Risky Business

“I understand,” I reply, nodding impatiently. “I have to get in touch with the private plane company right away to fly to LA.” I’m already up and running for my bedroom, throwing socks, underwear, jeans, and a T-shirt in a duffle bag. As I head into the bathroom for my toothbrush and deodorant, Toni stops me.

“Okay, so to the airport, get to Jayme . . . then what?”

“What?” I mutter, considering my razor. I haven’t shaved in a couple of days and my scruff is getting a bit prickly. If I’m going to spend some quality time between Jayme’s thighs, I don’t want to leave her scratched up. Hopefully, I toss it in the bag too.

Toni claps her hands sharply, demanding my attention. “You’re going step one to step ten, skipping all the in-between. What are you going to do? How are you going to apologize? What are you going to say?”

I freeze. She’s got a good point. But then again . . .

“I’ll wing it. Speak from the heart or whatever,” I growl, not wanting to slow down. I have to hurry. I glance at my watch.

“How long do you think it’ll take me to get to the airport? Plus flight and drive time in LA.” I’m trying to add in my head, making sure I can get there by seven o’clock. Did Taya set me up for failure by making an impossible deadline? I wouldn’t put it past her.

But I think I can make it.

No, I know I can.

“Yeah, that’s done so well for you in the past,” Toni says wryly. “Maybe just think about it on the flight? Write some notes on your hand or something,” she suggests.

I grab my bag, rushing for the door, but I take the time to do one last thing. “Hey. Thank you,” I tell her, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “Wish me luck?”

Toni’s lips lift incrementally. “You won’t need it. You’ve got love on your side.”

I hope that’s enough.

My motorcycle roars loudly, echoing against the metal of the hangars at the airport. I beeline for the one Jayme took me to last time and find a plane sitting on the runway out front. A flight attendant is standing at the steps.

I park quickly and run toward her. “I think you’ve got me down for a flight to LA?”

“Yes, sir. Please board. We’ll be departing momentarily now that all our guests have arrived,” she says politely.

All guests?

I climb the handful of steps into the plane and see exactly who the flight attendant was talking about. Jameson and Leah Brooks are sitting side by side, holding hands with stiff backs and straight faces, obviously waiting for me.

Shit.

Toni was right. I should’ve prepared.

But I’m not letting Jayme’s parents get in my way. If Jayme tells me to fuck off, I’ll consider it . . . after begging, pleading, and doing anything I can to get her back. But her parents? Nothing they can say or do is going to stop me, short of throwing my body out the door of the plane at ten thousand feet.

“Mr. Brooks. Mrs. Brooks,” I greet them, offering a handshake. Maybe next time, it’ll include an accompanying smile and some charm, but not now. I’m single-mindedly focused on one thing—Jayme.

Jameson Brooks, the most powerful, richest, most influential man on the face of the planet, looks to his wife. She smiles softly, and only then does he take my hand. There’s something intimate and meaningful about that moment between them, and I’m reminded of one of those cheesy sayings about there being a strong woman behind every successful man. I think Leah is that for Jameson.

With a start, I realize that Izzy is that for my dad, too, in a way my mother never was and never could be because they weren’t a partnership.

I want Jayme to be that for me, the way she has been through this whole Abby Burks thing and the Freedom Fest. She’s taught me so much, saving me from myself and showing me that I can be better, do better without taking stupid risks or turning my back on my family.

Equally as importantly, I want to be that for her. I want to learn all her history, not the edited version she’s forced to share to keep her secret safe. I want to make her dinner when she has a hard day and rub her feet while she bitches about some crazy celebrity she’s trying to help un-fuck their life. I want to know what she thinks about, dreams about, and more.

I want for us to be each other’s support systems, lifting each other up through hard times and celebrating good times together. I want us to be partners in every sense of the word. My strength behind her success, and hers behind mine.