He watches me.
“Yes, Beckham?” My eyes are fixed on my screen, scanning the words but not processing them. It’s hard to concentrate when crazy over there won’t stop staring.
The flight attendant secures the cabin, gently reminding us to buckle up when she walks past.
“You’re that desperate to avoid conversation that you pull out a book before we’ve left the tarmac?”
I rest the tablet across my lap, turning to him and flashing him an executive smile. “What would you like to talk about? I’m all ears.”
He checks his diamond-encrusted timepiece. “We land in five hours. If I have to spend the next five hours in complete silence, I’m going to go insane.”
Beckham rests his strong jaw in the palm of his hand, his elbow planted into his armrest. His blue eyes flicker, and I’m convinced he’s in a constant state of up-to-no-good. I’ve never met another man who wears mischief like a second skin.
“I got an email from the mayor of Charity Falls this morning.” I sit up, crossing my legs and turning his way. “They want to schedule the town hall meeting for next week. He said he’d coordinate an interview with the Charity Falls Register while you’re in town.”
“Next week?” He blows a heavy breath through his full mouth.
“I’ve already checked with Julie. Your schedule is clear. She’s booking the trip while we’re gone, and yes, I’m coming with.”
Much to my dismay.
“Lucky you.” His hand hides a hint of a smirk.
“Lucky me,” I say under my breath.
“Am I really that bad?” His eyes glimmer again. I amuse him. Perhaps I’m going about this all wrong. I want him to find me abhorrent and disinteresting not mildly fascinating. Ironically, I’m sure if I were to throw myself at him, he’d run in the opposite direction as fast as his Gucci loafers would carry him.
I’m certain this is nothing more than a game to him. A guy like Beckham’s not used to women playing hard to get. The funny part is, I’m not even playing hard to get. I’m playing leave-me-alone-and-don’t-remotely-consider-me-because-I’m-not-an-option-for-you.
Huge difference.
I almost tell him he’s not my cup of tea. Someone told me that once. A guy. Right before Jeremiah came into my life. It hurt worse than I thought it would, especially once I stewed on his words for a few days.
Funny how a polite insult can hurt just as much as a nasty one.
“You know, Beckham. It doesn’t matter what I think of you. We’re both professionals here to do a job.”
The jet taxies to the runway, bouncing us in our seats with mild force.
“Can you at least try and dial your contempt down a notch?” Beckham turns forward in his chair, pulling his phone out to shut it off. His playful half-smile vanishes.
I don’t enjoy being a cold-hearted bitch. It’s as comfortable as squeezing into a pair of jeans that are too tight around the middle and four inches too long.
“At least turn it off while we’re in Salt Lake City,” he sighs. “For my brother’s sake. The last thing we need is Dane digging around in our personal business and wondering why we can’t get along.”
“Turn what off?”
“Your contempt.”
“Already planned on it.” I go back to my book, flipping the page with the flick of a finger.
Chapter Eleven
BECKHAM
“We’re staying at Golden Oak,” I announce as Odessa climbs into the black Town Car my brother sent to pick us up from the airport. Bronson loads our luggage before shutting our door and climbing up front. A few minutes later, we’re speeding down the freeway toward his expansive country estate. I was always the city mouse. He was always meant to be a country mouse of the rich, reclusive variety.
“I thought we had a hotel reservation?”
“We did. Dane cancelled it. He wants to host us at his place.” I turn my phone on, my screen blowing up with missed emails and messages. Another topless selfie from my latest admirer mixes somewhere between all those. I delete it, but not before taking a peek. I’ve never claimed to have the self-control of a saint.
“That’s nice of him.”
“He likes to control everything.”
“And you don’t?” She chuckles.
“Absolutely not.”
“You’re obsessed with controlling what people think of you,” she says. “You want everyone to like you but only on your terms. That’s controlling.”
I glance up from my phone, two seconds from reminding her that she agreed to be kind during this trip. She wears a smile that lights up her emerald eyes, and it’s nearly identical to the one she wore the first night we met. For a second my heart hammers, and I forget we’re on completely different pages.