Of course, in this particular case, being the bigger person would come with some pretty sweet benefits. My legs are already getting cramped, crammed in here between the economy seats. The woman next to me fell right asleep—and is snoring to wake the dead. And after everything this morning has thrown at me, I can’t help feeling I deserve some free booze.
Fate is trying to set me up with a few bottles of mini-wine and a cushy seat to enjoy them in. What better revenge can there be than waltzing up there and enjoying Will’s hospitality as if the past doesn’t mean a thing to me? I bite my lip.
Then I grab my purse and tote, scoot around the flight attendants closing the baggage compartments, and hustle to the curtain where my former nemesis is waiting.
Chapter Two
The tale of Will and me is as old as time: Boy meets girl, boy strikes girl as a cocky asshole until circumstances bring them closer together and she falls head over heels, girl confesses her feelings, boy reveals himself to be a cocky asshole after all. My trepidation as I stride into the first class zone is totally justified.
Will turns in his chair at the rustle of the curtain. He smiles when he sees me, and just for that second he looks more appreciative than sly. As if he wasn’t sure I’d accept his invitation. Well, good. He shouldn’t have been.
I settle tentatively into the seat he motions me to, which is about a mile wider and infinity more cushy than the one I had back in economy. “We meet again,” I say, and cringe inside at the Dark Lord-esque line. My nerd humor comes out in full force when I’m edgy.
“Like I said, must be fate,” Will says, his smile turning into that heart-stopping grin, and thank the Lord, here comes the flight attendant with a glass she sets on the tray in front of me.
“Whiskey sour,” she chirps.
My eyebrows leap up. He remembered my favorite drink. I guess that wouldn’t have been hard considering I must have ordered it in front of him about a million times. Better to focus on: “I didn’t know they made mixed drinks on airplanes.”
“Only in first class,” Will says. “And only if you fly with the airline so often half the flight attendants know you by name.”
I grab the glass and toss half of its contents back—because I’m thirsty, really, not to calm my nerves—and the whisky goes down so smooth I almost gasp. I haven’t had whiskey like that off an airplane in at least couple years.
“Fuck, that’s good,” I say, and feel my cheeks flush automatically. “I mean, thanks.”
Will laughs. “When did you become so polite, Ruby Walters? You used to be able to put sailors to shame.”
I wave my hand dismissively. “I mostly work with the under-18 set these days. Had to kick the potty mouth.”
“Intriguing. Tell me more—it’s been a while, after all.”
He’s talking as if we just drifted apart, as if there’s no reason for bad blood here. Does he think he can just pretend it away?
Or maybe he doesn’t realize I saw the full extent of his assholery.
Whatever. I can play along.
“I started my own PR consultancy,” I say. “Picked up the social media slack most of the established firms hadn’t caught on was the next wave in celebrity-dom. YouTubers, Instagrammers, that sort of thing. It keeps me busy.”
I’m hoping if I talk all casual it’ll downplay the obvious difference between us in success, if success is measured by being able to afford to sit at the front of a plane and have flight attendants bring you whiskey that good. Will just nods.
“It’s like you to spot the gap in the market,” he says. “Professor Maldew figured you’d make a mark. Sounds as though you proved him right.”
It’s a compliment hidden inside someone else’s opinion, but a compliment—and a pretty nice one—all the same. Between that and Will’s smile and the intentness of his gray-green eyes just a couple feet away from me, I feel myself going slightly mushy inside.
No, no way, shields up, full power. He’s not going to get under my skin.
“You must be doing well, too,” I say, redirecting the conversation to what is undoubtedly his favorite subject: himself.
He shrugs, leaning his elbow on the armrest between us. Just inches from my bare arm. I down the rest of my whiskey sour.
“It’s taken a lot of work,” he says. “But it was important to me to develop my own properties rather than riding on the coattails of the family business. There’s a lot more I’d like to do.”
That’s just like him, or at least the Will I thought I knew—always making sure he could fully own any credit he got, always reaching farther. He wanted to make his own mark.
In school, in business, and on half of the female senior class.
My gaze slips to his left hand. No ring.
Not that it matters.
I jerk my eyes away. “So do you work out of LA?” I say, toying with my glass and wondering if it’d be out of line to order another of those in his name.
“I have to be on the move a lot. I can’t say I really have a home base at the moment.” He tugs at the cuffs of his jacket sleeves, a familiar gesture, and adds, “The fate thing might be a joke, but I am glad we’ll have the week to catch up, Ruby.”
He sounds so sincere that I feel my shields collapse with a flutter of my heart. Oh, no. Maybe I’m not ready for this after all.
“I, um, I really should catch up on some Zs before we get in,” I say with a forced smile. “Early morning, busy day ahead, you know. Thanks again for the comfy seat!”
I pop in my earphones, snatch the complimentary sleep mask, and shut out all thoughts of Will in search of my inner Zen.
I’m hoping to put a little distance between Will and me once we touch down, but it’s tricky separating from someone you were sitting right beside who’s heading for the exact same place you are, without looking like you’re fleeing in disgrace. So naturally we end up next to each other watching the suitcases spilling out onto the baggage claim carousel. Will’s, a subdued, wheeled leather number, arrives in the first round.
“My car service will be waiting out front,” he says. “You want a ride?”
Another hour of sitting next to him in close quarters making awkward conversation—or awkwardly attempting to escape it? Nope, thanks, I’ve had my fill for the next three to four lifetimes. “Don’t wait for me,” I say. “I booked a rental.”
For the first time since I almost literally ran into him, his expression turns serious. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. The companies that operate out of here are all cons, Ruby.”
“I know how to read fine print,” I say. “I’ll be fine. I’d rather have my hands on the wheel than trust someone else’s driving.”
He frowns, looking as if he’s going to argue more, and in my only bit of good luck so far I spot my cherry-red polka-dot hard-shell careening from the chute. “There’s my bag!” I say cheerfully. “I’ll see you at the resort.”