip of her nose. “Never.”
FOURTEEN
Rory felt a surge of excitement when he crossed the dining room, spying Christian and Bayli in a private moment. Sort of lost in each other’s eyes. That was Christian and his romantic nature.
Typically, Rory would have smirked over such sappiness. But not this time. He found it riveting that Bayli looked so taken … and so did Christian.
Something brewed amongst the three of them that wasn’t Rory and Christian’s norm. Because Bayli Styles wasn’t their norm.
She was striking in ways that went well beyond physical attractiveness. And all that inner vibrancy called to Rory. Along with the way Christian was in tune with her as well.
A server trailed behind Rory with a loaded tray as he made his way down the short line of steps to the back corner where Christian and Bayli were huddled in a booth. Rory had showered in the private bathroom adjacent to his office and changed into a suit and tie. It was edging toward half past ten and the kitchen would be closing at eleven. While the food orders were still pouring in and would continue to, Rory’s competent staff had everything under control. So he was joining Christian and Bayli for dinner.
Another unique moment when it came to the two men and a woman they were both interested in. Christian didn’t believe in tying up a table for romantic purposes, and neither did Rory. If they ever occupied a coveted seat during business hours, it was to hobnob with, impress, or influence someone.
Clearly, Christian was still working every angle with Bayli. Then again, so was Rory. He’d already sent out meaty sea scallops with a sweet-and-spicy chili sauce. Caesar salads with a newly concocted, decadent anchovy dressing. Lobster bisque with succulent chunks of lobster meat in the center and drizzled with crème fraîche and cognac. Dinner was a surf and turf sampler. More aphrodisiacs.
Bayli tore her gaze from Christian as Rory approached their table. She smiled brightly, making his pulse jump.
Rory stood to the side as the server delivered the food, starting with the lady, of course.
Who instantly scooted out of the small booth and leapt to her feet. “Oh, my God, Rory!” she hissed under her breath. Pointing to her plate, she said, “Those prawns still have their heads and legs attached and those long, curly antenna things. Their beady little eyes are staring at me.”
Christian laughed. “Really, Bayli, Phillip and Colin would be so proud of your ‘girlish screeching.’”
She shot him a feisty look. “I don’t eat food that can actually see me about to devour it.”
“Well, in the prawns’ defense,” Rory lightly jested, “they are dead. And who are Phillip and Colin?”
“Friends of mine,” she said, “who basically find themselves in every whacky travel or dining scenario imaginable, excluding, I believe, still having the heads on their crustaceans.”