Page 83 of The Billionaire's Runaway Bride

“One thing though,” Leo says. “The plane’s in DC.”

I cringe. It’s not my plane, but the company’s. “Why?”

“A team of executives flew out to speak at a congressional hearing about metal manufacturing. Or something like that.” He chuckles, which falls flat. “I’m just the pilot. What do I know.”

“You’re confident we can leave as soon as the storm system clears?” Dalton asks.

I’m not shocked that he plans to come with me. He can tell how important this is.

“Yes. Give or take.”

I’m starting to hate that term. It doesn’t fit in my vocabulary as someone who likes to get their way.

“The cold front is stretching all the way down to Kentucky. If I were to try to go around it, toward the south, you’d be looking at a longer flight time because of the strikes at the airports near the border.”

“Fine. I’ll meet you at the plane in DC,” I tell him before I hang up.

Dalton raises his brows at me. “Road trip tonight?”

I nod.

“I’ll drive first.”

“You sure you want to come?”

He smirks at me. “Like I’d let you handle this without me?”

“Thanks, man.”

I call Lauren again, worried when it goes straight to voicemail.

“Besides,” Dalton adds, perhaps sensing I’m panicking and need to stay calm, “I can’t wait to meet the woman who’s reformed you.”

“Funny.”

He chuckles as we hurry to my apartment. “It’s true.”

“Like I said. Just you watch. It’ll happen to you, too.”

When I arrived at Marian’s bed-and-breakfast, I didn’t realize it would happen to me. That I would fall in love so quickly and severely.

I suppose everyone has a moment in life where they’re bound to find their other half and catch feelings of true love. When that moment comes, there’s no escaping it.

I’m coming for you, sweetheart.

I don’t have much time, but I’ll be there for my girl just like I promised I would.

I only hope I can get there before Jeremy ruins her life.

Chapter 32

Lauren

I stand in front of the same mirror where I realized I couldn’t marry Jeremy. It’s the same thick pane of polished glass that shows me the reflection of a terrified woman.

Me. It’s me.

In the worst case of déjà vu, I stare at myself and wish this wasn’t happening—again.

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