Page 40 of The CEO's Sweetheart Deal
“How is the ankle by the way? You obviously aren’t using the crutches anymore.”
I look down at it. “Good. Just a little sore. I have to keep the brace on it a bit longer. Don’t worry. Next laser tag day, I’ll crush you.”
He chuckles. “I would like to see you try.”
Our breakfast arrives, saving us from another awkward silence. We eat mostly without talking, the background noise of the plane filling the void between us. Oscar struggles with the tiny plastic cutlery, his large hands making the airplane utensils look like children's toys.
"Having trouble there?" I tease as he drops his fork for the second time.
He shoots me a look that's half annoyed, half amused. "These things are ridiculously small."
"Welcome to how the other half lives." I spear a piece of melon with my own fork effortlessly. "No sterling silver service at thirty thousand feet."
"I'm perfectly capable of adapting," he argues, though the effect is somewhat ruined when he drops his napkin.
As he bends to retrieve it, I find myself smiling. There's something almost endearing about watching him wrestle with the mundane challenges of commercial air travel. Cute, really.
"What?" he asks, catching me watching him.
"Nothing," I say quickly. "Just… this isn't how I expected this trip to go."
"Disappointed?" His tone is light, but there's a hint of genuine concern beneath it.
"Actually, no," I admit, surprising myself with the truth of it. "This might be a good trip after all."
Something shifts in his expression — a softening around the eyes, a slight quirk of his lips. "Yeah?"
"Yeah," I nod, feeling a strange sense of possibility open up between us. "As long as you don't expect me to carry your bags because your butler isn't here."
He laughs then, a real laugh that crinkles the corners of his eyes, just the way I like. "I think I can manage."
The seatbelt sign pings, breaking the spell. "We'll be beginning our descent into San Diego shortly," the captain announces over the intercom.
"So," Oscar says as we both straighten our seats. “You excited to see this place?”
The question is casual, professional, a clear attempt to steer us back to safer territory. But there's something different now — a subtle shift in our dynamic that makes the space between us feel less fraught.
"Of course.”
He nods. "And dinner after? I know a great place near the Gaslamp Quarter."
"Of course you do," I say, but there's no bite to my words. "As long as it's not some pretentious place where they serve foam instead of food."
"Proper San Diego fish tacos," he promises. "No foam in sight."
"Then I'm in." I smile, and he smiles back.
As the plane begins its descent, I turn to look out the window at the approaching coastline, sunshine glinting off the Pacific. I'm not sure what's changed, exactly, but something has. Maybe it's seeing Oscar trying so hard to prove he's still the person I once knew. Maybe it's the realization that beneath the billion-dollarempire and the carefully curated image, there are still traces of my old friend.
Or maybe it's just the California sunshine already working its magic on us both.
Whatever it is, I have a feeling this trip is going to be more interesting than I expected. And, luckily, that doesn't seem like such a bad thing.
CHAPTER 17
OSCAR
The California sun hangs low in the sky as we exit the facility, casting everything in a golden hue that makes even the industrial buildings look somehow beautiful. I roll up my sleeves and unbutton my collar, finally allowing myself to relax now that the official business part of our day is complete.
