Page 86 of The Attraction

I feel like I’ve already lived a day, and now I have to stay awake for another twelve hours, as it’s daytime in Chicago when I land.

If I’m being honest, I’m not ready to sleep anyway. I’m too keyed up. The plane was the perfect chance to nap, but I worked the whole trip to keep my mind busy. I didn’t need time to think about what Harper was doing. Is she okay, has anything happened that I need to know about?

I was never so relieved to turn on my phone and for there to be only message notifications from all the boys and normal work issues. Thankfully, the boys’ messages weren’t ones that they’d be expecting replies on, but were merely just to give me support, which means more than they know.

Luckily, I’ve been to the US a few times for work in the last twelve months, so I didn’t need to be trying to get a visa at such late notice. Going through immigration in any country is usually not too painful because we are flying in on a private jet, but being on a commercial jet, I’m here with three hundred-odd other passengers who are also trying to get through at the same time. I don’t think I fully appreciated the life of comfort I have been living, until now.

I might have had the luxury of the first-class bathroom on the plane that I was only sharing with about ten other passengers to freshen up before I got off the plane, but the people in this line certainly didn’t. Being all locked in a large sardine can for nearly nine hours, with just a couple of bathrooms to share between them, has not done most of them any favors. The BO is like a thick fog around me, making me want to dry retch, and as I look along the line, there are people who look like they have just gotten out of bed with their clothes all displaced and hair that needs attending. And don’t get me started on the kids that are crawling on the floor in and out of the line, touching other people’s bags and wanting to pat the airport security dogs. It just adds to the chaos when they are told they can’t touch them.

All I want to do is get out of here and find my personal space again. So thankfully, the closer I get to the front of the line, I can start to think about my plans and the call I need to make.

Finally, I’m through customs and picking up my bag from the carousel, and I head to the taxi rank and step into the first one waiting.

Giving the driver the address I’m heading to, I pick up my phone, pushing the number and hearing it ring in my ears.

“Forrest, everything okay? It’s late over there.” Ashton’s deep voice booms down the phone like he is on edge.

“About that. I’ve just landed in Chicago, and we need to talk. I’m on my way to your office.” There’s no need for idle chat.

“Fuck, is Harper with you? Why didn’t you warn me?” I can hear him tapping away on his computer, trying to work out what the hell is going on.

“No, it’s just me. Rem and Sandon have her under control.” Well, at least I hope they have.

“Oookkaayy. Want to tell me what’s going on then?” His typing has stopped, and now he is fully present in the conversation.

“I’d rather do that in person. I should be there in about an hour I’m guessing, with being in work traffic this time of the morning.” I grind my teeth in frustration because I hate sitting in traffic, and the sooner I can get to Ashton’s office, then the quicker I can do what I came here to do.

“Understood, and yeah, you picked a shit time to fly in. You should have messaged me, and I would’ve picked you up,” Ashton replies.

“Last-minute decision, and I’d rather if you keep it to yourself that I’m here. The others don’t need to know, and in fact, it will probably be safer if they don’t. Not sure any of them would be very pleased with me if they found out.” I can picture my brother absolutely losing his cool finding out that I’m in Chicago.

“Ahh, I see. Gone rogue on them. I get it, and we can chat about that when you get here. Listen, have you got somewhere to stay yet?” he asks.

“Not yet, but I guess I have the next hour to book somewhere. I’ve never been to Chicago before.” Which is the part I hate. When we travel in Europe, we just stay in our company suites in our own hotels. But in a way, it’s also like an information-gathering exercise on the competition.

“I’ll message you some good options. I’ve seen the inside of way too many hotels in this city doing my kind of job, so I know the difference between nice and fuck-no. I’ll let my front desk know you are coming, and we’ll talk soon.”

“Thanks, Ashton, appreciate it.” With that he hangs up the call, and my phone starts vibrating in my hand with links to hotels. I settle into looking through them and finally book The Four Seasons, which is rated the best and the most expensive, of course. Price matters in this industry, and I want a suite that I can work in, and everything is clean to the highest standards. I’m a bit of germaphobe, I know that, and I don’t need anything bothering me right now, so let’s just fix that problem straight up by booking the best.

Pulling up in front of the building that houses Ashton’s security company, it’s plain and doesn’t really stand out. In fine small print on the front door is the company name and an intercom system to buzz.

“Can I help you?” a man’s voice comes booming through the speaker after I have pushed the button.

“Forrest Taylor to see Ashton Taylor.” I stand and stare straight at the camera that I know is watching me right now.

There is silence for a moment, and then I hear locks disengaging on the door and the man is back on the speaker, telling me to enter.

The windows are all tinted very dark, and I can’t see into the building, but the moment I am through the front door, the foyer is much more friendly, and the man whose voice I heard is standing by the elevator and calling to me.

“This way, Mr. Taylor. Ashton is waiting for you on the top floor,” he says to me, not quite as blunt as he was on the speaker.

“Thank you,” I acknowledge as we enter the elevator together.

No words are spoken, and he just stands straight and tall next to me the whole time. Not that I’m in the mood for small talk anyway.

We enter another foyer, but my guy walks to a door off to the side and swipes a card against it, opening the door and then turning to me. “This way, sir, Ashton’s in his office.”

Just giving him a nod, I follow him down a long corridor of offices with banks of computer screens on every desk, men and women dressed in black suits, casual clothes, and black street clothes. It’s a hive of activity, and I won’t lie, it looks impressive.

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