Page 4 of How to Blow It with a Billionaire

Caspian went for the lightest sprinkling of sugar and a twist of lemon juice. While I went for syrup. And cream. And strawberries. And chocolate. And—okay, yes. Everything. I went for everything.

I couldn’t help but notice the way he was watching my lips.

It’s possible they were a little bit glisteny.

And sticky.

He was looking all tormented by the time I was chasing the last swirl of syrup from my plate with a fingertip. And I seriously hoped I was going to pay for this later.

It didn’t take me too long to pack on account of the fact I’d been living out of my suitcase since I got home. Then we said our goodbyes to my folks and headed to his car.

It was this silver hatchback thing. Very “family of four on a daytrip.” So unlike his fleet of billionairemobiles.

Caspian must have noticed my amusement because he explained somewhat grumpily, “This is what was available in Inverness.”

“You didn’t think to get chauffeured up in comfort?”

“And have an audience for what could very likely have been a futile twelve-hundred-mile round trip?”

I still wasn’t sure if it was terrifying or reassuring that you could have all the beauty, wealth, and power in the world, and still be uncertain about a boy. But, then again, if you were a total dick to the boy, you probably deserved to be uncertain.

Anyway, it had all worked out: happy endings ho.

We dropped off the car at Inverness and headed into the airport. When Caspian had told me he had a plane waiting, I hadn’t quite realized what it would be like. What it meant to be a man who owned a private jet.

The terrifying value of his time.

Time he was currently spending with me.

It was an overwhelming thought. Knocking me silent as we were whisked across the concourse and then ushered into a plush private waiting room.

I had just enough knowledge of cars to be able to recognize status vehicles when I saw them, but private jets were completely beyond my sphere of experience. I wouldn’t have been able to tell you the difference between a Gulfstream and a Bombardier if my life depended on it.

So all I could really say about Caspian’s, as I gazed at it through the viewing windows, was that it looked like a plane. With wings and engines and wheels and everything else you’d expect.

In barely a handful of minutes, our passports were checked in the most cursory fashion imaginable. And then we were let out onto the runway, me dragging along my entirely disregarded luggage. If I’d ever fancied terrorism or drug-dealing, this would have been a fantastic opportunity.

The chill hit me almost immediately, sharpened by the rough edge of the wind. I shivered and Caspian wrapped his coat about my shoulders. It was probably a demeaning sort of gallantry that I, as a liberated twenty-first-century man, should have resisted. But I didn’t feel demeaned. I felt cherished. And the thought made me blush.

“Why don’t you ever have a coat?” he asked.

I shrugged.

“Do you have some objection to dressing for the climate?”

“I have an aesthetic one.” I had a duffel coat Mum’s girlfriend Hazel had found in a charity shop, but it made me look, and smell, like an aging yak with personal grooming issues.

“Come on.” Caspian took my free hand and hurried me across the runway.

All around us the sky gleamed. His palm was warm and his fingers were strong. The wind was making carnage of my hair. It was hard for me to hold on to the idea that this was normal life for Caspian. When it felt so utterly surreal to me.

As we boarded, it was “Good afternoon, Mr. Hart.” Someone took my case. And then I was led into a space that would have impressed me if it had been a hotel. Tastefully decorated in shades of brown and cream and gold, it was essentially just a living room—soft carpets, sofas, cozy armchairs, a wall-mounted flat-screen—except it flew.

It motherfucking flew.

Only the windows, and something about the heavy quality of the light, betrayed the fact we were on a plane.

I must have had an “I don’t think I’m in Kansas in anymore” look on my face because Caspian steered me gently into a chair. He was telling me useful things about where the bathroom was and what to do in case of an emergency but I was too dazed to really take it in. Words like office and conference room and master bedroom kept shooting past me in bullet time.

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