“You are deviously clever, and I also want to thank you for the advance warning that I should never leave any Christmas gifts for you under the tree until Christmas morning when Santa arrives.”
She’d pretended to pout. “No fair.”
“So fair,” he’d countered, as his mind whirred through the best options for keeping a ring far, far away from those exploring eyes and fingers. When he’d told her at her bar the other night that he’d planned to take her to Vegas for the weekend, she’d blatantly stated that she hoped he might get down on one knee, so he certainly wasn’t trying to catch her off-guard with his proposal. They were open with each other about their desire to be married someday soon. But the details? The where, when, and how of it? That’s what he could have fun with, moving puzzle pieces around, keeping her on her toes and hopefully finding a way to surprise the woman he loved, adored and cherished.
Starting with this jet. Mission accomplished on the first surprise.
“All this for a Friday meeting in Vegas?” she asked, as she drank in the posh interior. Her meeting with Farrell Spirits, the global beverage giant that manufactured Julia’s very special, very secret drink, had proved to be fortuitous timing. He’d already booked the trip when a few days ago one of the marketing executives at Farrell had asked her to meet in Vegas, where the company’s U.S. marketing operations were headquartered. Farrell wanted to expand Julia’s role from a behind-the-scenes mixer of its wildly popular new drink into a sort of spokeswoman for the Purple Snow Globe she’d invented. Once that serendipitous meeting was set, he had the perfect alibi to make this weekend seem like it was simply a combo business-and-pleasure getaway, not a well-planned and orchestrated opportunity to pop the question.
“You’ve got to be able to fly with the high rollers now that you’re becoming one,” he told her, sliding his palm over her ass, cupping her cheek through her skirt as they stood in the galley. “Think of it as your corporate jet for the day, courtesy of the Pinkertons.”
The Pinkertons, a duo of British film-producing brothers, had offered him the use of the jet for the weekend; their way of saying thank you for all the points he had won them in the deal they’d just signed with a studio for their newest movie.
As Julia stepped into the lush inside of the jet, he watched her take it all in. Her green eyes were wide and bright, practically inhaling the surroundings as she stopped in her tracks. Her jaw dropped and she gawked. That made his heart pound against his chest. He loved her unfettered reactions. She didn’t hold back. She didn’t pretend. She let her emotions show through, and she was clearly in awe right now, which was exactly how he’d wanted her to feel. Pride suffused him as he catalogued her response. She wasn’t a woman who needed a private jet; she’d happily fly commercial, but she sure as hell was a woman who appreciated gifts, and did he ever love giving things to her.
She launched herself into his arms and rained kisses on his cheek, jaw, and neck. “I am so glad you are making them boatloads of money, because this jet rocks. You are getting ten thousand blow jobs for this one, mister,” she said.
“That’s a lot. You better get started.”
“You’re ready again so soon?”
He pretended to look at his watch. “Soon? If memory serves the last one was twenty minutes ago. That seems like a lifetime in between to me.”
She let go of him and strolled further inside, running her hand along the soft, leather seats. In a warm shade of beige, they were spacious, complete with footrests and full reclining ability. The Cessna Citation X had nine seats, and he’d never been so grateful for an empty flight than he was today. At the back of the plane, a metallic bar boasted sleek bottles of vodka, scotch and other liquors, sturdy tumblers, and a bowl of fresh, ripe strawberries, courtesy of his clients.
The Pinkertons liked him.
A lot.
“This climbs to 51,000 feet, and the weather forecast indicates smooth sailing across the skies,” a friendly voice informed them. They turned around to find the pilot had joined them. Dressed in a dark suit and a pilot’s cap, the silvery-haired veteran of the skies quickly introduced himself.
“Greg Barton. I spent twenty years in the air force before moving to the private sector,” he said as he shook hands with Julia, then Clay. “I promise you’ll enjoy this flight so much, you may never want to get off the plane.” He returned to the cockpit to begin his preparations.
Julia picked up on his comment, and ran her fingers down the buttons on Clay’s shirt. “I suspect this will indeed be my favorite flight ever, though I kinda doubt it’ll be because of the smooth sailing.”
He arched an eyebrow. “Maybe I just want to nap rather than join the mile-high club.”
“We’ll just have to see about that,” she said, then walked across the plush carpeting to the bar, reached for a strawberry and popped a particularly red and juicy-looking one into her mouth, her lush lips closing around it. He couldn’t wait for the plane to take off.
CHAPTER FOUR
Friday, 10:03 a.m., flying above Ohio
Somewhere around one thousand feet in the air, Julia fell asleep. It was pretty much instant. She settled into her cushy seat, leaned into the comfy headrest, intending to close her eyes only briefly, and then crashed. She’d been working hard at her bar, and working late, so he figured she needed the extra shut-eye, not to mention a weekend off her feet. Her hours at Speakeasy, the bar she was part-owner of in Manhattan, had been long and late into the night, and as a bartender she was always standing. He hoped she’d be able to relax some this weekend after her meeting, and maybe spend time at the spa or pool at the new Allegro Hotel where they’d be staying on the Strip.
With her quietly snoozing, he took his laptop from his bag, and flipped it open. He had a few contracts he could get a jump-start on as well as some emails to power through. The plane had Wi-Fi, so he logged into his email. He’d planned to take the weekend off, but he wasn’t much of a napper so he could use this time to get ahead on next week’s workload. His clients kept him busy, and he liked it that way.
He fired off answers to several notes, one from his counterpart at a studio, another from Flynn at his firm, and one more from Liam, an actor he represented who owned Speakeasy. After a successful Broadway run in The Usual Suspects, Liam had landed the plum leading role in a new heist flick set to start shooting soon. That movie was one of the reasons Clay had booked a penthouse suite for the weekend at the Allegro, the backdrop for a few key scenes in the upcoming movie.