(Extended Blurb Inside!)
Strap on your seatbelts as you ride along this riveting romance through the eyes of Ronnie and Harper, our two heroines that are determined to defy the odds thrown at them.
One possessive, bold pilot. One sweet, flirty heir...
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RONNIE
Something was wrong with Harper. All night, since we've stepped foot inside the event hall, she has been tense and jumpy and distant. My mind was going over a million possible reasons for her to be acting this way, but I came up with nothing concrete.
It could most likely be her father. Harper was always a bit weird whenever we were around Robert. I never got around to asking her about it, and I assumed it was the usual. The ever present strain between them caused by sky-high expectations from one party, and the sheer suffocation of trying to meet them by the other.
But it was different this time. I could feel it.
Leaning both forearms on the sleek quartz countertop of the bar, I shuffled through a variety of drinks in my head.
"Can I get a glass of your finest Moscato, please and thank you," I addressed mildly towards the bartender wiping down an old-fashioned. I settled for a drink with little amount of alcohol for Harper.
"No flight tomorrow, eh?" a voice inquired.
To my left was Sigmund Cook's private pilot, whom which I met during dinner a while ago. The man was in a black suit, sporting a glass of undoubtedly expensive whiskey and a conversational expression. Andrew, his name was, I remembered.
"Oh I do, this isn't for me," I said, referring to the drink placed before me just a second prior. "I'm assuming that's not the case for you?"
"You got that right. I'm planning on taking full advantage of this baby tonight." And by 'baby', he meant the open bar that offered an endless stream of any high-end alcohol your heart desired.
"Lucky." If only I didn't have to fly us home the next day. Mimicking Andrew, I leaned my back against the counter and people-watched with the drink in my hand.
"Well if not you, then for who's the grape juice then?" He laughed at his own joke.
Just on time, I spotted Harper coming out of a corner from the ladies' room, all pink tulle and long legs. She looked absolutely ravenous tonight.
She was making her way through the crowd to our table, where Robert still was. "For the lady," I replied, tipping the glass in Harper's general direction.
Andrew's eyes landed on Harper's figure amongst the mingling throng of London's high society. His interest was obvious, igniting a spark in his hazy blue eyes once he discerned which lady exactly I was referring to.
"Scott's daughter?" He puffed out a disbelieving laugh. "You tapping that? Damn woman. I mean, I don't blame you, she fine fine. But the boss' daughter, really? Even I won't be risking my job for fine puss—"
"I'm gonna be tapping your nose with my fist in a few seconds so I suggest you shut the fuck up right about now," I interrupted as calmly as possible, my gaze never straying from the woman wearing my dress better than I ever could. His words were rubbing me the wrong way, I wouldn't have minded scuffing my healing hand for him. But he had some sense on him after all because he heeded my warning, raising his glass and other hand in surrender. I could still see the faint curl of his lips from the corner of my eye though, amused and somewhat impressed.
