Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 76207 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 381(@200wpm)___ 305(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76207 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 381(@200wpm)___ 305(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
I don't know what I expected. Maybe one of his flip brush-offs, something silly and dismissive.
I didn't expect for him to unfold from his chair, move across the short aisle, lean over me, and snag my chin in his fingers, angling it up, holding almost unnerving eye contact.
"I don't need to manipulate a woman to get what I want, darling," he said, the word coming out more like a curse than an endearment. "What you and I know we both want," he added, his other hand slipping between my thighs, pressing against my panties, dragging a surprised, but undeniably turned-on groan from me. What can I say? I played a good game, but I was a sucker for a man who was alpha in bed. His finger swiped, making my hand slap down on the arm of the couch, fingers digging in. "See?" he asked, releasing my chin, pulling his hand out of my skirt, turning, and going into the cockpit.
Alvy moved out to take the seat Fenway had vacated as I tried to remind my body that it was not part of this scenario, that this was a job, that it didn't matter how hot it was when he turned off the outward mask of light and fun and showed the darker, sexier man beneath, that we could not—under any circumstances—end up in bed.
"It should just be about another hour and a half before we are in Qatar. If you want an escape route, I can arrange it now," Alvy offered, scanning my face, coming to who-knew-what conclusion about the undoubtedly shocked look they found there.
"I honestly don't know what I want," I admitted. "I shouldn't even be here."
"Fenway has that effect on women," Alvy told me, shrugging. "It's that puppy dog side of him he presents to everyone. The enthusiasm can be infectious. And the next thing you know, you're on some mafioso's private vineyard in Italy having dinner across from cold-blooded killers. But then you take a trip to the ladies, get some distance, and the sense seems to return to your head, and you want out."
"Has that actually happened?"
"Would you believe more than once?" Alvy asked, shaking their head.
My gaze moved to the closed cockpit door, imagining the man nestled in the co-pilot seat.
"Yes, yes I can," I admitted, realizing for the first time that this job wasn't going to be as open-and-shut as I first imagined.
"Here," Alvy said, pointing to my phone., "Let me give you my number. If you need out, I'm your person. I am always around. And I know my way out of everywhere at this point."
"God, you make it sound like he runs a cult or something. Oh, Jesus, please tell me he doesn't run a cult."
To that, Alvy chuckled, revealing a deep dimple in one cheek. "You'd think so, what with the magnetism he has. That is usually reserved for the likes of cult leaders. But no. I think Fenway often appeals to everyone's desire to get away from it all at times, to see the world, to drown in luxury. But, eventually, everyone comes to their senses, realizes that those desires aren't what they truly want. They want to go back to their old lives, their old people."
"So the women are always the ones who want out? Fenway doesn't get bored with them?"
Alvy's gaze went to the door, looking at it for a moment before turning back to me.
"Between the two of us, I think Fenway is deeply lonely. I think he chases one high after another, one woman after another, because he thinks that if he keeps himself busy enough, entertained enough, that he can drown all the unpleasant feelings he might have."
"Someone as privileged as he is, why wouldn't he just stop and find what he really desires then?"
"Why are you on a plane with him right now? Why am I? Why does anyone do the things they do that aren't the wisest choices for them? We all have our reasons. Fenway has his too. But that is his place to talk about them. My advice? Enjoy this while you can. Take what you need from it. Then go back and fix the real problem."
With that, Alvy set to shooting off a rapid-fire text or email, leaving me in silence, pondering their words.
Alvy couldn't have known my real motive for being on this plane. And none of it had to do with my damage, my personal issues, the things that motivated a lot of my decisions in life.
But their words did make one thing infinitely clear.
Fenway, lighthearted, partying, superficial, mega-rich playboy was only part of the whole man. And if I was going to be able to finish this job, I would have to get to know the other sides of him too, the things he masked with the flippant outer layer, the mask he donned to keep anyone from seeing who he truly was.