"Pleasure, mostly. Going to England, actually."
"Oh, wow, that's awesome," she says. "Well, have a blast."
Just then the kindergarten class files out into the hallway.
"Nice seeing you, JoJo," I say, reaching for Sophia's hand the moment she steps out the door. I sweep her up, knowing I need to get home and start packing.
Landon calls as I'm in the drive-thru at Panera getting Sophia a kid's mac and cheese, while listening to the Frozen soundtrack for the eighteen billionth time.
"Tomorrow at ten," he says, letting me know when the car will be there to pick me up.
He also says I need to get his credit card to get a new wardrobe.
Great, I'll squeeze that in after I get Sophia down for a nap. My to-do list is unquestionably out of control. Besides quality time I need to squeeze in with my daughter, I apparently need to have a shopping spree. No way can I do it all.
That's when Landon begins talking about the sex-potential of the trip. I whisper-yell my sex-boundaries, with the volume cranked up so Sophia doesn't hear. Landon and I are on such completely different wavelengths at the moment. But obviously I can't explain that. Not now. I just need to get to England.
Just as I'm about to hang up with Landon, a car starts backing into me in the drive-thru.
"Fuck!" I drop the phone, hang up, and start screaming for the person in front of me to stop their car. Thankfully, just before their bumper collides with my hood, the car stops rolling.
That was way too close for comfort. And I hate it when I'm human and swear in front of my daughter. Mom-fail #35867.
"Mama, is my mac and cheese ready?" Sophia asks.
"Soon, sweet pea, soon."
I get our food and we eat as we drive, the chorus of Let It Go non-ironically blaring as I swing by the bank, pick up my uniform from the dry cleaners, then pull into Jiffy Lube for a quick oil change.
The last thing I want to do is leave my mom with the car when I'm out of the country, only to have it blow up on her. Which I know is dramatic but everything feels dramatic at the moment.
But honestly, the thing I'm most worried about at the moment is this whole thing blowing up in my own face.
Landon
Later, Claire calls me, calmly stating that, while she wishes she could swing by for a credit card and do some shopping, her responsibilities lie elsewhere. She asks if I would be so kind as to have a personal shopper pick up a wardrobe for her, considering I have "gobs of cash."
"Uh, of course. That's no problem," I tell her. "I just thought women like to shop, you know, try on shoes while sipping white wine?" I have vague memories of my ex-girlfriend doing something similar. Perhaps, though, it isn't every woman's desire.
"Right, well … I'm not most women."
"I never said you were. God, woman, is everything okay?" I can't have her getting cold feet before we've even left the bloody country.
"It's fine. I just almost got in an accident and it rattled me."
"Okay, well, I'm glad you're okay. It would have been tricky to explain my fiancée is in the hospital or some other mess." When she doesn't laugh, I get to the point. "I'll see you in the morning. Just text me your sizes and I'll get them to a personal shopper."
"Okay, Landon. Ten tomorrow. Oh, and we need to use the flight to quiz one another. I was thinking I don't know anything about you ... and if we're gonna pull this off, we need to know everything. Even the things that aren't true."
She's right, of course. We need to give the appearance of the perfect couple, better than Geoffrey and Fiona.
"We'll be fine," I reassure her. "And we'll have plenty of time on the flight to do all sorts of things."
"Is your mind always in the gutter?"
"Constantly."
When I pick up Claire the next day, I'm horny as hell. I played cards last night, of course, but I didn't take anyone back to my room to bang. I can't think of the last time I didn't have sex after I won a hundred grand. Usually, I can't keep the women off me after I win big.
But last night I kept getting cock-blocked by images of Claire.
Her long legs, her soft skin, her tits so perfect, and her ass bare.
Fucking bollocks, I need her again. Smiling, I wonder if maybe she'll let me take her into her apartment for a quickie before we head to the airport. My cock twitches at the idea of it.
But, as the limousine pulls up to her condo, I see she's already on the curb waiting for me.
