As I’d walked through Central Park, taking a meandering path through tall trees, I had determined that I wasn’t going to be small over a guy. Not even Gideon. I wasn’t going to let my frustration with him get in the way of having a good time in Vegas with my best friend.
Halfway home, I’d stopped and turned, picking out Gideon’s penthouse high above Fifth Avenue. I wondered if he was there, packing and planning for a weekend without me. Or if he was still at work, wrapping up the week’s pressing business.
“Uh-oh,” Cary singsonged, as the flight attendant returned with a tray laden with our drinks. “You’ve got that look.”
“What look?”
“The hell-on-wheels look.” He clinked his tall, slender glass against the side of my squat tumbler. “Wanna talk about it?”
I was about to reply when Gideon stepped onto the plane. He looked grim and carried a briefcase in one hand and a duffel in the other. After passing his bag over to the attendant, he paused by me and Cary, giving my roommate a cursory nod before brushing the back of his fingers across my cheek. The simple touch shot through me like a surge of electricity. Then he was gone, slipping into a cabin in the back and shutting the door.
I scowled. “He’s so damn moody.”
“And seriously hot. What he does for that suit . . .”
Most suits made the man. Gideon did things to a three-piece suit that should’ve been illegal.
“Don’t distract me with his looks,” I groused.
“Give him a blowjob. That’s a guaranteed mood improver.”
“Spoken like a man.”
“You expected something different?” Cary grabbed the frosty glass bottle holding the excess water that wouldn’t fit in my crystal tumbler. “Check this out.”
He showed me the label, which was branded to the Cross Towers and Casino. “Now that’s swank.”
My lips twisted wryly. “For the whales.”
“What?”
“Casino high rollers. Gamblers who don’t blink an eye at dropping a hundred grand or more on the turn of a card. They get a lot of comps to lure them in—food, suites, and travel to and fro. My mom’s second husband was a whale. It’s one of the reasons why she left him.”
He shook his head at me. “The shit you know. So this is a company jet?”
“One of five,” the attendant said, returning with a fruit and cheese tray.
“Jesus,” Cary muttered. “That’s a damned fleet.”
I watched as he dug a travel packet of Dramamine out of his pocket and washed the pills down with his Bloody Mary.
“Want some?” he asked, tapping at the wrapper on the table.
“Nope. Thanks.”
“You gonna deal with Mr. Hot and Moody?”
“Not sure. I may just pull out my e-reader.”
He nodded. “Probably safer for your sanity.”
Thirty minutes later, Cary was snoring lightly in his fully reclined seat, his ears covered with noise-canceling headphones. I watched him for a long minute, appreciating the sight of him looking restful and relaxed, the shallow grooves around his mouth softening in slumber.
Then I got up and went to the cabin I’d seen Gideon disappear into earlier. I debated knocking, then thought against it. He was shutting me out elsewhere; I wasn’t going to give him the opportunity to do so now.
He glanced up when I walked in, his face showing no surprise at my abrupt appearance. He sat at a desk, listening to a woman who was speaking to him via satellite video. His coat was hung on the back of his chair and his tie was loosened. After that one brief glance at me, he resumed his conversation.
I started stripping.
My tank top came off first, followed by my sandals and jeans. The woman continued talking, mentioning “concerns” and “discrepancies,” but Gideon’s eyes were on me—hot and avid.
“We’ll pick this up in the morning, Allison,” he interjected, hitting a button on the keyboard that darkened the screen just before my bra landed on his head.
“I’m the one with PMS,” I said, “but you’re the one having mood swings.”