Page 70 of The CEO's Sweetheart Deal
At the airport, my jet waits on the tarmac, sleek and luxurious. Alice lets out a happy sigh as we walk across the runway, wind catching her hair.
“This will be good,” she says, bumping my shoulder. “We need this.”
“You mean being late?”
She rolls her eyes. “Very funny. You know what I’m talking about.”
“Yes.” I wrap my arm around her shoulders and pull her closer. “I’m looking forward to having you to myself for a whole week.”
“You’ll have to share me with my new paperback… and the pool… and the spa.”
“Maybe you can pencil me in for thirty minutes the day before we leave?”
“Have your assistant call mine.”
The pilot gives us a polite wave. “Mr. Glynn. Ms. Mackie.”
“Good to see you again, Paul,” I say, returning the nod.
Once inside the jet, the cabin door seals behind us, shutting out the world. The soft hum of the engines, the sleek leather seats, the gentle scent of citrus in the air — it’s all familiar. And none of it compares to the woman beside me.
Alice is already talking a mile a minute, flipping through her phone and rattling off all the things she wants to do in Bali.
“I want to hike to a waterfall, like a real one,” she says, bouncing slightly in her seat. “And see the Ubud monkey forest. And I have to pick up a really big visor and just lay around by a pool drinking fruity drinks with… what do you think they put in the cocktails there?”
“Fermented dragonfruit?”
“Perfect. Fermentedsomething.And I want a massage every day. I want to forget what day it is. I want?—”
She stops when I don’t respond, her eyes narrowing.
“You’re quiet,” she says, leaning toward me. “What’s going on in that overly strategic brain of yours?”
I smile, but my hand slides to the inside pocket of my jacket.
There it is.
A small velvet box.
I’ve rehearsed this moment a dozen times. Replayed every version of how to ask her. But none of them felt quite right.
So I’m going with the truth – the one that’s always on the tip of my tongue, ready to spill forth at the slightest asking.
“This has been the happiest year of my life,” I say.
“Oh, Oscar.” Her expression softens instantly. “Me too.”
“I didn’t know it could be like this,” I continue. “Coming home to someone who knows all my moods and still chooses me. Building something real. Waking up next to you freezing because you’ve taken all the blankets.”
She laughs, eyes gleaming. “Sorry. I need to work on that.”
“You know what?”
“What?” She leans even closer.
“I used to think I needed work to feel whole. But it turns out… I just needed to really live life… outside of all the ambitions. Don’t get me wrong, I love what I do. Especially with Rooted Pantry.”
“I get it,” she says softly.
