Page 85 of The Refusal

“Why would I need you to …?”

Oh right. I’m not talking to her because like an idiot I told her we couldn’t go on with whatever it was we were doing. But fuck that. This is way beyond that.

46

Jo

The engines are providing a resonating hum behind the dim lights of the cabin and the spotlight over my head casts shadows on my keyboard. Everyone is bedded down, under covers, sky inky outside the window.New York. I’ll be glad to get home. Des is dozing across the aisle from me and the warm zing of business class hasn’t dissipated at all. An empty champagne glass sits on a fold-down table one seat up from him, and the last conversation I had on a plane like this with Janus about my non-boyfriend slips into my head. That trip still feels like the best four days of my life. A life I threw away. My eyes flutter closed as my head slips back against my seat. I talked to him about trust, but I didn’t trust his judgment, I didn’t trusthim. I fell at the first hurdle.

“Ugh, I wasn’t drooling, was I?”

My lips curve up as I straighten and open my eyes. “You’re fine.” I nod down the aisle. “The flight attendant over there has been watching you sleep, though.”

Des grins, stretching out in his flatbed and putting his hands behind his head. “He’s cute.” His eyes skim over me. “You not sleeping, missy?” His eyes narrow. “I think the Samsung contract is going to be okay.”

This makes me laugh. “Yeah, you totally charmed the pants off them.” I consider his sleepy face. “You were great, Des. Are you happy to lead on this one?”

“Sounds good.” He lets out a huge yawn and turns on his side, so he can view me across the aisle.

“My feet haven’t touched the floor since Janus gave that interview,” I say.

Des gestures around the plane. “They literally haven’t. I talked to James about getting people on board for Samsung by the way. You’re not worried about that are you?”

I can’t meet his eyes, so I stare at the window over his shoulder. “Not really.”

Des doesn’t respond, and I risk a glance at him as he props himself up on one arm arranging the blanket over his legs, gaze coming back to skim over my hair and face. “Are you thinking about him?”

I feel my cheeks go pink. “The flight attendant?”

He laughs. “I didn’t mean him, you chump.”

“Is it standard to call your boss a chump?”

“It is in tech and stop changing the subject. Want to talk about it?”

I sigh. I can’t really share the whole Janus debacle with Des.

“I just want to see him,” I say, and when I turn back, his face is warm and concerned.

“Did something happen between you guys in Hong Kong?”

He’s fishing, and I smile as I look down at my hands. “Yeah.”

Des grins that wicked grin of his, and I roll my eyes. “You are not getting gossip from me.”

He leans forward, right across the aisle, whispering, “Was heamazingin bed?”

My face is on fire as Des wags a finger at me. “I’ll take that as a yes. I’ll get you drunk and drag the details out of you. That was an extraordinary article to do. He’s got to be pretty smitten, you lucky lady.”

I don’t know what to say to this. I don’t want to get into the whole media thing with Des. Maybe I’ll fill him in sometime, but it feels too raw right now, like I was an ass. I owe Janus a massive apology, but I don’t want to send him a half thought through text, or something lightweight, like “Thanks,” “I enjoyed the article,” or “What the fuck are you doing, breaking your no comment promise?” I’ve put my foot in it enough already.

Perhaps he was trying to show me that we can handle the media interest. That he will always do, perhaps not what I want him to do, but what’s right for me. Ah, God. I press my hand over the ache in my chest like I can hold it all back somehow.

Des lies down again and pulls the covers over his head, and I pull an interiors magazine from my seat pocket; I need some distraction before I explode. As I flick through the pages, my gaze is caught by a picture of a woman I recognize; it’s the one Janus brought to the industry dinner. She looks immaculate: the long peach nails I can still see curled over Janus’s arm, the perfectly tousled hair. It all tastes sour in my mouth, and I look down at my sweatpants with the hole in the knee that I wore to be comfy on the plane.

Even her apartment looks amazing. I peer at the kitchen behind her, the glass table she’s sitting at. The table looks familiar, like I’ve seen it before; in fact, the whole layout looks … My stomach jolts, heat burning up though me—this isJanus’sapartment?

No.

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