Page 39 of The CEO's Sweetheart Deal
"No champagne?" he asks after the attendant leaves.
I shrug. "9:30 in the morning seems a bit early, even for a business trip."
"Right." He looks almost disappointed, as if he'd been hoping I'd take advantage of the first-class perks.
The plane begins to taxi, and I turn my attention to the window, watching as Seattle slowly recedes beneath us. The clouds arelow today, a typical Pacific Northwest morning, and soon we're enveloped in a sea of white.
"So," I say, breaking the silence once we reach cruising altitude. "What's with the jeans? I don't think I've seen you in anything but suits since we ran into each other again. Other than when we played laser tag."
Oscar glances down at himself as if he'd forgotten what he was wearing. "I do own casual clothes, you know. I'm not completely detached from reality."
"Could have fooled me." I take a sip of my water. "First commercial flights, now jeans. What's next? Taking the bus? Shopping at Target?"
His jaw tightens almost imperceptibly. "I'm not that out of touch."
"Aren't you, though?" I press, unsure why I'm needling him but unable to stop. "When was the last time you did your own grocery shopping? Or pumped your own gas? Or waited in line for anything?"
The flight attendant arrives with our drinks, momentarily halting our conversation. Oscar takes a large swallow of his Scotch before responding.
"I know what you think of me, Alice," he says quietly. "That I've turned into some sort of caricature of success. That I’m living in some sort of lala land."
"I don't think that," I say automatically, though we both know it's not entirely true.
"Yes, you do." He turns in his seat to face me more fully. "You made it clear at the party. I'm just a vulture who cares about nothing but money and work."
The hurt in his voice is so palpable that I feel a twinge of guilt. "That's not—" I start, then stop myself. Because isn't that basically what I said? "Look, I was angry that night."
"But you meant it." His hazel eyes lock with mine, searching. "That's what you believe I've become."
The intensity of his gaze makes me uncomfortable, and I look away, focusing on the clouds outside. "People change, Oscar. Twelve years is a long time."
"Not that much," he says softly.
An awkward silence falls between us. I fiddle with my seat belt absent-mindedly, unsure how to respond. Part of me wants to tell him that yes, he has changed — that the Oscar I knew wouldn't have abandoned our startup, wouldn't have left me struggling to pick up the pieces alone. But another part, a part I've been trying to ignore, is starting to recognize more and more glimpses of my old friend in this successful stranger.
The flight attendant saves me from having to reply, stopping by to take our breakfast orders. I request the fruit plate; Oscar goes for the omelet.
"Your jet doesn't really need maintenance, does it?" I ask once we're alone again, the question slipping out before I can stop it.
Oscar chokes slightly on his Scotch. "What makes you say that?"
"Please," I roll my eyes. "You've been trying so hard to prove you're still a 'normal guy' ever since we started working togetheragain. This whole commercial flight thing is just another attempt."
His face flushes slightly. "The jet does need a?—"
"Oscar." I cut him off with a look that says I'm not buying it.
He sighs, running a hand through his hair. "Fine. No, it doesn't need maintenance. I thought… I thought you might be more comfortable flying commercial."
The admission surprises me. "Why would you think that?"
"Because every time I mention anything related to my success, you look at me like I've personally offended you," he says, frustration edging his voice. "So yes, I canceled the jet and booked us on this flight instead. Happy now?"
I should be annoyed at his presumption, but instead, I find myself oddly touched. "You did that for me?"
"I did it so we could have a civil working relationship for the next few days," he clarifies quickly. "This trip is important for Rooted Pantry."
"Right. Of course." I nod, trying to ignore the slight disappointment his words cause. "All about business."
