Page 2 of Remembering Passion

“At 4:15, Pacific.”

Blinking, I said, “That’s sooner than I would arrive on this flight with my connection.” And I’ll be able to grab some lunch.

“Yes, ma’am, it’s nonstop. Are you willing to change your flight?”

“Yes.”

The woman flashed a smile. “I wish everyone was as accommodating.”

“My lucky day, remember?”

The printer by her computer ticked and clicked. With a smile, she handed me the new boarding pass. “Gate A-7.”

When I looked down, my eyes opened wide. “First class.”

“Your lucky day.” She softened her smile. “There was also a seat in row twenty-seven. Thank you for being flexible.”

“Thank you.”

Beta Kappa Phi could afford the expense of a first-class ticket. The issue was me. I wasn’t comfortable using my travel expenses for that upgrade. Walking toward the center of the airport, I found a seat at the bar of a familiar restaurant, wheeled my carry-on in front of the stool, and hung my garment bag on the back.

Lucky day, I reminded myself.

As the bartender plopped a menu in front of me, my eyes met those of another patron.

My heart rate spiked and my skin chilled.

Quickly, I looked away.

“Would you like a drink?” the bartender asked.

“Shit,” I mumbled, trying to calm my abrupt onset of nerves. “A water and a chardonnay.”

The words on the menu didn’t register.

Two and a half years.

I hadn’t seen that dark-blue stare in over two years, and there he was.

Exhaling, I peered inconspicuously upward. Warmth filled my cheeks as I met the intense gaze of Damien Sinclair. Shit, he was as handsome as I remembered and probably the same conceited asshole.

Speaking of my previous job...

The man across the bar, the one with the broad shoulders, dark-blond mane, and deep blue eyes was my boss from hell. Leaving the world of pharmaceuticals—his world—to join Beta Kappa Phi had been because I’d decided to get as far away from one man as I could, the devil himself.

Now, after all this time, he was looking my way. I felt his gaze on me as if he could see beneath my slacks and soft sweater. Against my better judgment, I looked up once more. Damien’s smile curled into an incredibly handsome grin as he lifted a tall glass with amber liquid my direction.

The bartender returned with my chardonnay. “The good-looking guy over there—” she tilted her head toward Damien “—said to put your order on his tab.” She grinned. “You attract the hot ones. Your lucky day.”

I lifted my glass of wine toward him and spoke in a low volume. “Do me a favor.”

Her soft hazel gaze came to mine.

“Put his tab on mine. It will be our secret.”

“Oh, I like it.”

“Don’t tell him,” I said.

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