“We needto be wheels up in exactly ten minutes,” I say from the open door of one of OurLog’s corporate jets as I look out over the empty airfield. “I’m not telling the pilot to wait even thirty seconds past that.”
Matheo breezes past me with an easy smile, though I already know the eyes hiding behind his aviator sunglasses would betray his concern. “Kyren will be here.”
“I wish I had your confidence in him,” I grouse.
It’s been almost twenty years and I still hate that I have to play second fiddle to my best friend’s best friend. As a sixteen-year-old math prodigy sent off to college way too early for the sake of his parents’ bragging rights, I obviously struggled to make friends. Matheo was one of the few people who didn’t treat me like a weird kid chasing after full-grown adults like an annoying little brother our freshman year. His roommate—who cared more about trying to impress girls with acoustic versions of AC/DC on his guitar and breaking keg-stand records—was another story. Twenty years and I’m the one expected to cool hisheels on his own damn jet while waiting on the guy who hasn’t matured since grade school.
Kyren was an asshole then, and even though it’s been years since I last saw him, I assume not much has changed.
Lucas comes up behind me, hands large and warm on my shoulders as I slump into the seat. He massages muscles I didn’t even know were tight, and I can’t bite back a low moan. “You’re carrying too much tension in your shoulders, love. Remember what the chiropractor said about your stress level.”
That quack also tried to sell me essential oils to treat my migraines, but I keep that observation to myself. Lucas doesn’t deserve to be on the receiving end of my bad mood when he’s done nothing to contribute to it.
“We should hit up the spa at the same point,” Lucas continues. “A deep tissue massage would do wonders for you.”
“If I have time.”
I already need to get my laptop and respond to the likely hundreds of work messages that have accumulated in the last few hours. Working on the flight is nonnegotiable and the rest of this trip isn’t safe, either. I’ll carve out enough time for the actual wedding, but I can’t make any promises otherwise.
Lucas does a good job of hiding his disappointed sigh, but I still hear it.
He doesn’t begrudge me working, but I know he struggles with spending so much time on his own without anyone to dote on.
We tried once to get a dog but my allergies couldn’t tolerate the dander.
Matheo drops heavily into the seat beside me, immediately kicking his feet up on the reverse-facing chairacross from us. “Never thought I’d be on one of the OurLog jets again. This is a nice little hook-up, Mr. CTO.”
“The Heat Island resort actually only takes up a small part of the island. OurLog has actually been in talks about leasing a data center not that far away so I’m going to do some due diligence while we’re there. The whole archipelago is volcanic and geothermal energy is cheap and renewable. Technically, this is now a business trip.”
He rolls his eyes. “Of course it is. I almost forgot who you are for a second, Cash.”
“I can’t help it if I recognize a tax write-off when I see one.”
Lucas continues to massage my shoulders, and I have to fight the urge to sink into the leather seat. But a quick glance at my watch makes me taut with stress all over again. “Five minutes until we have to leave.”
Matheo glances out the window. “I already told you not to stress about Kyren.”
I’m torn, really. I would absolutely love to avoid a week of interacting with Kyren Cartwright, while simultaneously convincing Matheo after years of evidence that Kyren is a flake. On the other hand, I really don’t want to disappoint Trinity or give her a reason not to trust us.
Just as I’m about to signal the pilot that we’re ready, the sound of screeching tires echoes across the tarmac. A bright yellow cab skids to a halt at the nose of our jet, and out tumbles Kyren with a guitar case strapped to his back and a duffel bag that’s seen better days.
“Is this the Heat Island Express?” he shouts, jogging up the airstair with that infuriating grin I remember all too well. “Looks like I’m right on time.”
“We’re supposed to leave in three minutes,” I correct, checking my watch pointedly.
“Shit, that means I’m early.” Kyren bounds up the stairs, slapping my shoulder as he passes. “Nice to see you too, Calculator. I see you’re still busy counting everything in sight.”
Matheo stands to greet him with a fist bump. “You made it.”
“Wouldn’t miss it for anything.” Kyren’s eyes scan the cabin appreciatively. “Sweet ride. Where’s our bride-to-be?”
“Trinity is meeting us there,” Lucas explains. “And she isn’t actually the bride.”
“Unless you thought this was a fake-marriage arrangement, rather than a fake-dating one. That seems like a reach, even for you,” I add sarcastically.
“I’m chill with whatever comes my way, Calculator.” Kyren winks, dropping into a seat and immediately helping himself to the champagne. “Something we obviously don’t have in common.”
I signal the flight attendant to close the door, my jaw clenched tight enough to crack a molar. One week with Kyren. For Lucas and Trinity, I can survive anything for seven days.
