Page 33 of Stirring Up Love
All the seats were taken, so Finn sank down against the wall under the windows and rested his forehead on his knees. He never should’ve gone on the show. His pride and the chance to flick a big middle finger at the woman who’d underestimated him were what had gotten him into this mess. Now, instead of him showing her up, Simone was yet another person he’d need to convince to take a chance on him.
Exhausted and overwhelmed, he squeezed his eyes shut. Maybe when he woke up, this would all have been a nightmare.
Finn blinked his eyes open and met a stark color palette of porcelain-plate white and pâté gray, edged with burnt-bruschetta brown. The scent of coffee and hiss of a steamer brought him out of his sleep-fog. His brain registered suitcases and satchels lying on the floor by people’s feet.
The airport.
He rubbed his eyes to clear the remnants of his dream away, which had had a lot to do with Simone’s slender fingers and ...
He sat bolt upright and shifted his duffel into his lap. Jeez, the last thing he needed to do was dream about his rival-turned-potential-business-partner. Clearly his hormones hadn’t gotten the memo she was public enemy number one.
His cheeks flamed, embarrassment aggravating his fresh sunburn. Yesterday he’d planned to spend the morning before his flight with an all-out tourist binge on Venice Beach and Santa Monica Pier. No sense in wasting what might have been his only trip to the West Coast by staying in his hotel room.
But he’d made it to the ocean and then canceled the rest of his loose itinerary. The grit of the sand underneath his feet and hiss of the waves on the shore had made up for all the stress and nonsense of the filming. He’d gotten some much-needed clarity while walking the shoreline.
Yes, Simone hated him. Yes, she was an entitled jerk. But he couldn’t do this without her. Or rather, not her, but the $200,000 that came along with a merger.
There had to be a way to get Simone to see she needed him as much as he needed her—in a purely professional way, of course. Was she already back in Illinois? If so, she was probably holed up in her lair, finding ways to worm her way out of the deal and demolish his shot at offering a better future for people who needed it most. People who didn’t get second chances or do-overs.
Finn dipped his head between his knees and tugged at the roots of his hair. If only she would’ve listened to him after the taping. But she had to go and storm off like an immature, stuck-up—
“Venti, sugar-free mocha latte.”
His head shot up.
“With oat milk, please, extra hot, extra foam.” A fittingly high-maintenance coffee order from a voice belonging to the very woman who haunted his waking—and sleeping—thoughts.
Over at the Starbucks counter, Simone scanned her credit card and placed a folded bill in the tip jar. After years in the service industry, the action would’ve been a mark in her favor, if he hadn’t known money was disposable to her. Someone who considered turning down $200,000 sure as heck better tip their barista.
A tan trench coat hugged Simone’s slender curves, paired with short boots and sheer black polka-dot tights. He’d never had a thing for lingerie—it got in the way, with too many buckles and straps and frou-frou lace—and it’s not like her tights were fishnet thigh-highs. And yet ...
The barista called out her order, and she stepped to the counter. Retrieved her coffee and took a long sip. Her eyes rolled back in her head with pleasure, and he tightened his grip on the straps of the duffel bag. Her expression evoked pure bliss, like biting into a bittersweet raspberry truffle as the finale to a four-course meal.
Then her eyes snapped open and she frowned, as if regretting the public display of happiness. Her expression hardened, eyes sharp as she scanned the concourse, and he resisted the urge to duck like she was a prison searchlight.
Not delicious, after all. Devilish.
Her roving gaze neared his seat, and he looked down, wishing for invisibility. Shoot. He’d have to face her or live forever with the knowledge that being a big freaking chicken had kept him from $200,000.
When it felt safe, he ventured a glance and found her seated at a table in the café, tapping away at her phone. Should he walk up andoffer to buy her breakfast? No, too close to a come-on. The last thing he needed was for Simone to think he was into her. Because he wasn’t.
Heck no. Never. Not even if they were the last two people on earth, huddled in a concrete doomsday bunker to wait out a nuclear winter with nothing more than a kerosene lamp, and a twin mattress, and no blankets ...
Finn, get it together!
Anyway, no buying of pastries. Maybe he could leave it to chance and hope they were assigned seats next to each other.
Yeah, no. With the universe’s low opinion of him, now was not the time to leave things up to chance. She picked up her drink, brushing her tumble of curls over one shoulder, and Finn flicked his eyes away before she felt his gaze.
No need to walk over there yet, right? These storms would keep them stuck here for at least another few hours. Plenty of time to think of a plan for approaching the most beautiful woman in the terminal, a woman who wanted nothing more than to run him through like a hunk of meat on a skewer.
CHAPTER 14
SIMONE
An eternity at the airport, and Simone had spent most of that time pretending to be absorbed in her phone, her food, her laptop, the rows of runway lights, a conversation with the barista about the merits of Velveeta versus Cheez Whiz ... anything to avoid eye contact with Finn Rimes.
She’d spotted him around midnight. He lay dozing on the floor by the window, his head pillowed on the bright-red scarf the Yarn Spinners had given him. At first, she’d been worried he’d notice her, but as the night wore on, it became clear he wasn’t going to wake up. How anyone could get a full night’s sleep in a crowded airport was beyond her.
