Page 138 of Wildest Dreams

I wanted out of here. To claw my way out of this flying airplane, to hurl myself into sure death, to run away frommy own consciousness to avoid the consequences of what just happened here.

Losing the deal with Bruce Marshall would’ve been disastrous.

But losing Dylan was un-fucking-fathomable.

I couldn’t allow it. Wouldn’t. I would do anything I needed to regain her trust.

But trust was an abstract idea; it wasn’t wealth, fashionable clothes, or an expensive vacation. Unlike materialistic things, it wasn’t something you could accumulate once you’d lost it.

“Sir?” One of the flight attendants put a tentative hand on my shoulder.

I stared at her, unblinking. Her gawk shifted from my shattered phone back to me.

“Is…is there anything I can get you? A drink? Something to eat? A blanket?” A fucking Valium? I was sure the words were on the tip of her tongue.

“Your phone.” My baritone was so low it sounded like it was emerging from the depths of hell.

“E-excuse me?”

I uncurled my fingers, opening my palm in her direction. I suddenly understood with sharp clarity why Tate was as ruthless as he was. When you wanted something—really wanted something—you stopped at nothing to get it. “Phone. Here. Now.”

“I…” She stumbled back, her spine hitting the wall. Her eyes kept skirting from my broken phone to me.

“I’ll get you fired if you don’t,” I warned evenly. “I’ve done it before. Ask your boss.”

She flinched before withdrawing her phone from the pocket of her uniform, slowly placing it in my hand.

“Password?”

“Zero nine, zero six.”

“Happy birthday.”

“Ah…thanks.” She blushed.

I started making some calls, ignoring her for the rest of the journey.

Dylan had to know I’d tried.

She had to.

DYLAN

“Oh my gosh, girl, looking fierce!” Three girls shrieked when I squeezed my way toward my seat, an hour late and my sanity short.

Cal had gotten us VIP tickets a breath away from the stage, but I was relieved to see everyone was standing up, as I intended to do. I peered over my shoulder, thinking they were referring to someone else who hadn’t spent the past couple hours weeping uncontrollably and trying to pick up the pieces of her broken heart.

“I’m talking to you.” One of them covered her mouth, giggling. “Seriously, the dress? The makeup? Vibe unmatched. You look like a movie star.”

A rush of angst decanted into my veins when I thought about the real movie star my so-called boyfriend had been cozying up to last night. My last relationship ended with Tucker runningaway with the town’s nepo bimbo. It had hurt, but it hadn’t burned. Claire Larsen, though? I couldn’t compete with her.

“Th-thanks.” I shoved a piece of tissue that was falling apart into my nostril, sniffling. I had panda eyes, and I’d missed the two support acts, but I’d showed up. No part of me had wanted to leave the house. Cal had insisted I go alone.

“It’s your dream. You’ve always wanted to see her. No way are you letting a boy ruin this for you. Besides, I don’t want Grav to see you so upset. It’s going to be bad for her psyche.”

It was the last reason that made me evacuate the apartment. I couldn’t stomach the idea of my daughter seeing me ripping at the seams of my own existence over a man, like an injured animal picking at the stitches of a fresh wound. So I ran off, leaving Cal to babysit her. I couldn’t think of anyone I trusted more than my best friend.

I studied the girls in front of me, forcing myself to engage in something that wasn’t my own insecurities. They were all in their early to midtwenties, one blond, one redhead, and one with black hair. They were all stunning and wore cute denim and sequined crop tops, glitter adorning their temples and cheekbones. They kind of looked like cheerleaders.

---