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Her jaw ached. “As a matter of fact, yes. I also called my personal trainer and my masseuse. Made sure they knew I wouldn’t be available for my daily sessions.”
“Are you going to be this difficult from here on out?”
“Only if you’re going to insult me every time you open your mouth.” She exhaled wearily. What was it about this man that made her lose all semblance of civility? “I didn’t mean to be late,” she admitted reluctantly. “The father of a patient phoned.”
“I thought you said you were between patients.”
“I am.” And she wasn’t at all pleased about failing.
Fortunately Brett didn’t pursue that point. She was still filled with frustration over the Morales case. She didn’t need Brett digging at it, making it worse.
The wind rushed around them as Brett drove down the long driveway. The impeccably manicured grounds of the estate seemed to stretch out forever, as green as green could be. Grass groomed. Oaks and sweet gum trees towering. She rarely paid the grounds much heed, and probably wouldn’t even today if it weren’t a far safer subject to study than Brett and his low-slung, edgy car.
Not even Cord, who changed cars nearly as often as he changed his shirt, had a car like this one, she thought. And it was as different from her sedate, hard-topped sedan as it could be.
It also ate up the miles to the airport. It seemed barely minutes had passed when Brett pulled into a small lot where he parked under a numbered awning. He pushed a button and the car’s top smoothly lifted into place.
“You always said you’d have a car like this one day,” Kate murmured, smoothing her hand along the seat. “Is it new?”
“Had it a few years, now.”
He came around and opened her door, then pulled out her luggage as well as his own bag.
She took her small tote from him and slid the strap over her shoulder as he locked the car. “How long is the flight to Boston?”
He shrugged. “A few hours or so.”
Kate hurried to keep up with him as he strode out of the private lot, his long legs eating up the distance. At five foot eight, she wasn’t short, but her stride was nothing compared to his. She finally quit trying, and walked at a more comfortable pace behind him as they entered the terminal.
He was arrogant and annoying and a workaholic.
And just because she’d cried her eyes out in front of him the day before as if she was eighteen instead of thirty, didn’t mean her opinion on that had changed one bit. And just because she’d been unable to find sleep until the wee hours that morning, didn’t mean that she’d been dwelling on it, either.
She quickened her pace again and nearly ran into Brett when he stopped to wait for her. He pointed her toward the check-in and stuck a piece of paper in her hand. “That’s our confirmation number. I need to make a call. Can you handle checking us in?”
She wouldn’t take offense. She wouldn’t. So what if she had to count to ten? At least her voice was even when she answered. “I think I can manage.”
He looked at her for a long moment. Then left her with the bags and walked away. She could see that he’d produced a slender cellular phone from somewhere.
Whether he wore a suit as he had yesterday, or looked rangy in blue jeans and a striped rugby shirt the way he did today, he was always at work. That was Brett.
Sighing faintly, she turned around again and waited for her turn. It didn’t take long. She read off the number for the woman behind the desk, absently produced her driver’s license for identification and glanced around the busy terminal. She hadn’t flown anywhere in years. And she’d never been to Boston before.
“All right, ma’am. Your seat assignments have already been made—row thirty-two, with an aisle seat.” She pushed Kate’s bag and Brett’s duffel onto the conveyor belt behind her.
“Row thirty-two?” Kate focused. “That doesn’t sound like first class.”
The clerk blinked. “No, ma’am. You’re in coach.”
Kate shook her head, smiling. “I’m sorry. That won’t do.” Brett would have to wedge his wide shoulders and long legs into a coach seat with a shoehorn. “There must have been an error with the reservation or something. Is there any way we can upgrade to first class?”
“Well, yes, of course, ma’am. But the fare is considerably—”
Kate waved that away. “Here.” She opened her wallet again and pulled out her American Express. “Will that do?”
The woman nodded. And in moments, she handed over a pair of new boarding passes. “I’m afraid you don’t have much time to get to the gate. Enjoy your flight.”
Kate smiled. “Thanks.” She tucked her credit card and the tickets into her purse and turned to find Brett already heading her way. He hustled them through the security check where it was obvious he was well-known, and onward to the gate just in time for the boarding call.
