Page 14 of Aim Assist

And the hotel is ocean-side, which is—ugh, luxury.

It's like being flown straight into a fairy tale. Dream gig. Dream location. Dream hotel.

Am I dating a billionaire without knowing it?

No. If I was, I'd have flown in on a private jet, not a rickety plane that disembarked straight onto the tarmac.

My phone buzzes as I walk towards the section for baggage claim. Fishing it out of my pocket, I glance at the screen.

Unknown number:

Ms. Sloane, I'm here to pick you up. Let me know when you're ready and I'll meet you at passenger pickup.

Amy:

Sorry, waiting on my bags and dog. Be there soon.

Unknown number:

No problem, take your time. I'm in no rush.

Huh. How weirdly friendly for a random driver. I'm used to curt one-word responses, not this casual chattiness. Asher Sinclair really knows how to run a business.

I shove my phone back in my pocket and make my way to the conveyor belt, scanning for my garish pink suitcases in the sea of black and navy. There—that eye-searing shade of magenta I thought was so cool when I ordered the set online. I wrestle them off the belt with a grunt.

Now for Lucky. I follow the signs to the oversized baggage area, my stomach twisting with each step. I know flying is safe for pets. I've done an insane amount of research... but I still worry. She's my baby.

Relief floods me as I spot her crate, her little nose poking through the grate. "Hey buddy," I croon, crouching down. "You ready to get out of there?"

She gives a few excited bark-whines and I laugh, signaling to the attendant that this is my dog. She helps me fill out the paperwork and then I'm clipping on Lucky's leash, my other hand juggling my two suitcases.

Okay. Bags, check. Dog, check. I'm as ready as I'll ever be.

The passenger pickup area has cars everywhere. There's a sleek black town car, a taxi—I don't see many of those anymore—a few rideshares with little neon signs that declare them as such in their windows…

But, of course, I don't know what to look for.

My phone pings again, just in time.

Unknown number:

I'm in the red Tesla. Take your time. Let me know when you're out.

Red Tesla. Could this get any more surreal? The car's not far, and I make my way over, wondering what the hell I've gotten myself into.

My knuckles rap against the tinted window of the sleek red car before I can gather all the butterflies in my belly. It's like a different world here, with a luxury vehicle picking me up.

The door swings open and a man unfolds himself from the driver's seat, rising to his full height.

Holy shit.

My breath catches. He's gorgeous. Huge. Not only tall, but built. Wide in the best, muscle-bound kind of way. His face is great, too—his jaw is dusted with stubble, his eyes are a gorgeous blue-green that reminds me of the ocean I'd seen from the plane, and he has short blond hair that's artfully tousled. A face made for billboards and magazine covers.

His shoulders fill out his suit in a way that I'd expect out of some sort of FBI agent in any of those cheap thrillers that thrive off sex appeal more than plot. If he came up to me with a gun and told me to follow him to survive, I'm ashamed to admit that I'd go with him, losing all my brain cells in the process.

He's way too sexy to be driving a car for a living, even if it's a Tesla.

Shit. I don't normally feel dwarfed as a woman standing a solid 5'6", with some extra weight tacked onto that, but—damn.

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