Page 37 of Ms. Fortune

“He’s almost too good to be true.” I sigh inwardly, considering the idea. “He’s probably a mama’s boy or has some other fatal flaw I’ve yet to discover. It’ll rear its ugly head when it’s exactly too late.”

Her expression sobers. “Norm. Don’t you know anything about his family?” She seems surprised.

“No. He hasn’t talked about his family yet.” The deepening concern in her features has me worried now. “Why? What should I know about his family?” I hadn’t thought much about it since we discussed so many other things during our few outings. And now I feel like an asshole for not asking him about his family because I know absolutely nothing about them.

She cranes her neck to check the area for Brandon, but he’s not back yet.

“His mother went on some talk shows in England a few years ago and talked total shit about him. I think they paid her for her sob story. She dragged him through the mud, saying he wouldn’t care for her financially and she was basically destitute, but you could tell she was lying through her teeth. Eventually, it spun back on her, exposing her as a bold-faced liar, but I don’t think they have a relationship.”

“That’s horrible.” I couldn’t imagine having your own mother do that to you in public, especially over money. That had to be awful.

“She’s a real piece of work. His dad left when he and his brothers were young, and they never heard from him again. I’d bet he ran far away from her, but still shitty to do to the rest of the family.”

I didn’t know this either, but I never paid attention or asked. “How many brothers does he have?”

She makes a face at me, scowling at my ignorance. “You didn’t know any of this? What kind of girlfriend are you? Two brothers.”

“What? I don’t interrogate people when I go on dates.” I shift in my seat, knowing she’s at least partially correct. I should have asked Brandon about his family or at least ran a quick internet search. I’m sure it’s all public knowledge. Just not the public I’m a part of, apparently.

Once we’re in the air and at cruising altitude, Brandon disappears into the back. The next thing I know, a glass of white wine is hovering in front of my face, and I happily take it, no questions asked. When I glance up, I see him smiling at me, his hazel eyes light and entertained.

“You know, there is a bed in the back.” The suggestive tone of his voice is squirm-worthy, but before I can respond, Chelsie is up and out of her seat, heading toward the back of the plane.

“Thanks, Brandon. Let me know when we’re close to landing.” She pats his shoulder lightly as she passes with a huge yawn.

I shrug at him and take a sip of the outstanding wine. That’s Chelsie.

He stares at me, his face drawn and exhausted but still gorgeous. It’s not fair he can be so handsome when tired. I can only imagine how horrible I look now. I swear I feel the shadows under my eyes. Not that how I look matters anyway.

“Come sit with me in the lounge area.” He holds a hand out to me, curling his fingers to beckon me to join him.

His tone is no longer suggestive, and the invitation seems innocent enough, so I follow him to an area of the plane with a comfortable couch and large TV.

“You’re not expecting Netflix and chill or anything, are you?” I fall onto the couch, careful not to spill the wine, kick off my shoes, and pull my legs up under me, getting comfortable.

“It can be…” he grins wickedly and again with the squirming. I need to stop. Or he does. One of us does.

Chapter 25

ANGEL

BRANDON

I swear it wasn’t my intention to get Normandy drunk, but the night and the wine got away from us. I thought for sure she would be an angry or sad drunk, but instead, she’s giggling like she doesn’t have a care in the world. Her laugh is so infectious that I can’t help but laugh along with her, and each time I do, my heart surges with emotion in my chest. Seriousness overtakes her momentarily from time to time, but it’s fleeting. During those moments, I can tell that the heaviness of the day’s events overtakes her briefly. The superhero wannabe inside me wants to move heaven and earth to make everything better for her. Perfect, if I could. But regular me knows I’m walking on thin ice around the Ice Queen, and a wrong move could prove fatal for any relationship we might have.

She’s also become more and more affectionate as the evening goes on, which I am not complaining about in the least. On the contrary, I wholeheartedly encourage this kind of behavior, at least from her I do. Her touching me so casually on occasion triggers feelings I don’t know what to do with, and not just physical ones. Knowing that she feels comfortable enough with me to be so warm makes me think she might be passed the whole “I’m an asshole billionaire” mindset. At least, I hope that’s the case.

She’s allowing me to sit with my arm around her shoulders, and it feels natural, like we do this all the time. I wish we did this all the time and things between us weren’t so tenuous. I haven’t wanted to bring up anything related to our relationship, whatever it may be, with everything she has going on. I’m sure it’s not a priority for her right now, and I don’t blame her.

“So, how much?” She’s leaning back to meet my eyes with a challenging expression.

“I beg your pardon?” I have no clue what she’s referring to. “How much is what?” My first thought is she’s wondering how much the plane cost, but I’m not going to tell her the price under any circumstances. Even I can’t stand how rich I am sometimes. It’s obscene.

“Me.” From the hardness in her eyes, I know that I need to be very careful with how I tread here. The challenge is even stronger now, and my spidey senses go into full-blown red alert. My mind announces to the rest of my body that we are at Defcon level one, and I can feel a sweat start to break out on my forehead.

“I…still don’t understand the question.” I half-laugh, but it’s full of nervous energy, betraying my anxiety. “Please explain.”

She shifts to pull away from my arm around her and slides a little down the couch, obviously putting distance between us. I don’t like this.

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