What Comes With It

Chapter 5

Ivy looks up at me over the top of her sunglasses at I climb into the Suburban. We're heading to my jet. The sky is impossibly blue, the kind of clear that only a night of storms can bring about.

"You look like shit," she utters, giving me a full once-over before getting back to whatever important dealings she's got on her phone this early in the morning.

"I ... the storms kept me up," I manage.

She doesn't even need to look up at me. I know she knows I'm lying.

A storm did keep me up. But his name is Ben and we texted for hours. When I did finally fall asleep for an hour or two, they were frenzied, heart-racing dreams. I woke up vibrating with energy.

This is a crush. 

"All systems are a GO," my heart is screaming. 

The timing is terrible. I need to get a grip. I ... can't stop thinking about him.

Fuck.

I don't get to have normal crushes. My name is too well known, my reputation far too delicate. There is protocol for this kind of stuff. I will have to rope in my closest confidants and ugh, the legal team. If I go down over some texts, my whole empire could go down with me.

I'm not ready to burst the bubble.

As I make my way to the bedroom quarters in the back of the jet, I turn down the offer of breakfast. I just want to go to sleep for a couple hours. By which I mean, text Ben some more.

Ivy is on my heels as I go to close the door. She pushes her way in. I catch Nick's eye behind her. He looks away.

"Spill it," Ivy demands.

"Spill WHAT?" I respond, feeling the blood creep up to my cheeks. "I just didn't get a lot of sleep."

"I heard someone slipped you a bracelet with another someone's phone number."

"Oh?" I ask innocently. I am a comically terrible liar. I'm going to yell at Nick later.

"You know the drill. I need to get in touch with his people and we need to get his signature A-S-A-P. I can get it by the time we land."

FUCK. Bubble. Burst.

"Fuck. Fine. Yes, it's possible I was texting with Ben Archer last night. But it's nothing."

"Sure, American's most eligible bachelor who happens to casually look like a God is nothing," she sneers. "Show me your phone then."

"Absolutely not," I say, shoving my iPhone into the bottom of my bag.

But it's too late. Ivy has been with me for over a decade and who-knows-how-many beaus. There are signs she's grown used to.

"I'll take care of it; you may want to warn him," she starts walking out of my quarters, before popping her head back in. "Enjoy your nap."