I head back into my en suite for a quick shower.
Twenty minutes later, dressed in a dark navy suit and crisp white shirt, I’m in my kitchen, waiting for Elliot. In the fridge, I find some pretzels.
Fuck, I’m hungry.
Elliot appears in the doorway. He’s wearing a dark suit, a gray shirt, and a tie.
Shit.
“Do I need a tie?”
Where the hell are we going?
“No.”
“Sure?”
“Yep.”
“Why are you wearing one?”
“You get to dress like this all the time. I don’t. Changes it up for me. Besides, a suit and tie is catnip to women.”
What about Kavanagh?
Elliot smirks at my questioning look, and Taylor joins us.
“Ready, sir?” he asks Elliot.
Taylor drives us south on I-5.
“Where the fuck are we going, Elliot?” I ask.
“Relax, Christian. It’s all good.” He looks out of the window, seemingly at ease, while I drum my fingers on my knee. I hate not being in the know.
Taylor takes the turn off for Boeing Field, and I wonder if there’s some seedy strip club based around here. I glance at my watch: 6:20 p.m. He turns into Signature Flight Support and behind the terminal, sitting on the tarmac, is the GEH Gulfstream.
“What?” I exclaim to Elliot.
From his inside jacket pocket Elliot produces a passport. “You’re going to need this.”
We’re leaving the country?
Taylor drops us at the terminal entrance, and I follow Elliot into the building, bewildered.
“Elliot!” Kavanagh’s blond, surfer-dude brother strides up to my brother and shakes his hand. He scrubs up well in his pale gray suit. I note he’s not wearing a tie, either.
“Ethan, great to see you,” Elliot responds, and claps him on the back.
“Christian.” Ethan shakes my hand.
“Hi,” I respond.
“Mac!” Elliot exclaims, and Liam McConnell—who works at the GEH shipyard, and also looks after my yacht, The Grace—strides toward us.
Mac! We shake hands. “It’s good to see you,” I tell him. “I’d just like you to know that I have no idea what the hell is going on.”
He laughs. “Neither do I.”
We all laugh and turn to Elliot as Taylor joins us.
“You knew about this?” I ask Taylor.
“Yes, sir.” His look is earnest and amused in equal measure.
I laugh and shake my head.
“Shall we go?” Elliot says.
“Canada?” I guess.
“Correct,” Elliot responds.
We are installed in the first four seats of my G550, sipping Cristal champagne and eating the canapés that Sara, our flight attendant, distributed as we taxied onto the runway. Taylor is at the back reading a Lee Child novel. Stephan and First Officer Beighley are at the controls.
“I’m guessing Vancouver,” I say to Elliot.
“Bingo! I figured you might have less of a chance being recognized behaving badly in British Columbia.”
“What the hell have you got planned?”
“Easy, tiger,” Elliot responds, and raises his glass.
Once we’re airborne, Sara serves beer and fresh, hot pepperoni pizza, from a local pizzeria in Georgetown. I think this is a first, pizza in my private jet—but this is Elliot’s idea of heaven. Frankly, I’m so hungry, it’s mine, too. Mac, who’s sitting opposite, and I both wolf down our food.
“That didn’t touch the sides,” Mac says in his Irish brogue.
“Elliot has had me zip-lining and tandem skydiving already today.”
“Holy shit! No wonder you’re starving.”
The journey time is less than fifty minutes. When we pull up outside the Vancouver Signature Flight Support terminal Taylor is the first off, carrying our passports for the immigration official who has come to meet the plane.
“Ready?” Elliot says, unbuckling his seat belt and standing up to stretch his legs. Taylor is at the wheel of a Suburban on the tarmac. We all pile in, and he sets off for the bright lights of downtown Vancouver. We have a cooler full of beer. My three companions dive in, but I decline.
“Man, you are not staying sober tonight,” Elliot splutters in disgust and hands me a beer.
Fuck. I loathe being drunk. With a roll of my eyes, reluctantly I take the bottle. It’s early. We’ll be drinking more; I’ll need to pace myself. I clink bottles with him, and Mac and Ethan, who are seated behind us. “Cheers, gentlemen.” I take a sip and let the drink linger in my hand.
Our first stop is the bar at the Rosewood Georgia hotel. I’ve been before, on business, but never in the evening. Its wood-paneled walls and leather seats give it an old-world charm and tonight it’s heaving with the great and the good of Vancouver. Men in suits, women elegantly dressed. It has a lively vibe. Elliot orders a round, and we sit at a reserved table and our conversation turns to Ethan’s endeavors to get into Seattle University to do a master’s in psychology. Since Ana moved out, he’s now living with Kate, in Ana’s old room. Maybe living with his sister is challenging, I wouldn’t be surprised—perhaps that’s why he’s outpacing us on drinks. He’s finished his beer first and volunteers to buy the next round.
Mac talks to us about The Grace. He’s one of the craftsmen who built her, but it seems he’s turning his hand to boat design and has some ideas to make the catamaran we custom-build even more aerodynamic.
It’s weird, I never do this. It’s only when Elliot drags me out, usually with his friends—of whom there are many—that I get to enjoy the company of men my own age. Elliot is a social glue, sticking us all together and never letting the conversation lag. He’s such a people person. Our conversation moves, inevitably to the Mariners, then the Seahawks. We’re all fans, it would seem, of both teams. By the end of the second round we’ve all relaxed into one another’s company, and I’m enjoying myself.
“Okay. Drink up. Next stop,” Elliot announces.
Taylor is waiting outside in the SUV.
Ethan is already buzzed. This could get interesting. I’m tempted to ask him about Mia but part of me doesn’t want to know.
The next venue is in Yaletown, a district renowned for redeveloped old warehouses that now house hip bars and restaurants. Taylor drops us at a nightclub where dance music pulses into the street even though it’s still relatively early. Inside the dark industrial interior, the bar is doing brisk business and we have a table in the VIP area. I stick with beer, while Ethan and Mac scan the room, I think to check out the local talent.