No quick fuck for me. That's fine. Maybe she'll be interested in joining the mile-high club with me.
The driver steps out and opens her door; she slides in, a canvas tote bag her only luggage.
"You packed light," I say, taking in her slim shape in the stretchy pants she has on. An oversized tee shirt and baggy cardigan sweater, along with a pair of worn Converse tennis shoes to complete the I'm not trying to impress anyone look.
She may not be trying to impress me, but she sure as hell makes me want to strip her out of those clothes and enjoy her naked flesh.
"You got me new clothes, right? Because I didn't pack anything. I don't have any pant suits or pearl earrings."
"You can't wear pearls to my father's house, anyway. He sells diamonds. And, yes, I got you three perfectly packed Louis Vuitton suitcases. A purse, too." I point to a bag on the seat across from us.
"Right. Diamonds and Louis Vuitton. No big deal." Claire shrugs her shoulders aggressively, and blinks rapidly as the limo pulls out of the parking lot. Her head turns out the window as we drive away and a hand presses against the glass. It's all rather dramatic.
"Everything okay?" I swear to god she looks about ready to cry.
"Yep." Her voice has turned bizarrely high-pitched, and her head falls in her hands. She gives me a muffled, "Totally fine. Just jazzy."
"Jazzy?"
"I'm nervous, Landon, okay?" She sits up and pulls her passport from her tote. "I've never left the country, but I've also never flown on a plane. And now I'm supposed to pretend I'm your fiancée and that this designer life is something I'm accustomed to. I know I can act the part once I get there-it's just getting to the destination I'm having a hard time with."
"Never flown?" I know my eyes widen in surprise, and I don't want to offend her.
Blimey, this woman is all spun up today. I need cool, calm, and collected Claire. Not basket case, over-her-head Claire.
"Listen," I tell her, taking the purse out of the Louis Vuitton bag. "This is just a bag. I wouldn't have asked you to do this if I didn't think you were capable."
I watch her breathe through her nose, see her shoulders visibly relax.
"You're right. It's just a purse. I just had a panic attack about leaving home for the first time and failing you. But I want this to work. I can do this." She looks at me with those gorgeous green eyes and I watch the wheels turning in her mind. She nods, steadier, and takes my hands in hers. "We can do this."
"Of course we can." I kiss her knuckles, wanting to do all sorts of things to her. Is it twisted that watching her have a meltdown turns me on? It's like some part of me wants to protect her, make her happy.
Which is odd and completely foreign. My one and only girlfriend in college, Winnie, was a totally disaster. We smoked and drank our way into one another's arms, only to rip each other to shreds once we were there. I've never had a relationship that didn't end in rehab. That's not exactly a healthy track record.
"Claire," I say as the limo pulls up to the airport. "I've always thought you were this completely in control woman. But you're actually rather vulnerable, you know that? Like, this tender little bird, ready to take flight, but scared of spreading her wings."
"You are so cheesy, Landon." She takes her wallet and passport, lipstick, and a Kindle, and fills the brown leather Louis bag.
"But I'm right, aren't I?" The driver opens the door and Claire steps out. I follow her, the blue skies above a good omen for our long day of travel.
"No one has ever called me vulnerable, if that's what you're asking," she says, licking her lips.
The driver sets our pile of luggage on the curb and a bellhop lifts it on a cart. I pull a carry-on bag from the pile and sling it over my shoulder, clasping her hand in mine before walking through the sliding glass airport doors.
"I'm not asking what you are, Claire. I'm telling you. It's time you learned to soar."
Chapter Eleven
Claire
The thing is, Landon completely unnerves me. The moment the limo pulled up to the curb, I was rattled. I kept thinking of earlier that morning, how I kissed Sophia good-bye and how she smiled, squeezing me tight, not in the least concerned about me leaving.
I took it to mean that Sophia didn't really care about me, and that I was probably gone way too often at work, and that leaving now meant I was crappy mother.
My mom said it meant my daughter was happy and well-adjusted and that I should be grateful to have such a lovely child.