Moonlighter (The Company, #1)(10)

She blinks. “Okay, back up. You really want to go to Hawaii? It’s going to be a boring week of accompanying me to parties and meetings.”

“That does sound dreadful,” I admit. But I’m going out of duty more than for the scenery. It’s not her fault that my family are thoughtless freaks. “But it’s fine. Let’s board your gas-guzzling private jet and get on with it.”

I stand, but she holds up a hand. “No. Wait.”

“What do you mean, wait? I thought people chartered jets so they didn’t have to wait!”

“Listen,” she begs. “If you’re not into playing this role, then it will never work. I’ll ask Max to send somebody else.”

“If Max had someone else to send, he would have. Trust me.”

She winces.

“Besides, I can play the role, Alex. It’s not like it’s hard.”

“You’d think.” She scowls. “But don’t forget—you’ll have to pretend to like me.”

“Huh,” I say, scratching my chin. “So, like, I shouldn’t ogle other women? Or pick up some chick at the bar, and take her back to my room?”

“Of course not.” A look of pure horror crosses Alex’s face.

“But baby,” I complain. “Maybe your new boyfriend is a swinger. How do you feel about threesomes?”

“Eric!” Her eyes bug out.

That’s when I crack up. “Do they let gullible people run companies? I’m surprised.”

“You’re not funny!” Alex tips her head back and glares at the ceiling. “Please, just go home. I don’t need a fake boyfriend. I changed my mind.”

“Alex, calm down.” Although I’m still snickering inside. “You know how some people learn a trade at the dinner table? Like, how to run a pharmacy, or how to rope cattle?”

“Or how to license cable channels for fun and profit? I know how that works. And The Journal still thinks my father secretly runs my company.”

“Well, what I learned at the dinner table was how to be a bodyguard. How to punch someone to inflict maximum pain. How to neutralize an opponent without making any noise. How to blend in with my surroundings. And—since I’m me—the whole attractive arm candy thing comes naturally.”

She rolls her pretty eyes. “So you’re saying you’re like Jason Bourne, but more egotistical?”

“And more athletic. Honestly? That guy is a punter. He draws way too much attention to himself. And I call bullshit on some of those car chases.”

“Excuse me, Ms. Engels?”

We look up to find another obsequious airport employee waiting there with a smile on her face. “Your takeoff window depends on a timely departure.”

Alex springs off the sofa. “All right. I’m ready to go.”

“Of course, baby. Let’s do this.”

She shoots me a glare as I bend down to grab our baggage. “You can still stay home, you know.”

“Darling, I wouldn’t dream of it.” I give her a sleazy smile, which only makes her roll her eyes.

The airport employee is glancing between us, looking unsettled, so I leave the waiting room and carry our bags outside, where a chauffeured golf cart drives us a couple of hundred yards to a waiting Gulf Stream.

“Last chance,” Alex says as we reach the steps leading up to the plane.

But I follow her aboard. If she thinks I can’t play this role, she’s got another think coming.

Inside Alex’s jet, everything is leather and wood. It’s like my brother’s apartment but with wings. The passenger cabin sports two huge reclining chairs on opposite sides of the center aisle. Beyond those, I spot a dining table with two bench seats. In the very back there’s a door marked bedroom.

I give a low whistle. “Nice digs, lady.”

“What, this old thing?” she gives me a tight smile. “It’s a little ridiculous. But I travel a lot.”

A male flight attendant joins us. “Alex! Welcome aboard.”

“Thank you, Manny. This is Eric Bayer, my—” Her hesitation lasts only a micromoment. But I realize that it’s just occurring to her that we’re going to have to pretend to be a couple. “Old friend.”

“Did you just call me old?”

“Well, you’re much older than in that photo I just showed you. Didn’t we just go over this?”

I laugh in spite of myself. I’d forgotten that Alex was sharp-tongued, even as a child.

“Welcome, Eric,” the flight attendant says. “Make yourself at home. Let’s get those bags stowed.” He opens a closet to indicate where our suitcases go.

Alex makes a move to stow her own, but I take it from her again. “I’ve got this, sweet cheeks.”

“Thank you. Dear,” she says, shooting me an angry look. But a guy's got to have his fun.

Manny is well trained enough to ignore the whole thing. “Please be seated for takeoff at your earliest convenience. With your seatbelts fastened.”

“Thank you,” Alex says.

I wait for her to choose a seat before I claim the other one. The chair is broad and comfortable, the leather cool beneath my fingers. I’d still rather be eating guacamole on my sofa right now, but we don’t always get everything we want.