One Bossy Dare

I roll my eyes. “Hey, you get an exception with Destiny. With her, you’re no lump of anything but love.”

He smiles at me so sincerely my heart flips over.

“Badger Lady, that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me. This trip is off to a damn good start already.”

“Don’t get used to it,” I throw back, feeling my face heat.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Kate boards the plane last after a few other staff and settles into a recliner. From their chatter, she made a last-minute decision to join us on the trip. There are a couple other senior staff types I recognize by face but not by name.

From the looks of it, I’m the only person aboard who isn’t part of the c-team except for the flight crew. “Who do we have with us?”

“Most of my executive team, you, and Destiny,” he answers, staring at his phone.

Hmm.

Why did he pull me in over Gina with her seniority? What we’re really doing jetting off to Hawaii has still been awfully vague, aside from the 'lucrative new opportunity' mentioned in his email the other evening.

Goosebumps form on my arm when he says “you and Destiny.”

This is also new.

Referring to us—to me—so casually.

Eliza, stop. It’s not personal.

He’s not playing you like Derek—and even if he wanted to, he’s still your freaking boss.

Cole Lancaster is not that stupid.

Every better instinct I have tries to choke the dreamy side of me trying to read way too much into mundane changes in his word choices.

But if I’m being honest, his age, chiseled appearance, and dangerously overconfident attitude aren’t my biggest problems.

My fingers were practically in his mouth.

Our mouths were inches apart when I tripped and crashed into his chest.

We lived the awkwardly funny setup of every bad romantic comedy and—

—and Commander Snarlypants wasn’t even interested.

He ran off to go plan this trip like I was radioactive.

What do you even make of that?

No one likes rejection. But I’m lucky that he isn’t interested in me that way—right?

Otherwise, I’d just get played again, and this time wind up jobless.

I inhale sharply—another thing I instantly regret.

His scent is flipping intoxicating today. Citrus and dark roast and raging testosterone.

He’s sexier than ever without even trying to be.

This man’s very presence is determined to complicate my life.

Something about his immaculately pressed grey suit against the spotless white leather of the jet feels tantalizing. It’s like I’m seeing him in his natural habitat, like a tiger relaxing under a tree between hunts.

I’m sure I’m about to regret asking this, but I have to know.

“Question.” I wait for him to look up from his phone.

He’s not annoyed. Good sign, I guess.

“Why am I the only person along for the ride who isn’t part of the executive team?”

“It’s your coffee, Miss Angelo. Only you know if the beans are absolutely right, how much to use, and how to roast them,” he says, returning to his reading.

Oh. That makes sense.

My stomach drops with shame. I’m not sure what I was expecting.

Would I have really liked it better if he’d said, “Because I couldn’t handle a week without seeing you.”

You know the answer, idiot.

Sweet agony, your name is Eliza.

Four a.m. flights weren’t meant to be shared with Big Daddy incarnate lounging across the table from you, his long legs splayed out casually, his fingers stroking his beard in a way that’s almost obscene without even trying to be.

Even when he changes seats several times, he’s always too close. Looming too large in my field of vision.

I’ve got to get this billionaire incubus out of my head.

Also, I need a cup of coffee.

I don’t know how these things work on a private jet. People knock commercial airlines, but at least you know that half an hour after takeoff, you’ll get a mediocre cup of joe. Bad as it may be, it’s still coffee.

“You’re quiet today,” he says just as I’m about to get up.

“I wish you were.”

He looks up over his phone, not amused.

“Not fair. I even carried your bag, brat.”

I gasp when he calls me that and instantly regret it. Those sky-blue eyes are laughing at me, even when his lips are barely quirked.

“I was going to grab breakfast. Do you want a cookie?” I ask.

He leans in closer and whispers, “Only if it’s dark chocolate over graham cracker—and you shovel it into my face again.”

Oh, God. Oh, God.

My stomach knots. Is he trying to kill me with flirting or confusion?

...because that sounded like a bona fide Cole Lancaster flirt.

My throat closes up. Almost like I’m allergic to handsome men messing with me.

I don’t know what to say.

But I can’t leave a deafening silence, so I say, “I’m sure I could find a badger to feed you cookies, if that’s what you really want.”

“Maybe. I do have a specific badger in mind, and I think she’s the only one allowed on this flight under Hawaiian environmental regulations. Any invasive species can be seriously destructive.”