Page 53 of Fixer for the Billionaire

I nod, trying to ignore the butterflies fluttering in my stomach. "Uh, yeah, I hope so."

"You hope so?"

"I do. I'm a little nervous. About the flight. Never been on a private plane before. But I promise not to freak out." I glance at the shiny jet not too far away. "Or scream."

He leans in. "Relax, Sanchez. It's a short flight. If it was any longer, I might be tempted to give you something to really scream about."

My stomach clenches as he winks. He then motions for Freddie and the girls before turning and leading the way towards the jet, and I pretend I know what I'm getting myself into as I follow behind.

Chapter Twenty-One

QUENTIN

Landing in San Francisco, a surge of motivation pulses through my body like a shot of caffeine.

It started the second the plane took off.

While everyone else on the plane was dozing off or lost in their own thoughts, I was on my phone, ticking off a to-do list that would make lesser men weep.

I checked in with Danity's agent, ensuring everything was set for her surprise reading session at Ry's wedding—a gesture I knew would mean the world to Carmina. I also called to check on the orange tabby we rescued from the alley.

That damn cat's been haunting my dreams since I first spotted her. After we left the hospital, I couldn't shake off the guilt of leaving her behind. It was either check on her progress or go insane.

I chose the former since the latter is already a given in my life.

But the biggest item on my to-do list—impressing my wayward family—still loomed. Calls to my cousin Killian and my brothers, Derek and Alton, confirmed what I long suspected—I’ve been impressing them.

Planning Ry's joint bachelor-bachelorette party is like coordinating a military operation, but somehow, I've managed to get everything sorted.

On the plane, their approval rang clear through the group chat, their "Has Hell frozen over? Because Quentin is actually doing something productive" jokes lightening the weight on my shoulders.

With that grudging respect only family can give, I could almost hear their collective jaws drop when they realized I have yet to screw anything up—for once.

I want to tell them that only half of the "not screwing up" part is because of me. The other half is all because of Carmina.

Three years ago—hell, three months ago—I would have never admitted it, but it's hard to fight with facts. Carmina's influence is like a constant thrum of energy, pushing me to be better, do better.

Not just for her, but for me too. It's a feeling I haven't wanted to examine too closely, afraid it might vanish if I do.

But here we are, touching down in San Francisco, and I've got more than just Ry's wedding festivities up my sleeve. I've arranged something special for Carmina and me—something to show her how much I appreciate not just her work but her as a person.

And maybe to show her my desire doesn’t stop at being work partners or friends.

When we pull up to the Rosemont Hotel, the anticipation builds. I've booked a room for Freddie, another for the girls—Gabi and Val—and then, taking a deep breath, I booked a suite with adjoining rooms for me and Carmina.

I play it cool, handing over the keys as if I'm just dealing out cards in a game I'm guaranteed to win.

But inside? I'm all nerves and anticipation, curious and eager to see how she'll react.

This move? It's not just a gesture; it's a gamble, laying my cards on the table for perhaps the first time in a long while. The look in her eyes when I slowly tell her we're sharing a suite—priceless.

She's surprised, that much is obvious, but I can also see the flicker of excitement and something else. Something that maybe mirrors my own feelings.

As the five of us ride the elevator up to our floor, I steal glances at her. She's always gorgeous, that's a given.

But there's something about seeing her in this new environment, away from the office, red lipstick off, and dressed down in form-fitting jeans and a simple white tee, that takes my breath away.

I could get used to this.

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