Sisters by Choice (Blackberry Island #4)(46)

“Age, gender, average income, number of cats, years of education, type of employment.” He looked at her. “Full-time versus part-time. Pull together all the information we have on the CK customer. Put it in a chart with the year at the top and the characteristics down the side. What we have for this year, last year and the previous two years. So four years in total. Add categories as you see fit. Then do the same for the average cat household in the country. Put that in a second chart. It should take you no more than two hours. Bring the information back to me.”

“Is that what you wanted before?” she asked.

“No, but it’s enough for now. Can you do it?”

“Yes.”

He passed her the pad of yellow paper, then pointed to the door.

Heather wanted to tell him she would do her best or salute or something but instead she rose and scurried from the room. She’d been given a second chance and she wasn’t going to blow it.



Chapter Thirteen


Things were not better at home. Jaxsen refused to admit he’d done anything wrong and he’d made it clear he thought she was overreacting. Kristine felt he was dismissing her very real sense of hurt and betrayal. He wouldn’t see that his lie had been significant. She’d been saving herself for true love and he’d lied.

As she drove to the airport to deliver another three dozen cookies to Bruno, Kristine acknowledged that she and Jaxsen were stuck. If history was destiny—or however that old saying went—she would be the one to cave. She would be the one to say it was fine, that she understood, and he would say he loved her and things would go on as before. She thought maybe that was the most sensible course, but for once she didn’t want to be sensible. He’d lied. Teenage boy or not, he’d hurt her feelings, had dismissed her reaction and once again she was expected to simply suck it up for the sake of their marriage.

When did he suck it up? she fumed as she drove toward the small airport. When did he do anything he didn’t want to do? Jaxsen helped around the house, but only with the things he liked. He would get the boys ready for bed but he wouldn’t read to them because “all their books were boring” as he’d told her a dozen times. He wouldn’t help clean the kitchen or the bathrooms, he wouldn’t tidy up, but he would vacuum because he liked doing that. He lived his life doing what he wanted, when he wanted, and the rest of them be damned.

By the time she parked, she’d worked herself into a powerful fury, leaving her with all kinds of energy and nowhere to put it. Fortunately, Bruno’s jet touched down just then, providing a distraction.

She collected the packaged cookies, along with a couple of chicken salad sandwiches she’d picked up at the inn and walked toward the jet. The door opened and the stairs were lowered, then Bruno was walking toward her.

“Thank you so much for helping me out,” he said, smiling at her. “I had a last-minute stop here before I leave and I wanted to get a few more cookies.”

“Here they are,” she said, lifting the tote bag. “I also brought you sandwiches, just in case you’re hungry.”

“Very thoughtful.” He gestured toward the plane. “Do you have a few minutes?”

She thought about all the things she had to do at home. She really shouldn’t, and yet she was going to. Because her husband was acting like a jerk and if that made her petty and small, so be it.

“I do,” she said.

He waited for her to go first on the stairs. Once she was inside, she set the sandwiches on the small counter and the tote bag in one of the seats. It was only then she noticed a bottle of champagne on ice.

Disappointment slapped her good and hard. Well, damn. He’d brought his girlfriend or something. So much for a few minutes of heavy flirting and a bit of “what if” pretending on her part.

Bruno reached for the bottle. “Am I being too presumptuous? I thought we could toast my upcoming trip.”

“It’s one in the afternoon.”

He smiled. “Yes, it is.”

She looked around at the luxurious private jet, glanced at the bottle and thought why not?

“Sure,” she said, taking a seat. “That would be lovely.”

“Excellent.” He pulled the bottle from the ice. “My grandfather always told me that most people open champagne incorrectly. They think it’s all about the pop of the cork. But when you hear that sound and the champagne spills out, you’re losing the bubbles that make it special. Sometimes quiet is better.”

He removed the foil, then unfastened the wire but didn’t remove it. Keeping his thumb on the top of the cork, he twisted the bottle with his other hand until the cork was free.

“You didn’t make a sound,” she said, impressed.

He winked. “Years of practice.”

He poured them each a glass before sitting across from her.

They toasted, then she asked, “When do you leave?”

“Tomorrow. I fly back tonight, then catch a flight to Paris tomorrow.”

“Catch a flight?” She pretended shock. “You’re flying commercial?”

“I know. This plane is due for some maintenance.”

“You must be devastated.”

He grinned. “I will power through my pain.”

“You have an amazing life,” she told him. “It’s so different from mine. I can’t even imagine. I’m a stay-at-home mom with three boys. I make food for you and I bake cookies and brownies that I sell. Every Thursday I stay up all night baking to have fresh cookies for the weekend when the tourists show up.”