Page 94 of Whiskey Proposal

I don’t have to sit around and wait to be divorced on Lane’s timeline. I don’t even have to use the same lawyer Hutch used. Then I’ll know. It’ll be set, and once Brooks buys my home, I can live life on my terms.

I take the reins, and I get a fun weekend with a hot guy who’s amazing in bed.

Win-win.

There’s still a heaviness in my fingers, but determination pumps through my blood.

Me: Let me talk to Brooks. I have an errand to run, and I’ll let you know what time.

Lane: I’ll call the crew.

I wait just inside the door, watching a sleek white-and-blue plane taxi to the private gate. When the door of the larger-than-expected plane opens, Lane stands in the entry, looking all suave in his dark-gray slacks and pale-blue shirt. He still isn’t wearing a tie, and the first button is undone. He ducks out and jumps down the steps.

Mike, an employee of the small airport and a guy who was a few years ahead of me in school, opens the door. “You can head on out.”

I do, rolling my luggage behind me. To be funny, I wore my overalls and ponytails. The private plane was supposed to have a pilot wearing khakis. This is a fucking jet. A limo for the sky. It has a crew. A groan slips out, but Mike stays in the building. I’m strutting across the concrete, looking like Farmer Em, on my own.

At least embarrassment replaces the stress over having met with a lawyer and arranging everything. I probably shouldn’t have used someone who could get me in right away, but it’s not like I’ll have to fight Lane.

Now, I’m a hunk of coal sitting in a pile of diamonds. The little airport might be outside of Huckleberry Springs, but it’s nice, attracting all the big shots with money. How much did the Fosters have to do with expanding the facilities?

I’m trying, and failing, not to be impressed. I’m surrounded by his success. His money. I got a cheap lawyer, and I look like I just ran in from milking cows.

“You look hot, Scrappy.” Lane trots toward me, the wind ruffling his hair in the sexiest way. His grin is wide and all for me. How does he always put me at ease? Why can’t I just relax and enjoy this?

Why did I visit the lawyer before this?

He’s getting close, and I shove those thoughts in the corner. I strike a pose with my hands on my hips. “I look like I’m dating a chicken.”

“I’m not fighting Phillip for my girl.” He gives me a kiss. “I can’t wait to take those off.”

My toes curl. Soon. He’ll be working, and I will too, but we’ll be together. Naked, hopefully.

He takes the handle of my suitcase and gestures to the aircraft.

“Do you fly the plane too?” I joke, but it’d be a lot easier for me if he did, if it was just us.

He grins and takes the handle of my suitcase. “Not in my wheelhouse.”

Well, damn. When we reach the little flight of steps, he lets me go first. I try not to act like a sweet summer child when I enter. There’s nothing but refinement around me. Glossy wood finish and polished surfaces. There’s a quad of plush chairs on one side, a couch on the other, and two recliners. In the back is a small door. The bathroom? This is nicer than my apartment.

“Do you have meetings in here?” He could live here.

He puts his hand on the small of my back and nudges me forward. “I could, but we mostly use it as an air taxi.”

“Do you fly that often?”

“No, we rent it out.” He flashes me a smile. “Pick a chair and get comfy. I’ll store this in the room in the back, and Carol will go over takeoff with you.”

Carol? Room in the back?

When I turn, there’s a woman my mom’s age smiling at me. “Welcome, Mrs. Foster.”

“Oh, it’s not— Thank you. You can call me Emerson.” I don’t need to get into specifics. “There’s getting to be a lot of Mrs. Fosters.”

She chuckles and folds her hands in front of her. “I love seeing it.”

Her tone seems genuine and I relax. Sort of. I run my hands down my overalls. “I’m not, uh, dressed for this.”