Chapter Thirty-Three

His car smelled of leather—of an expensive type—as I slid inside. The interior was light brown and all the seams sewn perfectly highlighted its class. The leather-covered steering wheel stood out starkly against the dark dashboard.

"Posh," I whispered, covering it with a cough.

He just laughed.

My yellow suitcase took up most of the space in his trunk. It looked out of place among the sleek and polished interior. I watched Arthur's fingers on the steering wheel as he backed out of the parking lot. He was an easy and relaxed driver—I felt safe with him as the car sped along the highway toward the airport.

He told me about a book on painkillers he had read recently, the dynasty who created and made money producing them. He made me promise to find it at the airport.

"Can I take you out when you're back?" he asked suddenly.

"Yeah, I would love that," I replied.

Arthur smiled as he glanced at me. "Are you blushing?"

"No."

"You are totally blushing," he said. "I wish you didn't need to go anywhere. I kind of like you in my life."

I laughed. "I'll be in touch. No naked selfies though."

"Really? Damn."

A comfortable silence filled the space between us. I was smiling, and Arthur scratched his chin, covering a sideways smile.

He parked in a short-term parking lot.

"Wait here," he instructed, climbing out of the car.

I nodded and watched him circle around and open the door for me. He took my hand, and when I was out, he immediately enveloped me in his arms.

"Oh."

That was all I could whisper before he kissed me, gently pressing me into him. When he released me, I went up on tiptoes, and whispered in his ear, "Please, don't fall in love with me. Remember that is the one thing I can't give you back."

"You are a party pooper," he said, stepping back and walking to the back of the car.

"I'm serious, Arthur."

He looked up, his hand on the trunk.

"Don't worry about me, Emily. Okay?"

I nodded. He nodded back, his eyes on me.

"I'm always fine," he said.

"And the thing about me is that in the end, it's me who is always not fine."

He was grinning. "And some things don"t have to end."

"Do they teach you how to speak so romantically in those boys-only British schools?" I asked.

"Come on, Emily, you're going to be late," he said and stretched out his hand. I placed mine in his, and warm fingers enclosed it.

We walked through the crowded airport and stood in the bag drop-off line. I knew I was flying with only two of my colleagues, the other five had left early that morning.

As I watched my bag disappear on the belt a loud squeal interrupted my train of thought.

Jessica, our graphic designer, crashed into me.

"Emily, you're here," she said. Her blue curls spilled into her face. "Dave is at the back of the line," she gestured to a tall man who stood with two suitcases. A pink T-shirt with two palm trees looked perfect against his dark skin.

"Have you seen their photos already?" Jessica asked. "They just landed recently, and it's heaven," she almost sang. "I follow Anna's Instagram, and you know how she films everything. God, I'm so jealous, I can't wait to be there, on the beach, a coconut with something strong in my hand."

It was always like that with Jessica. She got excited so easily and practically about everything, sometimes it took hours for her to calm her frenzy. But unlike with her words, it only took her minutes to create art on her huge tablet. And she was a wonderful artist.

"We're sitting together, by the way. God, I'm so ready to run to duty-free to stock up on those tiny bottles of whiskey, you know. Let's wait for Dave and …" Jessica's voice trailed off as she looked at Arthur who stood by my side. Her eyes went wide as she watched his face, looking away quickly. "Oh, you're not alone. I'll wait there," Jessica said and gestured to the start of the TSA line. She nodded and practically bolted there, looking back for a second to Arthur.

"That, my dear Emily, is the usual response I get from women. Something is so wrong with your wiring that you aren't in awe of me like they usually are," he said, and I punched him lightly in the stomach.

"You have such an inflated ego," I whispered, shaking my head, and he grinned. "And it's not you, Jessica is always terrified of unknown men, she just freezes."

"Finding a husband must be hell," Arthur said.

"She's married to her high school sweetheart actually, Jennifer. Jennifer and Jessica, the two of them are a buzzing tornado. So you've completely misjudged everything."

"Usually I'm good at reading people. But you take too much of my attention," Arthur said and took my hand. "Give me a few moments and I'll let you go to your peculiar teammates."

"Wait "til you meet the rest," I said.

I waved to Dave, who inched forward in the queue. He dismissed my wave, looking at Arthur.

"Is everyone on your team gay?" Arthur whispered.

"We are a very diverse company. And when you were talking about women being in awe of you, did you mean the look Dave gave you?"

"Yes, actually."

And Arthur winked at Dave, making him look away suddenly. He searched vigorously in his pocket for what I'm sure was nothing in particular.

We stopped behind a burger ad, which shielded us from the bustling crowd. Arthur looked at me, and I smiled as my heart picked up speed.

"Come back to me, Emily," he said quietly, brushing a dark lock out of my eyes.

"I will," I said.

His lips were restless on mine.