Page 83 of The Wrong Promise

“Hi. How are you feeling?”

“Better, I think.” I squeeze my eyes closed and open them again. “Yeah, a lot better.”

“Are you coming into the office?”

“I am.”I’ll try.

He smiles at me. “Sleepy Zara is adorable.”

Why can’t I keep my eyes open? I smile goofily at him. “Do you want to get lunch together?”

“If I get a break,” he groans out. “What time is your flight tonight? I’ll arrange for Ben to drive you.” He pulls out a card from his wallet and places it on the bedside table.

“It’s at nine, but I need to be at Heathrow by six o’clock.”

He nods slowly. “Call Ben and inform him of a time, and I’ll accompany you to the airport.”

I hold out my hand from the covers, and Jobe squeezes it. “It’s after seven. I have to get going, and you should be up.”

“Shit. You go. I’ll see you at lunch.”

Jobe leans in and kisses my forehead before leaving theroom. He glances at my half-packed suitcase on the floor. “Do I need to call someone up to arrange your luggage for you?”

“Have a good day, Jobe,” I shoot back. I sit up and laugh at how my suitcase bothers him. Before I swing my legs over the edge, the nausea hits me again. I don’t make it to the shower. I’m back leaning over the toilet bowl. After I freshen up, I decide not to return to the office after all.

I open my cell. “Trisha.”

“Zara, how are you?”

“Better but not one hundred percent. I’m not coming in today. Please give everyone my best wishes for the holidays and tell them I’m sad to miss the Christmas party.”

“I will. Rest up. Are you well enough to catch your flight?”

“I am. I’m already feeling a touch better, and by tonight, I hope to be over the worst of it.”

After I end the call, I send Piper and George texts wishing them a Merry Christmas and looking forward to going out for a drink in the new year. I wait for twenty minutes, then toss my cell onto the bed.

I wake to my phone buzzing. I’ve been asleep for two hours. Crap, I have to tell Jobe that I won’t make it to lunch. Then my heart sinks. We haven’t discussed Christmas or meeting up while I’m back in California. He booked the jet Friday night, and while he offered me a seat, I had already paid for my flight home.

I already miss him. I turn on the television to the news channel. The screen is filled with snowstorm images in New York. Heathrow has canceled flights, with some being redirected to Orlando and Dallas. I log into my flight app on my cell and read the warnings about arriving early. There is an opening on a flight tonight. Crap. I make a call to Jobe—it goes straight to voicemail.

“Hi, Jobe. I’m not coming into the office as I’m heading straight to Heathrow. I’m sorry to miss lunch. Enjoy the Christmas party on Friday night. Please don’t be a stranger when we’re home. I—”I what?“I miss you already.”

My stomach turns over, but I ignore it and pack my suitcase like a woman possessed, then call Ben.

“Hey, Ben. I hope you don’t mind me calling, but Jobe said you might have time to drive me to Heathrow?”

“Of course, Ms. Hart. What time do you need to be there?”

“As soon as possible… if that’s okay?”

“I’m on my way.”

“Thank you.”

I take one last look around Jobe’s penthouse. Running my fingers along the marble counter, I can almost smell the aroma of herbs as he cooks. I’m going to miss being here.

I take the elevator to the foyer, and a cold blast of air hits me from the open doors. I already need to wear a thick coat, so I slip it on and stand by the glass doors, watching brown and red leaves twirl and scatter in the wind. The sky is gray, threatening to rain, and I’m ready to go home to a somewhat warmer climate.

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