Escorting the Billionaire - Part 3

“I thought you’d be gone by now,” she mumbled.

“They pushed the flight back. Everyone was too hung over to make the earlier one.” I made a big show of looking at my watch. “The flight’s leaving from Logan at eleven. I’d like you to be on it.”

She looked at me, her shoulders sinking down, as if I was asking too much. Part of me wanted to take what pride I had left and leave. But she was still wearing the necklace I’d given her last night, her fingers twined tightly around it. That gave me hope.

“Audrey. We had an arrangement,” I reminded her. “I want you to come with me on this trip.”

“Why.” Her voice was flat.

I ran my hands through my hair in frustration. Any small shred of patience I had left was being ground down to dust. “Is this… a hormone thing?”

She rolled her eyes and flopped down on her futon. “It’s nothing that simple,” she said. She sounded both miserable and resigned.

I paced the length of her apartment. “You have to come on the trip. For a few reasons,” I said, my voice firm. “Not the least of which is our agreement, and the fact that my parents think I’m finally in a relationship. I have another whole week to get through. You’re my buffer, remember?”

She didn’t look up at me. “I’m the wrong buffer, James.”

“It doesn’t matter if you’re the wrong buffer. That’s not what we’re talking about.”

“That’s what I’m talking about,” she said.

“I don’t know what you want from me,” I said, my voice rising. “You said last night—”

“Stop,” she said, cutting me off. “I don’t want anything from you.”

I felt as if she’d punched me. I stopped pacing and looked at her: her face was pale, and she was hanging on to that necklace for dear life.

I took what I hoped was a steadying breath.

“I guess I need to remind you that we have a contract, Audrey. I expect you to perform your part of the bargain. If I remember correctly, you were planning on paying me back some of the funds I’d forked over toward your… family expenses.” A blush crept up her neck at my words. Even though I knew I was hurting her by what I was saying, I didn’t stop. “I’m expecting you to follow through.”

Part of what made me successful in business was that I knew how to motivate people, even when the motivation was ugly. So now I was ugly-motivating Audrey. I was hurting her to get what I wanted. At this point, I didn’t care—I just wanted her to get on the damn plane. I’d work on my manners then.

Maybe.

“Fine. Of course I need to pay you back,” she mumbled.

“You can change at my place, but we need to hurry,” I said. “Oh, and Audrey—”

“Yes?”

“I want you to know something. For the remainder of our contract, I will no longer be needing the full range of your services.”

Audrey

Kai studiously avoided looking at me as James led me to the car. I sank down into the back of the Mercedes SUV, defeated and resigned. I’d hurt James, and now James was hurting me.

He would no longer be needing the full range of my services. It was like a slap across the face. I should tell him he’d finally figured out the way to execute a bitch-slap, but that would require speaking to him.

I sighed and looked out the window.

“What’s the matter?” he asked. “Besides the fact that you’re back in this car with me?”

“You’re kind of being mean,” I said. “I’m just pointing that out to you.”

He said nothing. He just looked out the other window, away from me.

His words and his dark look hurt. But maybe that was a good thing. Maybe I could distance myself from him, and this would all work out for the best for the both of us.

Maybe.

* * *

Back at his place, I showered, changed, and made sure I had everything I needed.

“We’re all packed—everything’s ready to go. Do you have your passport?” James asked.

I nodded. I took a long last look around his apartment, mentally saying goodbye to it. When we got back from our trip, I would be going home.

“What?” he asked.

“Nothing,” I mumbled, shrugging. “This is the last time I’m going to be here, is all. I just want to remember it.”

James closed his eyes as if he were trying to ward off a headache.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I’ll just stop talking.”

“I’m the one who’s sorry,” he said, opening his eyes and coming to me. He grabbed my hands, and I looked at him, a mixture of hope and fear coursing within me. “About last night. I didn’t get a chance to tell you—”