I open my file to provide the hard copy I’d printed yesterday before leaving Vegas. “Unless the accountant made a mistake, this is what I received.” I slide the stack of papers to him.
He shakes his head. “I’ll have to ask Mr. Avery. Maybe he was planning something?” He looks at me, his confusion falling. “Have you spoken to your father? He probably knows what this is.” He’s smug, the cocky son of a bitch. His large salary and power over several hundred employees provide him the false sense of bravado that has me itching to flex my power over him.
I shake my head, knowing he’s not worth it. He might be an annoying little shit, but he has good numbers, and his staff likes him. His issue seems to be with me alone; likely my age or possibly the nepotism, unaware that I grew up learning the ins and outs of the Banks Hotel chain. “I’ll be certain to ask him because I can’t imagine his surprise at finding five million dollars unaccounted for.” I start to gather the papers, but he reaches for them.
“Before you call him, let me talk to our accountant. Maybe this was filed incorrectly.”
I push my seat back and close my laptop as I stand. “Thank you for your time.”
“I actually have a list of things I’d like to cover with you,” he says, remaining seated.
“Wonderful. I look forward to receiving them along with the details of the lounge.” I grab my things and head for the door.
“Mr. Banks,” he objects. “With all due respect, sir—”
I shake my head. “It took you three and a half months to accept my meeting, and you were an hour late. If you want my time, you need to respect my time. Otherwise, I’ll find someone who will. You’re not inimitable.”
His lips close and then open several times as he struggles to find a response.
“Have a good day,” I tell him, leaving for my room.
After changing into shorts and a T-shirt, I climb into the back seat of a hotel car that takes me the short distance to Balboa Park, where Chloe took a car this morning. I glance at my watch, noting it’s nearly four already.
Shit.
I’d told her I’d be done by noon.
Me: You wouldn’t believe how boring everything is in comparison to your explanation of exoplanets.
Chloe: That’s the spreadsheets talking.
Me: Where are you?
Chloe: The Air and Space Museum at Balboa Park.
I tell the driver where to drop me off.
Me: Anything you haven’t seen before?
Chloe: A little. How are your meetings going?
Me: Exhausting.
Chloe: I’m sorry. Hopefully, San Fran won’t be such a headache.
I spot her, wearing a pair of jeans and a T-shirt she bought in Arizona with the sleeves rolled. Her brown hair is down in waves that reach the middle of her back, her attention on her phone as she stands in front of a giant jet.
“I incorrectly assumed I’d find you in the space section,” I tell her.
She turns to face me, eyes shining with surprise, and her lips spread into a wide smile as she wraps her arms around my neck. “What are you doing?”
I grin, holding her close with my hand on the swell of her backside. “I’m sorry I’m so late for our date.”
She shakes her head. “It’s okay. I knew you had to work. I hope you didn’t rush out for me.”
I wish I had sooner.
I lean forward and kiss her, reveling in the way she melts against me, her arms winding tighter around my neck like she’s as dependent on me as I am her.
“Do you like planes?” I ask her when she tucks herself under my arm.
She shrugs. “I know very little about aviation.”
“We could take a helicopter tour.”
She shakes her head. “This is my date. You can’t hijack it.”
I laugh. “You’re right. All I wanted was that kiss, and now I’m ready for a Robinson date.”
The museum is nearly empty, with it being the middle of the week, allowing us to be louder and goofier as we pose in the spacesuit and climb into the small early planes they permit guests to sit inside. It’s a side of Chloe I’ve only seen in fractional pieces—her carefree side where laughter fuels her while her love for adventure guides her forward.
When the museum closes a short time later, we head outside, my reluctance at returning to the hotel on the tip of my tongue. Selfishly, I want more time with her.
“Want to explore the gardens a little? And then I was thinking we could go down to Mission Beach and see the boardwalk and visit the Pacific?” She bites the inside of her cheek like she does when she gets nervous.
“Absolutely. Yes.” I set a hand on her back, allowing her to choose among the dozens of gardens that surround us.
“Have you been here before?” she asks.
I nod. “But it’s been quite some time. I think I was maybe twelve? Fifteen?”
“Did you travel a lot when you were young?”
I contemplate her question, realizing my reality is vastly different than most, including hers. “I did. My father always felt it was very important to be hands-on with many aspects of the company. We only hired a management company in the past ten years.”
“How was that with school?”
We turn at a sign for the Australian Garden. “I lived mostly with my grandparents until I was thirteen. I had private tutors who came to their house, and I’d travel on holidays to meet up with my parents. When I was thirteen, my grandma passed away and we moved to Miami full time where I enrolled in school for the first time.”
Chloe runs her hand over my forearm. “I’m sorry about your grandma.”
I nod. “Me too. She was great. You would have liked her.” I close my eyes, grinning when I imagine the two of them together. “She would have liked you.”
A smile brightens her face. “Do you get along well with your parents?”
I don’t mean to laugh, it’s just hard to keep a straight face when I consider how to answer this question. Chloe’s gaze is gentle, but I can tell she notices the simple changes, allowing me a bit more space as we continue to stroll along the path. “We get along fine for the most part, but in many ways, we’re strangers. Even once we were living under the same roof, it was mostly my Uncle Kip who looked after me, and putting it mildly, that wasn’t always the best decision.” I shake my head, recalling the number of times I walked in on him drunk or having sex or both in the pool house that he claimed as his. His response was generally to invite me to join, offering me one of the girls he’d brought back from a local bar or a drink from the bottle he was finishing. “My dad and I have a shared love for the family business, but he struggles to understand my love for football, which is what started this entire trip. He thinks football’s a distraction and is certain I’m going to try and make a career out of it. But that’s never been my intention. I love the game. I love playing the game, but I’ve always wanted to help run the hotels.”
Chloe doesn’t say anything, occasionally making eye contact with me to verify she’s listening, and I swear there are moments where she can hear the words I’m not even saying.