Page 16 of One Little Mistake
“Lexi?” Easton tries again.
I blink rapidly, trying to bring him into focus, when I realize I’m gasping for breath.
“Fucking hell, Lex. I’ve got you. Okay? Can you handle getting on the plane, or is that what’s causing your fear?”
My fear. My fear. No … I can’t let Miles ruin me like this.
“I’m fine. I said I’m fine.” My voice is so shrill I flinch at the sound, causing Easton to envelop me in his arms.
“I know you’re fine, Lex.” Placing an arm under my knees and one around my back, he lifts me like an injured child.
My body responds to his contact, and I can’t control the tear that slips free.
East cradles me to his chest as he stands at the bottom of the stairs that lead to the plane. “Can you fly, sweetheart?”
Words escape me, so I nod and allow myself ten more seconds of comfort. Nine more seconds in Easton’s arms. Eight more seconds of being cared for. Seven more seconds of safety. Six. Five. Four more seconds of calm. Three more, and I breathe him in. Two.
Halfway down the aisle of his plane, I push against his chest, and he sets me down. Without a word, he ushers me a few more steps. Reaching around me, he opens the door to a bedroom.
“I’ll be right out here, but there’s a restroom and bottles of water through that door.”
Swallowing as razor blades slice me from the inside out, I manage a gritty, “Thanks,” and slip past him.
Closing the door behind me, my chest heaves as emotions I can’t control wrack my body. Finding my reflection in the mirror, I wonder who this girl is. This girl staring back with ashen skin and hollow eyes is unrecognizable. Splashing water on my face, I will myself to behave.
Knock, knock.
“Lex? Can I come in?”
This is a nightmare. I haven’t even been working for the Westbrook Beast for a week, and I’ve already blown it. What the hell is he going to tell everyone? I don’t get to answer him before I hear the knob turning behind me. With downcast eyes, I wait.
“Turn around,” he orders.What a prick.“Please,” he finally adds.
Slowly, I turn to face him but can’t quite reach his eyes. When he remains silent, I cave and lift my gaze.
There is something so intentional in the Westbrook stare. They all have it with their perfect ocean blue eyes. I’ve seen it in Preston and Ashton. Mrs. Westbrook has perfected it, but when Easton turns that look on me, my inner turmoil goes up in flames. How can one look, one penetrating, heat-searing gaze take away all my pain?
“Is that the first time you’ve ever had a panic attack?” His question confuses me, and it takes a herculean effort not to snap at him. “I’m sure some psychiatrist somewhere would frown on this, but it’s the best I can do given our circumstances.”
He holds up a bottle of Belvedere and two shot glasses. I stand frozen to my spot, waiting for him to drill me with questions about my outburst, but they never come. Instead, he waltzes past me and sets the two shot glasses on the counter as the plane begins to taxi.
“Don’t we need to be seated? Buckled? Something?”
Glancing over his shoulder, Easton smirks, and it makes him appear so young. And so fucking sexy. If I weren’t still reeling from what he’s calling a panic attack, my body would be in heat.
“When you own the plane, you get to make a few rules of your own.” His cockiness is new, but not at all appealing. Okay, maybe a little appealing, but I tamp that shit down quick.
I roll my eyes at his bravado but take the shot he hands me, and I knock it back. Instantly, the burn warms me, so I hold the empty glass out for another. He eyes it curiously but smartly doesn’t fight me.
“I’m not a lightweight, Easton. I won’t get blasted and embarrass you at this meeting. I know how much it means to you and the WB.”
Leaning against the counter, he smiles. “The WB? Sounds like you’ve been hanging out with Mason.”
“Yeah, well, he’s the only one who’ll talk to me, and he’s not scared of the Westbrook Beast like everyone else.”
Easton’s deep roar of laughter fills the small space, and it takes me a minute to understand his reaction. My body is beginning to relax and chooses this instant to turn a flaming shade of red.
“Th-The Westbrook Beast, huh? That’s a new one. Usually, they just call me an asshole. Someone’s getting creative.”
