Page 33 of Until It Was Real

“Come on. I want to get these bags checked in so we can visit the lounge before our flight. I didn’t have time to eat lunch.”

“The lounge?” I mutter as I trail after him.

There’s no line at the business class check-in. And, apparently, there’s a different security line for people traveling business class. Who knew?

Within fifteen minutes, we’re strolling into a lounge. Or, rather, Rhett is strolling. I’m tiptoeing behind him.

“I shouldn’t be in here,” I whisper to him.

His brow wrinkles. “Why not?”

I motion to the other people dressed in fancy business suits. Meanwhile, I’m wearing a suit I picked up at a second-hand shop. “I don’t belong here.”

“You’ll be fine.” He places a hand on my lower back and ushers me into the lounge.

With him guiding me, I almost feel like I belong. Like I could be one of these people who are confident of their place in the world. Must be nice.

“Do you want anything to eat or drink?”

“Um…” I’m too busy trying to shrink into my chair so no one will notice how I’m not one of them to think about food.

“I’ll make you a plate.”

He shrugs out of his suit jacket before making his way to the buffet. My gaze snags on the way his ass shifts in his suit pants. And then there’s his button-down shirt. It strains to contain his muscles. I never thought a suit could be sexy before. I was wrong.

I’m not the only one who notices. Several women watch him as he makes his way through the buffet. One woman even licks her lips. Another crosses her legs as she bats her eyes toward him.

A pit grows in my stomach. It’s stupid. I can’t be jealous. Rhett isn’t mine to be jealous of. And today is a good reminder of how the man is way out of my league. We’re not even in the same division.

He returns and places a plate of food in front of me with a bottle of water.

“How come your plate is three times as big as mine?”

“Because I saw the sandwich you ate for lunch.”

My cheeks warm. I ate an extra-large sandwich for lunch because I figured we wouldn’t get any food again until we arrive in Atlanta. I had no desire to spend my limited funds on an overpriced sandwich and a bottle of water in the airport. It’s bad enough I’m missing two nights of working at the motel for this trip.

Rhett nudges my plate closer to me. “Eat. When we arrive in Atlanta, it’s straight into meetings. Who knows when we’ll have a chance to eat again.”

He doesn’t need to tell me twice. I dig into the pasta salad. I moan as the pesto flavor explodes in my mouth. “This is good. They didn’t use the pre-made pesto I use.”

Rhett’s eyes flare as he stares at me.

“What? Did I spill? Oh no. I didn’t bring extra clothes. I can’t spill.”

He clears his throat. “You didn’t spill.”

“Phew.”

I’m not joking. When I accepted the job with Eli, he told me the dress code at the distillery is casual. I bought one suit, just in case. And it’s the only suit I have.

Rhett shovels his food into his mouth while I savor mine. This is seriously the best pasta salad I’ve ever eaten.

When he stands to get seconds, I stop him. “We need to get to the gate.”

He checks his watch. “We have forty-five minutes.”

“Boarding is in fifteen minutes.”

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