When he’s finished, I gasp, then realize that I’ve been holding my breath. I try to let go of the armrest, but my hand is stuck fast. I’m still so flustered by our near-death experience, that for a moment I’m genuinely confused. Then rational thought returns, along with the realization that Jackson is holding tight to my hand. His thumb is gently stroking the back of my wrist, and he’s murmuring softly to me. “It’s okay, Syl. It’s okay.”

I draw in a shuddering breath, so full of relief and hope that my head feels light. “It’s okay,” he repeats as I turn and meet his eyes. Gently, he lifts my hand to his lips and kisses my fingers. “It’s better now.”

I sigh and nod, my heart still beating a wild rhythm in my chest.

He’s comforting me, yes, and god knows I need it.

But that doesn’t mean I believe him.

three

“Have you heard from Mr. Stark?” I’m surfing social media sites while I talk with Rachel Peters, Damien’s weekend assistant. At the same time, I’m walking across the tarmac in front of Hangar J, one of Stark International’s private hangars in the north field of the Santa Monica airport.

The company actually has ten hangars, as well as the Rec Room, which is what we call the large, nondescript building that houses the flight crews’ offices, a kitchen and dining area, a well-stocked bar available to incoming passengers and crew, a huge recreation area with a pool table and giant television, and two private sleeping chambers that the crew has access to on an as-needed basis.

I’m heading that way now, a few minutes behind Jackson, who took off with Darryl on the promise of a drink. “It’s almost happy hour,” Darryl had said. “And frankly¸ you look like you could use one.”

Since I needed to make this call, I promised to follow, and then walked more slowly as I did my multitasking thing. I want time to scope out the social media flurry before I talk with Jackson. Because frankly, I think we both need to be prepared for the storm that’s about to pummel us.

“I haven’t heard a word from him,” Rachel says in response to my question.

My work on The Resort at Cortez has taken me off Damien’s desk more and more frequently, and as a result Rachel’s weekend gig has spilled over into the week more than we’d initially expected. She’s doing a good job, though, and Damien has made clear that I’m supposed to be grooming her to take over my responsibilities if and when I move to a full-time management position in the real estate division.

Since that is absolutely my goal, I’m all about the training. And the most important thing Rachel needs to realize is that you can’t be Damien’s assistant and not have your finger on the pulse of what’s going on elsewhere in the company. Not have it and keep the job, anyway.

Which is why I prompt her with, “You haven’t heard a word, but . . .”

“But,” she says, following my lead, “Dallas called about fifteen minutes ago asking if I could book him the suite at the Century Plaza.”

“Did he? And what does that tell you?” I know what it tells me, and I mentally cross my fingers that Rachel understands, too.

“That he’s not pulling out. At least not yet. And even if he is thinking about pulling out, he hasn’t told Mr. Stark as much. But honestly, I think he’s in for the long haul. Because taking advantage of Mr. Stark’s hospitality and then cutting off the investment funds would only piss Mr. Stark off. And even a man like Dallas Sykes doesn’t want to be on Damien Stark’s bad side.”

“Not bad,” I say. “What else?”

“Well, the rest is a bit more dicey. I may be completely off base.”

“That’s the job, Rachel. A doormat assistant who can only do exactly what Mr. Stark tells her is no use at all.”

“Right. Well, I don’t think that Dallas is a very good barometer. About what the rest of the investors will do, I mean.” Though her words are statements, her voice rises at the end, as if she’s asking a question.

“Okay,” I say, biting back a smile as I recall how nervous I was when I took over as Damien’s primary assistant. “Why’s that?”

“It’s just that he’s such a wild card. A tabloid fodder bad boy, you know? Which means the other investors might still pull out, especially in light of everything that happened today. Which means we’re still fucked.”

I laugh out loud at that final assessment, and she sucks in air on the other end of the line.

“I so wouldn’t have said it that way to Mr. Stark.”