“And you’re sure we’ll get the signatures on time?” I asked my assistant, who checked her watch and jotted something down in her notepad.
“Yes. Aaron’s on his way over there now. We should have them back by lunch.”
“Good,” I said, closing the files and handing them back. “We’ll give it a final look before the meeting and if everything goes—” The door to my outer office opened, and a very determined-looking Bennett walked inside. My assistant let out a terrified squeak and I waved for her to go. She practically sprinted out of there.
Long legs carried him across the room in only a few strides, and he stopped just on the other side of my desk, slapping two crisp white envelopes down on a stack of marketing reports.
I looked down to the envelopes and then back up to him. “Something about this is so familiar,” I said. “Which one of us is going to slam the door and storm out to the stairwell?”
He rolled his eyes. “Just open them.”
“Well, good morning to you, too, Mr. Ryan.”
“Chloe, don’t be a pain in the ass.”
“You’d rather be a pain in mine?”
His eyes softened and he leaned over my desk to kiss me. He’d gotten home late last night, long after I’d fallen asleep. I’d woken to the sound of my alarm clock to find his warm and very naked body pressed against mine. I deserved some kind of a medal for managing to leave that bed.
“Good morning, Miss Mills,” he said softly. “Now open the damn envelopes.”
“If you insist. But don’t say I didn’t warn you. Slamming things down on desks has never really ended well for us. Well, for me. Maybe you could rectify that . . .”
“Chloe.”
“Fine, fine.” I lifted the flap on the one with my name and pulled a printed sheet of paper from inside. “ORD to CDG,” I read. “Chicago to France.” I looked up at him. “They’re sending me somewhere?”
Bennett beamed, and frankly, he looked so good while doing it I was glad I was sitting down. “France. Marseille, to be exact. The second ticket is behind that one.”
Plane tickets, one envelope for each of us. Scheduled to leave Friday. It was Tuesday already.
“I . . . I don’t understand. We’re going to France? This isn’t about last night, is it? Because we have busy lives, Bennett. These kinds of things will always happen. I promise I wasn’t upset.”
He rounded the desk and kneeled in front of me. “No. This isn’t about last night. It’s about a lot of nights. This is about me putting what’s important first. And this,” he said, motioning between us. “This is what’s important. We hardly see each other anymore, Chloe, and that’s not going to change after the move. I love you. I miss you.”
“I miss you, too. But . . . ahhh, I’m a little surprised. France is . . . really far and there’s so much to do and—”
“Not just France. A private house—a villa. It belongs to my friend Max, the one I went to school with? And it’s beautiful and huge and empty,” he added. “With a giant bed, several of them. A pool. We can cook and walk around naked; we don’t even have to answer the phone if we don’t want to. Come on, Chlo.”
“I love that you threw in the walking-around-naked part,” I said. “Because that’s most definitely how you’d close the deal.”
He moved closer, clearly aware my resolve was breaking. “I pride myself on always knowing my opponent, Miss Mills. So what do you say? Come with me? Please?”
“Jesus, Bennett. It’s like ten in the morning and you’re killing me with the swoons here.”
“I debated tranquilizing you and throwing you over my shoulder, but that might make things sticky at customs.”
I took a deep breath and peered down at the tickets. “Okay, so we’d leave on the ninth and come back . . . Wait, is this right?”
He followed my gaze. “What?”
“Three weeks? I can’t just drop everything and go to France for three weeks, Bennett!”
He stood, confused. “Why? I was able to make arrangements and—”
“Are you serious? First, we’re moving in a month. A month! And we haven’t even picked out an apartment! Then there’s my best friend, who was cheated on by the world’s biggest asshat last week. And let’s not forget the minor detail called my job? I have meetings and an entire department to hire and move to New York!”
His face fell; clearly this was not the reaction he’d anticipated. The sun was behind him and when he turned his head, tilting it the slightest bit, the light caught his eyelashes, the angles of his face.
Ugh. Guilt swelled in my chest like a balloon. “Fuck. I’m sorry.” I leaned into him and laid my head against his shoulder. “That is absolutely not the way I meant to say all that.”