Page 34 of My Ex's Best Friend

"I want you to be comfortable on this trip, Kiera," he says, his gaze unwavering.

I meet his eyes, the sincerity in them disarming.

I clear my throat. "Comfortable, huh?"

Jake leans back in his seat, a lopsided grin playing on his lips. "I mean it. Let's leave the bickering behind. Can we do that?"

I'm taken aback, the seriousness in his tone registering. I manage a half-smile. "Sure, why not? It's a small price to pay for this." I gesture around the private jet.

He chuckles, shaking his head. “It’s more than just about the project.”

I have no idea what the hell he’s talking about, and a part of me is afraid of asking for clarification.

I don’t know if it’s a good thing or bad that we never ended up discussing what really happened the night we fell apart. And now isn’t the most appropriate moment to bring that up either.

"You're right. I've been a bit snide. Let's make a truce, at least for the duration of this trip."

The engines hum to life, and as the private jet lifts off, I find myself lying back against the plush seat.

When the seat belts sign comes off, I start to stand up.

“Where are you going? Jake asks.

I hesitate. I had hoped to retreat to a quieter corner and read a book. Away from him.

Just then, the air hostess returns with a tray adorned with an assortment of delectable treats. There are delicate finger sandwiches with fillings ranging from smoked salmon to cucumbers.

Tiny quiches, golden and inviting, beckon with promises of savory indulgence. The tray is completed by an array of bite-sized desserts – petite eclairs, dainty fruit tarts, and chocolate truffles that gleam like precious gems.

My mouth begins to water as the enticing aroma wafts through the cabin. I guess I can wait.

“So, are you worried about any aspect of the project?” he asks.

“I mean, it’s the first one where I’m the closest person to the lead. I’m just worried if our visions clash. It’s not going to be pretty.”

“I never try to change the essence of what my employees bring to the table. We’re not a faceless, corporate giant. And I’m open to feedback, good or bad.”

“Okay.”

I’ve had a few qualms when I first joined the company—especially after knowing who it belonged to. Jake may be a trust fund baby, but he’s not the hungry, money-making machine I feared he might be. He genuinely loves the art of preservation.

“You didn’t send me your calendar,” I say.

“I don’t have a calendar. I meet with my clients when it’s feasible for them, so there’s no fixed timing. I’m always available for them.”

“Right,” I say. “So, what can I expect?”

Jake leans back, a thoughtful expression on his face. "A couple of side appointments for private collectors who've expressed interest in our expertise.”

"But the primary focus is the museum project, right?" I flip open a notebook to jot down key points.

Jake nods, his expression thoughtful. "Yes, the museum is our main client. They have a substantial collection that needs meticulous restoration. But, as I said, I want to keep my options open. And this is a good opportunity to acquire international clients. Thanks to our deal with the museum, we've made quite the buzz in Paris.”

“Got it.”

“I don’t expect you to be at every meeting, though,” Jake clarifies. “I got you onboard for the museum project. I know you must have other plans, especially since we’ll be visiting one of the cities on your wish list.”

I almost choke on my champagne.

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