“I’ve always promoted the idea of it, Heidi. It was just in a slightly misguided, convoluted way. However, you can’t deny my success rate. You don’t become Justice Drake without knowing your shit.”
I roll my eyes, even though he can’t see it. “Oh, Justice. What a big ego you have. So are we doing that now? Talking about yourself in the third person?”
“You know what I mean.”
“Actually, I don’t. Is it cool for us to come or not? Or would you like to continue to judge me as if your closet isn’t bursting with more skeletons than a Tim Burton film. Please . . . tell me again how you met and seduced your current love interest aka your sister-in-law. And tell me again how she found you hiding out in Abu Dhabi, when someone went out on a fucking limb—sacrificing her own time and resources—to track you down for her. I particularly love that part of the story.”
I can almost feel the heat of his temper flaring from over two thousand miles away. And while his voice is arctic, he’s saying exactly what I want him to say, as I knew he would. I always get my way.
“Fine. Bring him. But space is limited. He stays out of the way, and he doesn’t pry into my business. Understand? And if I catch one single fucking inkling that he’s using, he’s out. Got it?”
I nearly gasp, but bite it down. “Using? What makes you think he’s using?” I hadn’t told anyone. Not even Tucker.
“I have basic cable, Heidi. God forbid the rest of the world outside of Manhattan has the use of modern technology.”
I manage to smile. He’s agreed. And while he may be pissed, I know Justice can’t stay mad at me for long. Above all, he owes me. He’ll always owe me. I’m the one who helped bring him back from the dead.
“You’re such a hater. Admit it—you miss it here.”
“Like a hole in the head.” I almost hear him chuckle, but being the hard ass that he is, he refuses to show any other emotion outside of pissed and horny.
“So, we’ll be there within the week. I’m shooting for Thursday if Tucker can get things squared away with work.”
“Fine. Shoot me your info and I’ll have your ride waiting.”
“Seriously?” I scoff. “I know how to get there. All that security bullshit isn’t necessary.”
Justice pushes right back, ignoring my attitude. “You’re bringing two strangers to my home and business. So yes, the security bullshit is necessary. Take it or leave it.”
“Fine.”
“Fine.”
We both hang up. And I smile. I kinda love that guy.
I don’t waste any time contacting the travel agent and Caleb and pass along the travel info. He’s stunned that Justice would agree to let us come, but downright flabbergasted that Tucker would suggest he come along too. I don’t let on that I’m just as shocked. I like Caleb, but not enough to share with him. There are industry friends and regular friends. Caleb is an industry friend. My regular friends can be counted on one hand with a couple fingers to spare.
Initially, I think I won’t be able to rest until our flight on Thursday morning, but both Tucker and I are so busy with tying up loose ends that the day comes sooner than expected. We don’t even get a chance to talk about what to expect. I know that Tucker thinks this will be good for us, but why? Because he thinks it will provide us some much needed alone time? Or because he can keep an eye on Ransom? Or is it that the prospect of having Ransom there for . . . a repeat performance is what he’s craving? And if that is the case, what the hell does that mean for us? That he only gets off on watching another man fuck me?
I can’t even think like that right now.
Caleb insists on bringing Ransom to the airport to ensure he actually shows up and I’m grateful. I need as much time alone with Tucker before we get on this plane. After today, who knows what will remain sacred between us?
“I can’t understand why you’d choose to fly commercial,” Caleb sneers, approaching us at the First Class ticketing line. He air kisses me, and continues bitching about everything from tiny bathrooms to Ebola. “I swear to God, Heidi DuCane, if either you or Ransom get some type of deadly virus, I will kill you myself before you contaminate me. Those quarantine moon suits do nothing for my figure.”
At the mention of his name, I straighten, mentally and physically preparing myself to see him again. It always takes me a moment to acclimate when in his presence. It’s like he sucks the air right out of the room. He doesn’t just take my breath away; he deprives my brain of precious oxygen, leaving me a blubbering, stuttering mess.
As expected, Ransom is dressed in jeans and a tee, this one heather gray. He also has on dark aviators and that gray slouchy beanie over messy hair. I don’t know if it’s the same one from that night or if he has a dozen of them, which probably boasts some ridiculously expensive label that costs a fortune for merely a bundle of wool. Still, he looks amazing, even in that disheveled, just-rolled-out-of-bed way. It’s like he doesn’t even have to try. Sex appeal is about as natural to him as blinking those dark, sinuous eyes.
“Hey, man,” Ransom mutters, extending a hand to Tucker. The two shake and Tuck returns the greeting. When Ransom turns in my direction, he’s less than cordial.
“Heidi.”
One word. That’s all I get. Not a nod, not a smile. Just my name on his tongue. And it doesn’t sound like music anymore. It sounds like a curse.
“Well . . .” I say, looking down at our itinerary. “Flight leaves in an hour. We better get moving.”
We go through ticketing and security without speaking, which isn’t a problem considering Ransom is stopped for autographs every five feet or so. If he had chosen to showcase his signature locks, I’m sure we would have needed security. By the time we get to our gate, the attendants are already calling for first class passengers. We board quickly to avoid further delays from fans and find our seats. To my disenchantment, Ransom is seated directly behind us, not across from us as I initially thought. He’ll be able to see everything—hear everything. And while I really shouldn’t care, or suspect that he does, I can’t help the pang of unease that seizes my gut as I take my window seat, giving Tucker the aisle.
“What’s wrong, babe?” he asks, settling beside me. He takes my hand where it rests on the armrest between us. “You look a little pale.”
I give him a weak smile. “Just tired, I guess.”
“Well, just try to relax,” he responds, leaning over to press his lips against mine before tilting back into his headrest. “It’s going to be a long flight.”
Long flight, indeed. Probably the longest one yet.
The flight attendant comes over to take drink orders and I hurriedly request a glass of champagne. Tucker lifts a questioning brow, eluding to the early hour. I simply shrug.
“Vacation.” And if I’m going to make it through alive, with my dignity and marriage intact, I’m going to need alcohol. Lots of it.
The flight is uneventful for the first hour or so, and I manage to doze off after a couple more glasses of bubbly. That’s when I feel the back of my seat bow as if someone is gripping it. My eyes pop open and dart up just in time to see Ransom looming over me, his tired eyes gazing down at me with the intensity of a sniper.
“Excuse me,” he mutters. Then he shifts over into the aisle and creeps into the lavatory. I look over at Tucker, who appears to be oblivious, completely engulfed in an audiobook he’s listening to through his headphones while tapping on his MacBook Air. It’s as if he didn’t even notice.
A few minutes pass before a suspicion hits me like a baseball bat. Ransom should have been back by now. What if he’s sick? Or what if he’s in there getting high? Shit. I can’t have him on a public plane, blitzed out of his mind. And if Justice finds out? Yeah, I take my liberties with him, but he won’t budge on the No Drugs policy. His staff is randomly tested and even his clients have to submit to pre-enrollment screenings. Say what you want about him, but Justice is a standup guy. Total asshole, but a good man deep inside.