Rake (Wolfes of Manhattan 4)
Not on brand at all for the Wolfe of Manhattan.
Really weird.
But I’d promised her I’d let it drop if she said no.
We finished our breakfast, and I signed the check. Then we stood and left the restaurant. I brushed my lips over hers. “Enjoy your appointment.”
“I will. Thank you again.”
She headed away, following the signs to the salon and spa.
My gut ached when I realized I wouldn’t see her again before I left.
And maybe not ever.
I sat on the jet, which was parked at one of the private terminals at McCarran Airport. The pilot was awaiting final instructions from the air traffic controller, when my phone buzzed with a text.
Zee’s number.
I changed my mind. May I still come?
My heart jumped as I lunged out of my seat and ran into the cockpit. “Captain,” I said to the pilot. “How long do we have?”
“About twenty minutes until we’ll be cleared to leave the gate, but that could change.”
“Great. We may have to delay. We’re going to have another passenger.”
“I’ve already filed the flight plan, Mr. Wolfe.”
“I know, I know. I’ll take care of the paperwork. Hold tight, will you?”
I quickly texted Zee.
Yes. Where are you?
At the airport.
Perfect. If she was already here, we could definitely make this work.
I had to buy a ticket, her text continued. They wouldn’t let me through security without one. I’ll send you my flight information.
I texted back. Don’t be silly. You’ll fly with me. I’ll send someone to escort you to the private terminal. Where are you?
Heading toward my D gate.
Okay. Stay where you are. Someone will escort you to where I am.
I hastily made the arrangements and told the pilot to stand by. He didn’t look too happy with me, but he nodded. He was well paid to be on call for our family.
My heart was pounding and my skin tingling like an adolescent schoolboy whose crush had just said she liked him too.
Really off brand.
She texted again. How will I know if he’s legit?
Good question. Zee wouldn’t go off with just anyone. She knew better from experience.
He’ll have my number. Ask him to call me, and then ask to speak to me.
Okay.
Good. That seemed to work for her. No way would I let anything happen to her. That was why she was flying to New York with me and not on some commercial flight.
Ten minutes passed. The captain was updating the flight manifest and dealing with air traffic control. The flight attendants were seated, waiting for further instructions.
My phone buzzed.
“Mr. Wolfe, this is Ron James with airport security. I’m here with Ms. Jones. She’d like to speak with you.”
“Yes, please put her on.”
“Reid?”
Her voice. How happy I was to hear her voice.
“It’s me,” I said.
“So this guy’s cool?”
“Yes, you’ll be safe with him. He’ll bring you to the jet. See you in a bit.”
“Okay. Thanks, Reid. Bye.”
I headed to the cockpit to let the pilot know our passenger was on her way. “She’s in D concourse. A security guy is escorting her.”
“That’s about another twenty minutes, if they hurry,” he said. “I’ll update air traffic control.”
“Thanks.”
I conferred with the flight attendants quickly, ordering bottled water for Zee when she arrived.
The rest of the time passed slowly, as if I were a child waiting those last few days before Christmas.
Crazy, how Zee was affecting me.
Finally, she and her escort walked through the gate and onto the plane.
And my eyes nearly popped out of my head.
21
Zee
Several hours earlier…
“Good morning, Ms. Jones,” the receptionist at the salon and spa greeted me. “Have you had a chance to look at our brochure?”
“No, I’m afraid not.”
“Mr. Wolfe said we’re to give you whatever services you’d like over the next four hours.” She smiled and handed me a paper. “Everything’s listed here. Please let me know what you’d like, and I’ll tell your stylist and therapist.”
I raked my gaze over the brochure. “There aren’t any prices listed.”
“Correct. Mr. Wolfe has prepaid for anything you want.”
“But I’d like to know…”
“He asked that we print up a list without prices.”
“Why?”
She smiled again. “You’d have to ask him.”
Because he didn’t want me to feel like I had to choose something less expensive. I knew already why he’d done it. It was sweet, actually. He wanted me to have the services I desired without being constrained by price.
“So what looks good to you?” she asked.
“I definitely want a hair treatment. A color.”
“The same color you have now?”
“No. I want to go back to my natural color, or as close as the colorist can get.”
“What else?”
The sky was truly the limit. My only constraint was time.
“A manicure and pedicure?” I asked.
“Of course.”
“That will probably take up all my time, right?”
“No. We have several staff members who can work on you at the same time, so you may choose something else. A Swedish massage, perhaps?”
I’d never had a massage before. Not even at Massage Avenue, despite the white lie I’d told Mo earlier. It always seemed too expensive and too decadent.