Page 37 of The CEO's Sweetheart Deal
"I'm sorry, sir?"
"The jet, the chocolates, the champagne, the massages… cancel it all." The decision crystallizes in my mind, feeling right despite its impulsivity. "Book two first-class tickets on a commercial flight to San Diego instead. Something leaving tomorrow morning."
There's a pause, the kind that suggests Margot is trying to determine if I've lost my mind. "You want to fly…commercial?"
"That's exactly what I want." I run a hand through my hair, energy surging through me at this new plan. "Book seats together, of course. And be discreet about it — I don't want Ms. Mackie to know I changed plans because of her. Tell her there's a mechanical issue with the jet or something."
"I see." Margot's tone is carefully neutral. "And should I still make your usual arrangements at the Four Seasons in San Diego?"
I hesitate. One step at a time. "Yes, but nothing over the top. Just regular suites. No special preparations."
"Very well, sir. I'll make the necessary changes and send you and Ms. Mackie the updated itinerary."
"Thank you, Margot."
After ending the call, I slide the phone into my pocket and lean against the railing, feeling strangely lighter. This isn't only about impressing Alice. Not exactly. It's about showing her that I'm not just the soulless billionaire she thinks I am. That somewhere under all this success, I'm still the Oscar she once knew.
The Oscar she once cared about.
I pull out my phone again and open my messages to Alice. My fingers hover over the keyboard before I type:
Slight change of plans for tomorrow. My jet needs maintenance so we'll be flying commercial. My assistant will send you the details shortly. See you at the airport.
I read it twice before hitting send, then immediately regret the decision. Should I have offered to pick her up? No, she'd hate that — me showing up in a luxury car to drive her to the airport like she's some damsel who can't manage on her own.
Alice doesn't need my help with anything. That's what makes her so damn infuriating and so impossibly admirable at the same time.
My phone buzzes with her reply:
No problem. See you there.
Five words. No emotion, no hint of what she's thinking. She's never been one to waste words, but there was a time when her texts to me were filled with exclamation points and those silly emojis she loved. Now there's nothing but ambivalence at best.
I stuff my phone back in my pocket and head inside, sliding the glass door closed behind me. My house feels too big tonight, too empty. Twelve thousand square feet of premium lakefrontproperty, and sometimes I feel like I'm rattling around inside it like a single pea in an oversized pod.
I pour myself two fingers of whiskey and sink onto my couch, staring at the city skyline through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Tomorrow I'll be sitting next to Alice on a commercial flight. No luxury buffer between us, no assistants or staff to maintain the careful distance we've established. Just the two of us in cramped airline seats, breathing the same recycled air for two and a half hours.
What the hell was I thinking?
I take a large swallow of whiskey, welcoming the burn.
The truth is, I'm not trying toimpressAlice. Not really. I'm trying to show her that I'm still human. That success hasn't completely changed me. That I still remember what it was like before all this — when we were just two ambitious kids with big dreams and empty bank accounts.
I want her to see that I'm still that person, somewhere underneath all this success.
But I'm not sure that person exists anymore. And even if he does, I'm not sure Alice would care. She made it pretty clear she's not interested in anything beyond a professional relationship, and even that is strained at best.
But I can't help it. It's Alice. It's always been Alice.
My phone buzzes once more with the flight details from Margot. Two first-class tickets on the 9:15 flight to San Diego. I forward the information to Alice, adding only:
Boarding passes attached. I'll meet you at the gate.
She doesn't respond this time, which is fine. Better than fine. I don't need her approval for this plan — though God help me, I want it.
I finish my whiskey and set the glass down harder than necessary. This trip is about business. About checking out the potential new processing facility for Rooted Pantry. About expanding the company Alice has poured her heart and soul into. That's what matters here, not my wounded pride or lingering feelings.
Tomorrow, I'll be professional. I'll be courteous. I'll be the CEO she expects me to be, minus the private jet and all the trappings she despises. And maybe, just maybe, she'll see that I'm not the villain in her story.
