Page 42 of The Heiress's First Date

Right on time, our SUV slows to a stop in front of the airplane hangar. I’m reluctant to let Katherine’s hand go. She shoots me a knowing look across the backseat.It’s only a short walk.

Roman hops out and opens Katherine’s door.

“I’ll come around,” I say so she’ll wait for me.

She stays put, with no argument about how she can get out of a vehicle on her own. I know she can. I also know I love the serene but excited way she looks at me when I hold out my hand for her. That’s exactly how I feel whenever I’m in her company.

Hand tight in mine, she steps out of the vehicle and once again, I’m struck with pride over the fact that she’s wearing the outfit I ordered for her on Saturday. She looks so at home in the slouchy sweater and matching leggings with comfortable slip-on shoes.

“Thanks, Roman,” she says, and he gives her a single nod.

“Have a good trip.”

He’s more than earned the day off.

Inside the massive building, the sleek Bombardier jet sparkles beneath the overhead lighting.

My pilot meets us at the base of the stairs, and I introduce him to Katherine. It feels good to show her off, to stake that small claim, even if I’m sure he’s read the news this week. He’s professional enough to welcome her warmly and keep his questions to himself.

“There’s a storm between us and Boston, so I’m afraid we’re looking at a small delay,” he says. “Bonnie will make you comfortable, and we’ll be on our way as soon as possible.”

Well, that’s not the news I wanted to hear. It wouldn’t be an issue, but the client I’m meeting is a notorious hard-ass and hates moving his schedule.

Katherine is so in tune with me, obviously noticing the momentary hiccup, and gives my hand a reassuring squeeze.

“Thank you for the update,” I murmur, and then guide Katherine to the stairs. It’s impossible to pull my gaze away from her curves as she climbs the handful of steps.

With my hand at the small of her back, I nudge her past the two groups of seats into one of the more private rooms in the back. There’s a comfortable couch and a TV, not that we’ll need entertaining. It’s a short flight, and I want nothing more than to talk to her and soak her in.

“Sorry for the delay,” I say, settling into the corner of the sofa.

She sinks down next to me, immediately burrowing against my side. “Don’t apologize. Weather happens. And I’m not in any rush.”

My chest expands with a deep breath, and her delicious scent tickles my senses. I want to drag her into my lap and find all the spots she dabbed her perfume.

But I settle for wrapping an arm around her waist and holding her close.

“Do you need to work on the way? I’m okay with reading a book.” She waves her phone.

“And miss a chance to talk to you? Work can wait.”

???

As expected, my client is a pompous windbag who adores the sound of his voice. There was an off-color joke right out of the gate and a mention of my newfound fame, asking me why Katherine was worth a million dollars.

I didn’t answer, of course. Not because I don’t know why she’s worth that and so much more, but because it’s none of his fucking business.

We’re not friends. We’re not buddies. We’re never going to play golf together. I don’t trust him as far as I can throw him.

Guys like that just rub me the wrong way.

He and his business were inherited when I took over a smaller firm that does a lot of business in the city. And every time I have to deal with him, I think about firing him as a client.

Today, I almost pushed those words past my lips.

It’d be worth all the contract entanglements to never have to speak to him again.

Luckily, my Boston team handles him most of the time. And they handle him well. Today was no exception.

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