“What a night, huh?” he chirps. “How are you feeling?”
Tonja adjusts herself so she’s sitting up in bed. “Okay, I guess,” she answers, her voice scratchy and hoarse. “Tired. A little groggy.”
“Totally. I felt the same way the first couple of times I did liquid X. You’ll get used to it. Here.” He thrusts the mug and plate at her. “A cup of joe and a hearty breakfast. This should have you feeling like new in no time.”
Tonja thanks him for the coffee and food but then says, tentatively, “Andrew, after we took that GHB last night, I don’t remember a thing. What happened? How did I end up in your bed?”
Andrew chuckles and drapes a friendly arm across Tonja’s shoulders. “Of course you don’t remember a thing—you passed out about thirty seconds after your first sip! So I carried you into the bedroom and laid you down on the bed.”
Tonja looks over at the unwrinkled patch of gray duvet cover beside her. “Did you sleep here too?”
“Of course not. I slept on the couch.”
Tonja feels her cheeks grow a few shades rosier as she asks softly, “So I guess that means, you know … nothing happened between us?”
Andrew makes a face as if that were the silliest question in the world. “You think I would—no way!” He lowers himself onto the bed beside Tonja. “Look … I know you’re in California for only a few more days. But I had a great time last night. I’d really love to see you again.”
Tonja feels her stomach fill with butterflies. Andrew’s words bring her so much joy, she can barely contain it. “Me too. You must be really busy running your production company—”
Andrew cuts her off and asks with a giant smile, “Are you free tonight?”
CHAPTER 7
TOWER, CESSNA THREE-THREE-SIX Victor Bravo at runway one-zero. Ready for takeoff, over.”
“Roger, Cessna three-three-six, you are clear to fly.”
Tonja is giddy with excitement as she hears the voices crackle in her headset.
Andrew is sitting beside her. He’s also wearing a headset—and holding his bulky video camera on his shoulder. With his free arm, he pulls Tonja’s trembling body close and gives her a comforting squeeze.
The two are already pressed tightly together in the second row of this tiny prop plane. Up front sits Garrett, their pilot for the afternoon.
Tonja lets out a little gasp as Garrett engages the throttle and the plane rockets forward. It starts to pick up even more speed, rumbling and shuddering down the runway. At last, Garrett eases back on the yoke and … liftoff.
Tonja stares out the window in silent awe as the plane climbs higher and higher into the blue sky. Below, the hilly green and brown landscape of greater Santa Barbara rapidly falls away.
Tonja has been on plenty of commercial flights before, but she’s never experienced the thrill of anything quite like this.
“Pretty quiet back there,” Garrett says from the cockpit. “You two all right?”
Tonja’s eyes are still glued to the scene out the window. Andrew’s, through his camera’s viewfinder, are on Tonja.
“Doing great,” Andrew answers. “Just admiring … the beauty.”
Tonja turns and blushes at Andrew’s comment. She plants an affectionate kiss on his lips—one of many they’ve shared over the whirlwind of the past few days.
Since the night they met, the two have hardly left each other’s sides. Andrew has taken Tonja on a string of romantic dates, each more lavish than the last. He’s treated her to fancy dinners, gifted her a shopping spree at a high-end clothing boutique in nearby Montecito, whisked her to a wine-tasting in the foothills of Santa Ynez, and, of course, given her a surfing lesson in the waves behind his home. He’s even introduced her to some of his friends, like his neighbor Jon.
But a private ride in a prop plane?
Tonja thought Andrew was joking when he told her his idea. She couldn’t believe it; it seemed too extreme, too extravagant, even for a man as wealthy as him.
A man she’s known for less than a week.
Tonja has dated guys who tried to sweep her off her feet. But none of them were this successful. And none of them did it, well, literally.
The flight lasts for an entire magical hour, and Andrew films every minute of it as Garrett takes them zigzagging through the clouds above Santa Barbara County, then into the neighboring county of Ventura.
“I think that’s my house!” Andrew jokes, pointing down at the scenic shoreline.
Tonja laughs and gives him a playful tap. Viewed from this height, the homes are totally indistinguishable, just orange-roofed little boxes nestled between the lush hills and the endless expanse of deep blue ocean.
After looping back over the water and passing above the rocky Channel Islands just off the coast, Garrett brings them in for a smooth landing at Santa Barbara Airport.
Tonja can’t help but marvel at her incredible good fortune. When she landed at this same airport just days ago, she’d expected a relaxing visit with her older sister. Now here she is in a private plane with a charming, rich, wonderful man. It’s all beyond her wildest dreams.
But then an upsetting thought crosses Tonja’s mind.
She tries to push her concerns away as they exit the plane, tries to keep a big smile on her face as Andrew films her strutting across the tarmac. Too bad Tonja’s a terrible actress. Andrew can instantly tell something’s bothering her. He shuts off the camera and asks what’s wrong. Did she not enjoy the flight?
Tonja sniffles, her eyes damp. “No, of course not, I loved it. It’s just that … two days from now, I’ll be catching another flight. Back to Arizona. And I don’t want to go. I wish I didn’t have to. Because … I think I’m falling in love with you, Andrew.”
Andrew is nearly as overcome as Tonja. “I don’t think I’m falling in love with you, Tonja. I know I am.”
“You are? Really? Then … what are we going to do?”
Andrew gently thumbs away a tear that has rolled down Tonja’s cheek. “Let’s go home. Talk about it. And do some more liquid X to help us think.”
CHAPTER 8
WITH SATISFIED GRUNTS, Andrew Luster and his neighbor Jon Balden set a heavy cardboard box labeled SHOES down on Andrew’s living-room floor.
About a dozen other boxes are already there, each with a label—CLOTHES, FRAGILE, KITCHEN—written in black Sharpie in Tonja’s looping cursive.
“Is that the last of ’em?” Andrew asks.
Tonja and Lisa have just come in carrying a few old shopping bags full of toiletries, books, and various odds and ends.
“Almost,” Tonja answers. “I think one more trip should do it.”
“Great! Give me two seconds, guys. I’ll meet you out there.”
Tonja, Jon, and Lisa head back outside into the cool evening air. Parked in Andrew’s driveway next to his green SUV is a rented U-Haul moving van. After nine hours of rattling across the dusty desert highways of Arizona and California, the van is speckled the color of cinnamon.
“Thanks again for helping us out, Jon,” Tonja says. “I really appreciate it.”