Page 25 of Declan
But all the executive offices are empty. Every one. I don’t think I’ve ever seen it like this on a workday. The elevator dings, drawing my attention. There she is. Cara. She stalks off in those pencil heels, a sway in her hips that is fucking mesmerizing.
I visited a museum in London years ago and saw some paintings by a guy named Rubens. He painted women with thicker thighs and rounded stomachs. One painting was of a beauty contest. The winner got a golden apple.
Cara? She’d win all the apples. Every one of them. She’s fucking stunning.
She slows, then comes to a stop. I’m blocking the hallway, arms still windmilling. I didn’t even notice. Letting them flop to my sides, I take a deep breath, letting it out slowly.
“Hi, Cara.”
The wariness that she’d been watching me with for weeks has been weakening this week. I think my wooing plan is working.
Her lips curve in a tiny smile. “Hi, Declan. What’s up?”
“Nothing.” I stand there, staring for too long before my brain comes online. “Fuck, sorry. Let me take that.” I reach for the duffel bag on her shoulder. She gives it over with a murmured ‘Thanks.’ I just stand there, holding her bag, looking at her.
“Think we can go to my office with that, big guy?” Yeah, she’s smirking. Why do I do this? Just freak the fuck out around her? I mean, aside from the fact that my dick is trying to hammer its way out through my jeans, and it’s distracting as hell, I should be able to have a fucking conversation with her. But every time I see her, the stakes just feel huge. I’ve never felt this way for anyone, and it’s terrifying and exciting all at the same time.
I follow her down the hall. She peers into Ransom’s dark office. “Where is everyone? I thought we were leaving from here for Vegas?”
“I have no fucking idea. I thought the cars were picking us up from here, too.”
Grabbing my phone, I hit the speakerphone button and dial Colt. Cara nudges in closer.
“My brother,” he crows when he picks up. I can hear muffled voices in the background.
“Where the fuck is everyone?”
“On our way to Vegas, baby! Where the hell did you think we’d be?”
“What the fuck, man? You left us behind?”
“Dude, no. I would never.” He snorts a laugh. “Well, I did. But there’s a car coming to pick you and Cara up soon. We had to charter another jet, and you guys drew the short straws.”
Cara and I exchange a what the fuck look. “We didn’t draw any straws, Horsey.”
“Right,” he mutters, sounding completely distracted. “I drew them for you. Anyway, you’ll only be about an hour behind us. See you at the hotel. Byeeee.” I stare blankly at my phone before meeting Cara’s narrowed eyes.
“Do we really want to go to this wedding?” Cara asks, rolling her eyes. “He’s obnoxious as hell, and I doubt that’s going to get any better this weekend.”
Tempting. Really tempting. “We’d never hear the end of it. He’d whine about it for years if we missed it.”
Cara groans, running her fingers through her hair, scratching at her scalp in frustration. “You’re right. He would totally do that.”
Resigned, we grab our stuff and head down to the lobby. Cara drops into a chair at reception, propping her elbow on the arm and resting her head on her fist. She looks exhausted.
“Are you and Bree doing ok? Sleeping, I mean? You seem a little tired.” I hoped that being in the new apartment would make her feel safer, so it kills me to see her so tired.
“We’re doing way better, actually. It’s not that. Ransom had me running all over town today, picking up the most random shit ever. I don’t know why the fuck he needed me to do it instead of a courier, but there you go.”
That doesn’t make much sense. Cara’s way too valuable to waste on errands, but what the fuck do I know?
A blacked-out Escalade pulls up, the driver hopping out. And just like that, we’re on our way to the private airstrip outside the city. I rack my brain, trying to find something to talk about, but Cara seems lost in thought, gazing out the window, eyes hazy. Instead of talking to her, I spend the trip staring at her legs and trying to figure out the next step in my apology tour.
The jet waiting for us is smaller than ours but plenty big for the two of us. The pilots and steward introduce themselves, then disappear in the front once we’re settled.
I’m pissed that we’re on this little plane. There are no side-by-side seats, only ones across the aisle from each other. On our jet, we could have sat together. Course, it would also be filled with the rowdiest, most annoying group of men I know. So maybe this is ok.
Cara asks for a blanket, and as soon as we’re airborne, she’s out like a fucking light. Guess I don’t have to worry about trying to have a conversation. Her head’s leaning against the window, the flashing lights from the wing creating a halo around her face. I don’t like her resting on the cold glass. Grabbing another blanket from the overhead storage, I lean over her, carefully pulling her head into my chest as I put the folded-up blanket against the window.
