She was going to be sick.
“Jesus,” she whispered, gripping the steering wheel as though it was a life preserver—the only thing keeping her afloat after being tossed overboard into the choppy ocean. Her hands shook as she opened the car door and stepped out into the hot, steamy Florida morning.
Every cell in her brain screamed at her to get back in the car and return to the itty-bitty apartment where she’d found love and acceptance. Back to Scott. If she drove fast enough, she might even be able to get home before he discovered her note.
Before he noticed she’d left him.
Home.
Never in a million years would she have thought a five hundred square foot efficiency apartment would feel more like home than her mansion in Chicago, but Scott and his family taught her home wasn’t a place. It wasn’t square footage or décor. It wasn’t expensive crap no one would give a shit about when she died. It was the people who loved and respected her.
The man she loved.
Instead of giving in to the instinct to flee, she forced her legs to move in the direction of Lance’s plane. As she drew close, a male flight attendant stepped onto the steps leading to the Jet. Tall, dark-haired, and thin without being scrawny, she recognized him at first glance.
“Great,” she mumbled.
“Good morning, Ms. Truitt. It’s nice to see you again.” His smarmy grin never failed to make her skin crawl. As Lance’s favorite, he’d served her on countless flights. “Almost didn’t recognize you dressed like that.”
“Hello, Roddy,” she replied with the polite mask she’d worn for years. True, he’d probably never seen her in anything but designer clothes, a full face of makeup, and styled hair. The denim cutoffs, ribbed tank top, and casual sandals had to be a bit of a shock as did her naked face and sloppy ponytail. Truth be told, she’d grown to love this dressed-down look for more than just comfort.
She thought she looked cute. And Scott sure loved it when her legs were bare. The man rested his hand on her thigh all the time.
Scott.
God, how was it possible to miss him so fiercely already?
Roddy stepped aside to let her pass but the second she came through the small door, he moved closer. His body brushed hers.
What the hell? Was that an erection she felt against her hip?
When she drew back on instinct, he chuckled beneath his breath.
What the hell?
“Take your seat, ma’am,” he said, his voice laced with humor. We can leave as soon as you’re settled.”
“Thank you,” she muttered as she scurried away from him with a shudder. She settled into a plush chair on the left side of the plane. The buttery soft leather cushioned her bare legs with a luxurious touch she hadn’t felt in weeks. Yet despite her extensive history with expensive materials, she suddenly preferred the cheap polyester of the mini couch in her apartment.
At least there, she wasn’t afraid.
Liv closed her eyes, blocking out Roddy as he moved about the cabin, preparing for takeoff. His leg bumped her shoulder as he passed. Probably some lame attempt to intimidate her. Hell, Lance could’ve put him up to it for all she knew.
Unfortunately, with her eyes closed, the only thing she could see were the countless mental pictures of Scott she’d taken.
Scott, laughing with his brothers.
Scott’s face full of supreme happiness while riding.
Scott naked.
Scott’s hands on her.
Scott, coming.
God, this was torture.
Roddy’s movement stopped, and Liv could’ve sworn he settled down in the chair opposite hers.
“Don’t you have a job to do?” she asked. The bitchy, superior tone she’d shed in Florida returned with a vengeance.
When he didn’t reply, she frowned. “Roddy?” She opened her eyes, blinking the man across from her into view.
Her heart stopped dead in her chest.
“Hello, Olivia,” Lance said with bone-chilling calm.
Her breath seized, and words wouldn’t come.
Her heart pounded as her gaze flicked to the emergency exit. She thought she could face him, but one second in his presence and every instinct she had screamed at her to run. Could she make it? If she shoved him? Kicked him in the nuts?
Maybe.
“Don’t bother,” he said with a chuckle. “Everything is locked. I’d say you look good…” he continued, with a sour expression as though he’d bitten into something spoiled, “… but you look cheap. Not quite like a whore but close. Luckily, I have appropriate clothing for you.”
Months ago, that comment would’ve sent her into a tailspin. She’d have revamped her entire wardrobe to make sure she had the trendiest, most high-fashion outfits to earn his favor. Now his disapproval thrilled her.
“Thank you,” she said with a smirk. Damn, it felt good to find her voice. “I’d say it was good to see you, but we both know I’d be lying. And by the way, I don’t give a shit if you like my outfit. I’m not wearing it for you.”