Page 59 of Jilted

“Nah. This is why I like you. You’re just you.” He stroked my face, and I felt it down to my toes. “Thank you for coming early. I can’t wait to show you around.”

I wasn’t sure I’d ever understand why a ridiculously handsome guy who could have any woman he wanted and was busy getting a new professional sports team off the ground wouldwantto show me around, but I could see in his eyes that he was being sincere.

The luggage carousel made a loud chirping noise and jerked to a start. Bags started flowing as Wilder told me about his trip. He’d landed only a few hours earlier. As we chatted, I kept one eye on the conveyor belt, but there was no sign of my luggage, not even after twenty minutes. The people standing around waiting dwindled to just me and a few others, and eventually we watched the same lone purple suitcase and set of golf clubs circle around a dozen times before the belt came to an abrupt halt.

“Uh, what’s happening?” I asked.

“Shit. I think your bag must be lost.”

“Lost? No. It can’t be.”

He gestured toward a small office I hadn’t noticed. “The baggage-claim office is over there. Sadly, I’ve been there recently.”

“You’ve had your luggage lost?”

“Twice.”

“How long did it take for them to find it?”

“I got it back the next day both times.”

“Great. I usually take a change of clothes in my carry-on bag, but I had so much work stuff to carry, I didn’t this time. I don’t even have underwear.”

Wilder wiggled his brows. “I’ll make a stop at the lingerie store if you model them for me.”

The baggage-claim office had me fill out a bunch of paperwork and took my phone number, promising to contact me as soon as they located my bag. Wilder and I left with only my carry-on filled with work.

“I’ll have my assistant follow up with them and send a messenger to grab your bag when it arrives. It’ll be quicker than waiting for the airline to drop it off.”

“Oh. That would be great. Thank you.”

Wilder led me to a small Volkswagen parked in the short-term lot. “This is us,” he said.

“Such a normal car. I would’ve expected something flashier, Hayes.”

He opened the back hatch and grinned. “It’s my assistant’s. My car is slightly more memorable. We swapped to throw off the paparazzi.”

“What do you normally drive?”

“A vintage Aston Martin in Caribbean blue.”

“I don’t know what that is, but it sounds expensive.”

He shut the hatch. “My father got me into old cars.”

I started to walk around to the passenger side, but Wilder stopped me. “You driving?”

“Definitely not.”

He chuckled. “Then why are you getting in on the driver’s side?”

I looked at the car. “Oh!” I laughed. “Sorry, I forgot they drive on the other side of the road here.”

Wilder opened my door before sliding behind the wheel. Not only was the steering wheel on the wrong side, the car was a stick shift.

“Don’t you get confused driving here one week and in New York the other?”

“Sometimes, like after a few weeks of driving in the States and then I come back here and pull into a roundabout. It takes a bit for my brain to work it out. Luckily, there’s always traffic in both places, so I can mostly just follow the flow.”

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