Page 9 of Boss On Notice
He grimaces as if the question I asked him tastes sour. “What’s his story? What do you mean?”
Suddenly the airplane is speeding down the runway. My back is forced against the seat as I grip both armrests.
“Is he married? Girlfriend?” I ask in rapid succession.
Orion’s expression shuffles through several iterations of more frowning. “Why don’t you ask him?”
Even though he’s being gruff, he’s asked a valid question. “I don’t know. We keep our convos pretty surface. I mean, up until today, I’ve been calling him Mr. Eleventh Floor.”
Orion blurts a laugh as the airplane rises to cruising speed. “That sounds like what you name a porn star.”
I laugh softly. “I guess it does. Not that I watch porn,” I clarify. But maybe on some deep psychological level I’ve associated Lynx Grove with sex—i.e., banging my brains out. It’s been so long since I’ve done it, at least two years.
“But I don’t know much about the guy other than he owns…”
“The Connecticut Ramblers. I know.” Woe, this conversation is tilting into girlfriend-talk territory and Orion is not any sort of friend of mine.
“But he’s not your type, Lilly. I would steer clear of him if I were you.”
I watch him, befuddled about what to say next. I think of the handful of encounters that occurred between Lynx and me. Of course, he’s all gorgeous and I now know that he’s from one of the wealthiest families in the world. Their wealth wasn’t just handed down to them like the Lords. The Groves are nerdy, beautiful, and smart people. Is that why Orion believes Lynx is not my type? Is he insulting me?
“Why would you say that?” I retort.
“Say what?”
“That he’s not my type.”
Orion interlaces his large fingers with well-manicured fingernails and steeples them in front of me. Maybe the look on my face warns him to tread lightly. Only I don’t want him to be careful. I want him to be honest about why he doesn’t think I’m good enough for Lynx Grove.
I’m still waiting to hear it, when another long and lean flight attendant, who’s not Pippa, interrupts us to serve us more coffee, sunrise mimosas, and hot homemade biscuits with a selection of dipping sauces, which include peach, apricot, and blueberry compotes, along with chocolate, white chocolate, and butterscotch dipping sauces.
I dive right in and almost forget that Orion still owes me an answer. I’ve never tasted biscuits this delicious in my life. They have a crunchy and flaky outside with a warm, soft, and tasty inside.
“Umm,” I say, all of a sudden feeling happy. Maybe I’ve been hangry all morning. I was in such a rush to get to the office that I didn’t eat breakfast. Missing meals isn’t an option for me. But why the puzzled look on Orion’s face? He’s watching as if he’s never seen me eat before.
I flop a hand dismissively. “You know what, no need to answer. It doesn’t matter what you think.”
“Lynx is not a go-getter, which is why you never knew his name.”
I shrug, unaffected by his rather harsh criticism of a man who owns a professional sports team. “Why should I stay clear of a person like that?” There’s one more biscuit left. I’ve eaten three and Orion has had none.
“Go ahead. It’s yours,” he says, nodding at the biscuit.
Oh my God—who is this person I’ve become this morning? I never eat without taking the other person into consideration. I’ve been snappy too.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I haven’t been myself today.”
He strokes the immaculately trimmed hairs on his chin. Orion never looks a mess. He takes very good care of himself and it seems like he does it without trying, as if he wakes up that way every morning. Yet again, it’s unfair that someone like him would have such unprocessed attractiveness.
“Listen,” he starts.
I’m waiting for him to finish whatever he was going to say when Pippa enters to serve the breakfast we ordered. Orion asks her to bring us another serving of biscuits. His waffles look fluffy and fruit fresh. My eggs Benedict takes my breath away at first bite.
“So, Orion,” I say rather loudly now that we are alone again. “What’s the story between you and Treasure Grove?” Oh my gosh, I’ve been wanting to ask him that like forever.
He smirks. “There is no story.”
My eyebrows flash up and hold. “That’s not what I heard.”
