Total pages in book: 63
Estimated words: 59395 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 297(@200wpm)___ 238(@250wpm)___ 198(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59395 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 297(@200wpm)___ 238(@250wpm)___ 198(@300wpm)
“Considering you offered no solution to what Allie said, and trouble is brewing, yes. I need a drink.”
“Depends on how you define trouble,” he replies, and the flight attendant is already back, offering us bottles to go with the glasses filled with ice. I wish she’d mix them for us. Then I could blame her for my ridiculously low tolerance for alcohol, and say she mixed it too strong.
“The good news,” I say, filling my glass with a mix of vodka and tomato juice, “is that vodka all but ensures I’ll sleep through the four-hour flight sitting next to you.”
“I’m not sure how I feel about inspiring sleep,” he replies, filing his own glass.
“You inspire a lot of things in me that are not sleep, Tyler,” I assure him. “And before you run with that the wrong way, I’m in a professional headspace. There is a predominant emotion I’ve felt with you most of my career that is not what you will assume to insert.”
“Which would be what?”
“Motivated. You’re very cold about your feedback, but also honest, and usually right. I’m better for it.”
“That was training. I don’t remember having much feedback for you since about six months into your employment.”
“I bring problems to you often, as proven by our present state of travel.”
“Working together to solve a problem is not the same thing as me training you. And that’s what I was doing when offering that feedback.”
“In that Tyler kind of way. That’s my point.”
“Is this where you talk about my arrogance?” he asked.
“Which is directly related to your ego. Do we really need to talk about it?” I ask, sipping my drink. “I mean it’s just so big and out there. It’s not a good idea to give it more attention.”
He laughs, a low, deep masculine laugh that might curl my toes if I let it, but I won’t.
“You always meet me blow for blow, woman. I do like that about you. And for the record, I’ve never given you any suggestion you didn’t beat to death.”
“Hmm,” is all I say, sipping again, the alcohol sending a rush of warmth over my skin. A few more sips and life will be good.
My cellphone buzzes with a message, and I quickly grab it from my purse, hoping to read the message before I get in trouble with the flight attendant. The minute I spy the number on the caller ID, I light up. “It’s from Sommerby,” I glance over at him, “that’s—”
“The competing studio head,” he supplies. “What did he say?”
“He’ll see us tomorrow at nine, which is going to be rough considering it will be late when we get to our room.” My eyes go wide because at this point, I’m angled toward him and somehow my leg is touching his leg. I move my leg and amend, “I mean rooms.”
Tyler laughs. “You have your own room, Bella. We should talk about the strategy for the meeting though before you let that vodka put you to sleep.”
I hold up a finger. “An excellent idea, boss.”
His eyes darken and warm. “Tyler, Bella.”
“I guess I could say, Mr. Hawk. Since you said Ms. Bailey the other day.”
“There could be a time when that would be appropriate, Bella. You just haven’t been there yet.”
Suddenly, I don’t know what we’re talking about, but I’m pretty sure it’s related to his need to dominate during sex. Which is an assumption since I haven’t had sex with him, but I remember oh too well how he dominated me in his office. Tell me what you want. Say it.
Tyler leans in closer. “What are you thinking right now, Bella?”
“I’m not sure I moved the wash to the dryer.”
He laughs again, and I don’t remember him laughing in the past, as in at all, let alone the numerous times he has with me today. He’s a complicated man, one with layers and layers of emotional baggage he guards well. And yet, he’s let that guard down today with me.
An announcement sounds over the intercom. The short version of the message: we’re taking off. I react by easing into my seat, always a bit edgy at this portion of a flight. Tyler glances over at me, those blue eyes of his seeing way too much. “Nervous flyer, are you?”
“I just don’t like takeoff or landing. Those are the times you’re most likely to crash. Everything in between is fine.”
“You’re afraid of what you can’t control,” he states as if it’s obvious. “It’s not the same way I look at control. I want it in all things. You simply dislike those things that can’t be affected by anything you say or do.”
It’s true, of course, and I’m surprised by how well he understands my psyche even more so than my brother, and I’m close to Dash. “Per the counselor I saw at the hospital, this type of thing is normal for someone who lost a parent they were close to at a fairly young age. Though I’m not sure twenty-one is all that young.”