Kate handed over the boarding passes and they walked onto the plane. The smiling, blond flight attendant greeted them, and Kate stepped past her, heading toward their seats. She dumped her tote and purse on Brett’s seat and slid into the one next to the window. Even in the spacious first-class cabin, she knew he’d want the aisle.
“Kate.”
She wriggled in the roomy seat and looked up at him. Then at her tote. She plucked her purse out of his seat and tucked it beside her. “My tote will fit in the compartment, won’t it?”
He sighed. “What did you do?”
She looked at him. His expression was tight. All signs of humor gone. “You mean the seats? I switched them,” she said easily. “You didn’t really intend to sit back in the sardine section.” A wave of uncertainty hit her. “Or…did you?”
He didn’t answer her. He turned instead to the blond flight attendant who’d been looking at him like a cat eyeing a bowl of cream. “We need to switch seats out of first class,” he told the woman.
He was serious. “Brett,” Kate tried to get his attention, but he was seriously ignoring her.
“I’m sorry, sir,” the blonde answered as if it was an everyday occurrence for someone to turn down first-class seating. “We’re heavy today. All seats booked.”
“We just gave up coach seats,” he countered.
She shook her head. “Standby passengers have already been boarded. I assure you, sir, we are full. And you’ll need to take your seat now.”
Beneath their feet the plane gave a little lurch as if to agree with her words. “I’ll stow that for you.” She took Kate’s tote and to her credit, her smile didn’t dim a watt at Brett’s grimace.
He sat down beside Kate and fastened his seat belt, then pulled some files from his briefcase before stowing it beneath the seat. Without a word to Kate, he flipped open one of the files and focused on whatever was inside it.
“Brett—”
His arm was resting on the armrest between them, and his fingers lifted. Warning.
She chewed the inside of her lip. Then finally turned and looked out the oval window as the plane backed away from the gate, then smoothly taxied around to join the line of planes awaiting takeoff.
She wondered for a moment if Brett remembered the time that she’d decided she’d wanted to be a pilot. She’d taken ground school classes before their senior year in high school and everything. Of course, that was back when she’d also thought it would be cool to be an actress, or a firefighter, and a dozen other careers that she’d fantasized about.
“Did you take your motion sickness stuff?” Brett suddenly asked.
Her eyes burned. “Before I left the house.” It was already beginning to make her feel drowsy. And it was the motion sickness that she’d learned plagued her only while flying that had put a damper on her teenage enthusiasm for becoming a pilot.
“Good,” he said flatly. “The last thing we need is you heaving your guts.”
“Put ever so poetically,” she murmured. She turned in her seat toward him. “Brett, I thought the seating thing was an error. We always traveled in first class.”
“No, Kate.” His voice was low, his tone flat. “You always did and just took me along for the ride. My clients don’t pay for me to ride around in first class and limousines. They pay me for results.”
Her lips firmed. “Well, I’m the client this time.”
“I don’t care if you’re the Queen of England. I have policies and it doesn’t include this. I warned you, princess, not to mess with my job, and already you’re doing it.”
Her lips parted, incredulous. “Because I didn’t think you’d want to cram yourself into a seat with too little legroom for you to be comfortable?”
“Open your eyes, Kate. People do it all the time, every day. Including me.”
“I was thinking of you,” she countered over the sound of the engines revving.
“No, you weren’t. You were taking over, adjusting the scenario until it suited your fancy, just like you always did.”
“That’s what you really think?” The plane was gathering speed as it headed down the runway.
His hard, square jaw tightened. “That’s what I really think.”
“Then it’s a good thing we never made it down the aisle, isn’t it?”
He looked back at his paperwork. “Seems to me you did make it down the aisle. With Hamilton Orwell the third.”
Kate’s stomach dropped as the plane suddenly lifted off the ground, heading sharply into the sky. But it seemed Brett wasn’t through.
He looked at her, his expression unreadable. “Tell me, Kate. Were you sleeping with the guy who, next to you was supposed to be my best friend, at the same time you were sleeping with me? Or did he really sweep you off your feet into marriage in just those few months after you dumped me?”
