Page 63 of Billionaire Grump's Baby

I nod, taking that as my cue to grab my laptop and disappear into my office. Now that I know she’s not going to be spending the next year working closely with stupid Noah, I can finally get some work done.

“Hey, do you want to do something fun tomorrow?” Hazel asks. “Even you don’t work on Sundays.”

I absolutely do work on Sundays. I just do it in jeans, from the comfort of my own home.

But I don’t say that. Because a part of me wants to spend the day with her.

Except this is Hazel. Hazel, who only tolerates my company because she’s writing a book about me and because I lured her into a fake marriage.

“When you say fun, do you actually mean fun? Or do you mean ruining an actual fun activity with more interview questions?” I ask suspiciously.

“Actual fun. Scout’s honor.” She holds up three fingers in a fairly good approximation of the Girl Scouts salute. “Come on. What’s your idea of fun? I promise I won’t write about it.”

Unbidden, I think of taking her up in my plane. The two of us up in the air, away from the city, away from our lives, free as birds.

I’ve never wanted to take someone else up in my plane. But now that I’ve had the idea, it just feels soright.

“Promise you won’t write about it?” I say.

“Promise.”

My smile widens. “Then I have the perfect idea. Tomorrow, I’m going to take you flying.”

22

HAZEL

Imean to tell Luke I’m terrified of flying. I do. But he was so damn excited yesterday when he invited me. And then the whole drive upstate to the airfield, he talked about his P-51 Mustang with a boyish enthusiasm I’ve never seen from him.

Apparently, it’s some sort of vintage fighter-bomber plane used during WWII. His grandpa taught him how to fly this model. His is painted red, and the last owner customized it to squeeze a second seat into what was historically a one-seat plane.

“It means you can't use it for long range flights, because the extra person means you run through fuel faster,” Luke had explained helpfully on the drive up. “But we’re not flying to a destination. We’re just flying for the joy of it.”

As far as I was concerned, the only reason to flywasthe destination. In the rare situations where I absolutely had to fly, I knocked myself out with sleeping pills and woke up at my destination.

Now I’m standing on the tarmac, looking with trepidation at the vintage plane I’m about to fly in. And I’m getting real hung up on the wordvintage.

“Is it safe?” I squeak.

“Of course,” Luke laughs. “I maintain my aircraft.” In a leather jacket and aviators, with that loose, confident grin on his face, he looks like a movie star.

Ever since the wedding-night-that-wasn’t, I’ve been trying to ignore how insanely sexy Luke is. But now it’s a welcome distraction.

I focus on the delicious curve of his ass as he climbs the ladder up to the cockpit ahead of me.

Is it called a cockpit? I don’t know.

Anyway, he climbs in the plane, and then turns around to offer his hand to help me in too.

His hand feels sure and strong. I let that anchor me.

He closes the canopy, so we’re enclosed inside the plane. Then Luke settles me in a seat directly behind his and hands me a headset so we can talk to each other once we’re in the air. The space is so small my knees are basically tucked into my chest. But it gives me a good view as Luke starts messing with controls, checking engine lights, etc. He narrates it all as he does it, but I’m barely listening.

Instead, I’m concentrating on taking calm, steadying breaths.

I can do this. I can be brave while Luke shows me something he cares about.

All I have to do is sit here and keep breathing. Luke’s doing the hard part. I did sneak a plastic bag into my purse in case I need to puke.

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