“Mr. North, sir.” A man dressed in a white polo shirt with North Industries embroidered on the front greets us at the open door of the helicopter. “Good to see you again.”
“Murphy.” Grizzly steps into the chopper in front of me.
“Ma’am.” Murphy nods deeply. His full, dirty blond hair combed to perfection and lack of significant wrinkles make me think he’s not much older than I am. “Welcome aboard.”
“Thanks.” I step into the cabin and am hit with the scent of leather and expensive cologne. Two first class style bucket seats face a bench seat. The brothers have both settled into their respective places so I take the bench seat alone.
Alexander watches me cautiously while his brother seems busy jabbing his fingers into his cellphone. Having the two men facing me, I angle my body toward the window and press my forehead to the glass, hoping to blend in with the interior.
Murphy closes the exterior door, plunging the three of us into silence.
There’s some shuffling between the brothers, and I peek out of the corner of my eye to see a laptop being placed in front of Grizzly. Next, he’s handed a cellphone.
What is going on? I lived with this man for three weeks, had sex with him, and apparently know absolutely nothing about him.
The engine fires to life and the rotor spins, and although I know it’s loud outside, inside is frustratingly quiet, intensifying the awkwardness. Aren’t the inside of helicopters supposed to be loud? What kind of fancy bird is this?
The speaker above me clicks. “The weather is clear between here and the city. Should be a smooth one hour and forty-five minute flight.” The speaker clicks off, and my stomach sinks as we lift off.
I watch as the forest, once so big and daunting, grows smaller and smaller beneath me. The cabin roof is hardly visible through the trees, and I feel a twinge of sadness at saying goodbye.
“I suppose an introduction is in order.” The suit manages an unenthusiastic smile. “I’m Hayes North. Alex’s brother. And you are?”
I clear my throat. “Jordan Wilder.”
Another forced smile. “Sounds like you two have quite a story to tell.” He angles his head toward Alexander, who is clicking around the laptop, his eyes tracing whatever images or information is on the screen.
“Yes.” I turn back toward the window because he can get the story from his fucking brother.
I can’t believe I’ve been in a cabin alone with this man for nearly a month and never knew he lived in the city or had a billionaire brother or a damn helicopter pad in the backyard.
“You’ve lost weight,” I hear Hayes say to Alexander. “I should’ve picked you up before the storm rolled through.”
“I needed more time,” Alexander says quietly.
“You seem rested.”
“I am.”
Hayes sneers at me, probably unaware that I can see him out of the corner of my eye. My cheeks immediately heat, wondering if his rested look has anything to do with last night and if his brother can sense it.
“McMillian and Castillo have been up my ass since you left, and the contracts for the Westbrook project are signed and ready for you.”
Grizzly grunts, and his fingers move quickly on the keyboard.
He made me the fool. Here this whole time, I thought he was some uncivilized mountain man when, in reality, he’s some high-powered Madison Avenue business guy.
“What do you guys do?” I blurt, feeling the hurt within me surge.
Hayes looks down his nose at me, and Alexander glares at me over his laptop screen.
I cross my arms and legs. “Something illegal then.”
“Of course not,” Hayes growls.
I shrug. “Then what?”
“You don’t know?” He looks between his brother and me, and a slow smirk pulls his lips. “Oh, this is funny.”
Embarrassment makes it impossible to hold his eyes. The feeling that there’s some big joke and I’m the butt of it makes my gut sour.
“We’re in engineering.” Alexander’s eyes never leave mine.
Hayes chuckles.
“In engineering. You’re engineers?”
“I’m a lawyer,” Hayes says.
“That explains a lot.”
Alexander’s lips twitch.
Hayes scowls and motions toward his brother. “Alex is an architectural engineer. He’s also a goddamn genius.”
“Hayes,” Alex says in a low voice that vibrates the air.
His brother licks his lips. “Anyway, we have work to do. Food and beverages are in the cooler there.”
I’d love a soda—or better yet, a whiskey—to break up this pain in my chest, but the idea of touching anything seems wrong. Like touching display crystal at Niemen’s.
My God, is this really happening?
Well, this explains the Burberry shirt.
Unfortunately, it explains nothing else.
Alexander
Over an hour into our flight and I’m working on the specs for the Westbrook project. I’ve always been unhealthily obsessive about my work. When I’m deeply invested in a project, I’ve been known to go days without sleep and food. It’s one of the reasons my brothers insist I get to the cabin every year. One of the less dangerous reasons.
A message from Hayes appears on the top right-hand side of my computer screen.
You mind explaining to me how you came upon a woman while on sabbatical?
I look to my left and find his raised brows aimed at me.
I was hunting. Found her injured and near dead at the base of a cliff. What would you have me do? Leave her there?
His fingers type furiously on the keys. I can only imagine what’s coming. Hayes has taken on the role of my protector, even though he’s five years younger. And being head legal for North Industries, his job is to keep my name clear of scandal and out of the papers. Not an easy job, all things considered.
I don’t mean to sound like an asshole, but yes. It makes me sick to think of all the different ways your heroism could’ve gone wrong. You know you can’t be alone around women.
I get ready to text back when another text comes in.
Especially one who looks so much like her.
My fingers freeze on the keys, and a tremor rolls through my bones. I blow out a calming breath and try not to allow my mind to conjure up the images it demands.
I couldn’t leave her to die—
Another text ping comes in from him.
You’re going to need to tell me every single detail of your time spent with Ms. Jordan Wilder. Every. Detail. Please tell me you didn’t hurt her.
I delete my earlier response and punch out a new one.
I didn’t.
I hit send and hope my response will be enough to drop the subject.
You don’t think I’m stupid enough to believe that fresh cut on her lip is from a fall three fucking weeks ago, Alex.
Shit.
I’m saved from having to type back when Murphy’s voice comes over the speaker. “We’re ten minutes out from the penthouse. Prepare for landing.”