Page 6 of Anyone But You
“Who canceled my ticket? I didn’t do it.”
“Let me…look at the notes here.”
I watched Tiffany’s face morph from curiosity to downright confusion.
“There’s a note here that says that your husband called and said you died. The ticket was canceled, and you were refunded.”
“I’m not dead! And more importantly, I don’t have a husband!” I shrieked.
“No surprise there,” someone mumbled behind me. I whirled around and found an unfortunate-looking man with a beard that looked like it was playing Connect Four. I shot him my best “fuck around and find out” glare before returning to Tiffany.
“There has to be some sort of mistake. Is there another flight to Miami today?” I asked, logging into my email to find the cancellation confirmation.
“I’m sorry, but all the flights today are booked. In fact, some are overbooked.”
I went cold when I received an incoming call from Knox.
This…motherfucker…
“Hello?” I whispered, swallowing back all my rage.
“Good morning, Victoria. Come outside. We have a plane to catch.”
“Did you call the airline and tell them that I died?!”
“I did. Come outside.”
“Why would you do something like that?”
“I told you our business trip was mandatory, and you thought I was joking. Get it in gear, Victoria. We can’t idle forever in the pickup area. It’s rude.”
“Pickup area?”
“Yes, outside the terminal. We’re flying privately from another airport. Let’s go. Your donuts are getting cold.”
I hung up the phone with a trembling hand.
“Are you okay, Ms. Caldwell?” Tiffany asked.
“I’m not okay, and neither will Knox Ramsey be once I’m done with him.”
3
Bribery
Knox
I’d like to say Victoria was a little pissed as she exited the airport, but it would be a lie. She wasincensed. Her eyes cut into a sharp, rabid glare, and her knuckles were stretched tight around her luggage that she dragged along like a dead body.
My dead body, I’m guessing.
Her right eye twitched in rage, and her steps were fast and violent.
I wonder what type of flowers they’ll have at my funeral. I should be more scared, especially since I know Victoria wants to strangle me, but she’s…fucking adorable.
Tired of being dragged like a corpse, the bag tipped over onto its side. The burgeoning suitcase I knew was filled with skimpy bikinis and cut-off shorts threatened to burst open at the seams.I watched her stop dead in her tracks and glare at it. I knew she was calling the suitcase every foul name in the book in her mind.
She prefers “bastard.” She loves calling me a bastard. And when she’s absolutely not in the mood for my bullshit, she calls me a “dirty, old bastard.” I’m not dirty; neither am I old. I’m only 49. A slight correction is warranted. My thoughts regarding everything I want to do to my executive assistant are dirty — downright filthy is a more fitting description.
