Page 5 of Little Did You Know

What the hell do I do? I didn't have a phone to call someone, and I was terrified to leave the airport.

Chapter Three

Anthony's call jolted me from sleep at 2 AM. "There's been an incident." The tremor in his voice had me dressed before he finished explaining that he'd left Olivia alone at JFK, waiting twelve hours for her flight. Fury propelled me through the next few minutes—waking my pilot, arranging clearance, taking off from Tampa in my private jet. Now, at four-thirty AM, I stepped onto JFK's tarmac, the weight of those two-and-a-half hours pressing against my chest. Anthony's words echoed in my head: "Everyone's okay," he'd said, but the fact he'd called at all meant something was very wrong.

The head of airport security met me at the base of the jet's stairs. "Miss Ryan is secure, Mr. Pearson." His efficient stride led me through JFK's service corridors.

Before the plane had been in the air, I'd been on the phone with airport security, making sure they found her and that she was safe until I arrived.

At an unmarked door, an officer—built like a linebacker in his security uniform—rose from his post.

"She's sleeping now." The officer lowered his voice, glancing at the door. "But she was pretty shaken when we found her."

His grave expression hardened, jaw tightening as he looked away. Whatever he'd seen in Olivia's state had clearly disturbed him.

He produced a key card and unlocked the door with a soft click, stepping aside.

"Thank you. I appreciate you watching over her." I extended my hand, and he shook it firmly.

"Officer Day will be waiting outside." He gestured toward a uniformed man standing at attention further down the corridor. "Once you're ready, he'll escort you and Miss Ryan to your jet."

I nodded, my throat suddenly dry, and slipped inside the room.

The fluorescent lights cast shadows across Olivia's curled form on the narrow couch. A thin gray blanket twisted around her legs, revealing bare feet streaked with soot. The scent of smoke clung to her tangled dark hair. Fragments of ash drifted from her clothes onto the rug.

She looked almost the same as the last time I'd seen her. I crept toward her, careful not to startle her. Kneeling in front of her, I carefully brushed her dark hair away from her face. "Olivia," I said softly. Her sleepy, bright blue eyes opened.

"Nick." My name escaped her lips as barely a whisper. She launched herself at me, arms wrapping around my neck with unexpected strength. I caught her, planting my foot back to steady us both.

I wrapped my arms around her, feeling her heartbeat racing against my chest. "I'm here now." The scent of smoke in her hair made my throat tighten. "You're safe."

She pulled back, fingers digging into my shoulders. Her eyes were wide, pupils dilated with fear.

"No, you don't understand. The fire wasn't—" Her gaze darted to the door as if expecting someone to burst through. "Emmett, he?—"

"Olivia." I gripped her arms gently, my thumbs drawing small circles against her skin—the same motion I'd used when she was just a little girl, and she'd wake screaming from nightmares. "Take a breath. Start from the beginning."

She shook her head. Dark hair flew across her face, sticking to her tear-streaked cheeks. "Emmett's in trouble. Real trouble."

"Emmett's fine." I brushed her hair back, tucking it behind her ear.

Her jaw clenched. "I know he's fine, but he's in trouble."

Her fingers twisted in the fabric of my sleeve. "I know he's fine, but he's in trouble."

"Emmett's fine." I repeated, softening my tone. "We need to get out of here. Okay?"

I stood, gently pulling her to her feet. Her legs trembled beneath her. Placing my hand in hers, I gave a gentle tug toward the door.

She planted her feet firmly, becoming a statue in the middle of the room.

"No, Nick, I can't leave." Her voice found new strength as I turned back to her. "Something's wrong, and Emmett..."

"Olivia." I stepped forward, closing the space between us.

My wristwatch caught the light as I checked the time. Four forty-seven. The mandatory investors' meeting was at eight, and we still had a two-hour flight ahead of us.

I hadn't planned on flying to New York this morning, and I hadn’t expected her until later tomorrow. The weight of responsibility pressed against my temples, building a familiar headache.

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