Kate sat back like a shot, speechless.
“Nah,” he mused. “Now that I think about it, I don’t care.”
She watched him turn his attention right back to the work spread out in front of him.
Of course he didn’t care. He hadn’t cared eight years ago. Not enough.
Her heart had been breaking because she’d finally acknowledged the truth about her standing in Brett’s life. She’d been raised by a dyed-in-the-wool tycoon; a man who’d put his family last and his work first.
One of the hardest things she’d ever had to do was face the truth that she’d fallen in love with a man whose priorities were a mirror image to her father’s.
For Brett, it was always work first.
Everything else, including her, had been last.
Chapter Four
Brett was glad that Kate nodded off halfway through the flight. At least while she was sleeping, he didn’t have to see the wounded look in her eyes.
God. Why on earth had he agreed to take this case?
She’d asked the question, but he hadn’t answered. Because he didn’t have one. Any more than he had an answer to the insanity of letting Kate accompany him to Boston.
The flight attendant came by and refilled his coffee from a silver carafe. He looked at the china cup, sitting on the tray next to the case files he’d been reviewing.
Kate was like that cup. She was china. He was a foam cup.
She was champagne. He was a cold bottle of beer.
She came from a family whose name was synonymous with old Texas wealth and power. The man that left his mother alone and pregnant had been a drunk and a felon.
He looked over at her. Her coral-colored dress probably carried some fancy designer’s name on it, even though it was nearly severe in its plainness. Just narrow straps over her lightly golden shoulders, a square top that hinted at the shadow between her breasts, and a brief length that displayed her long, sleek, bare legs. Even the simple ponytail she’d pulled her hair back into looked elegant and full of style.
She looked like the cover of some glossy magazine and he hadn’t even bothered to shave that morning.
Well, he could drink his coffee from a china cup, and he’d learned to taste the difference between good champagne and bad. His firm even held season tickets for the ballet and the symphony. But he’d finally realized that no matter how much of the world he traveled over, how fat his bank account had become, or how much respect he’d earned, those basic differences in them would never change.
So it was probably just as well that Kate had chosen to marry good ol’ Hamilton instead of Brett. If the two of them, both from the same social set, hadn’t been able to make a marriage work, then it was a damn good bet that Brett and Kate together would’ve been one pure disaster.
The flight attendant came around again and collected his coffee cup, and Brett realized he’d been staring at Kate for so long that the plane had begun its descent.
He closed his briefcase and nudged Kate’s arm with his. “Wake up, princess.”
She murmured and shifted, curling up against his side, as if the armrests between them didn’t exist.
He realized he was inhaling the scent of her like he’d never breathed before. “Kate,” he said sharply, annoyed with himself for getting into this situation, annoyed with her for smelling as sweet and fresh as a cool morning.
Her soft lashes lifted and she looked at him with a hazy expression. Her lips curved sleepily. “Brett.”
That sleepy, sexy smile was like a jolt straight to his gut. The job, he reminded himself, coldly. Remember the job. “We’re landing. In Boston.”
Her eyes suddenly cleared and her cheeks went pink. She pressed her fingertips to her temple as she straightened in her seat.
He didn’t know anyone anymore who blushed. Except Kate. “That stuff you take really knocks you out,” he muttered.
“Mmm.” She busied herself with her purse, not looking at him.
The plane touched down, engines screaming as it slowed. Brett released his seat belt and started to stand, but Kate touched his arm.
He waited.
“Brett, I think it would be…beneficial, if we agreed to keep our minds on finding Madelyn.”
“You’re telling me to keep my mind on the job?” His lips twisted at the irony. “Hold me down. I think the world might’ve just stopped spinning.”
“I realize that might sound odd coming from me. But that’s just my point. We still view each other as the people we were. If we could leave our—” she moistened her lips, hesitating “—our past in the past and concentrate on the present, on what we’re trying to accomplish, our time here might go more smoothly.”
“Act as if we’re strangers. Who’ve just met.”
“Well…yes.”
The plane stopped moving and he got up and retrieved Kate’s tote bag before the aisle filled with passengers. Then he looked down at her. “Can you do that?”
