Chapter 20

The 4.30a.m. wake-up call is brutal but worth it. Tonight, I'll be eating gelato strolling the streets of Rome, and enjoying la dolce vita. The thought of being away from work and relaxing for a few days makes me excited. I mean, I'll still be working, theoretically, but weirdly enough, considering I'm a grumpy introvert, public speaking has never been a source of anxiety for me. Not when the topic I have to speak about is one I know inside out like human-computer interaction frameworks.

I dress in comfy travel clothes, wearing my "Ben Solo deserved better" sweatshirt under my jacket as a tribute to Thomas's note of last night. Yep, he nailed it. I am one of the millions of fans who think Ben shouldn't have died at the end, and that he and Rey should've gotten their happily ever after.

But, happily ever afters are no longer a certainty in movies.

And if Rey and Ben couldn't make it in a fictional world, Thomas and I surely can't make it in the real one. We're doomed. I can't date my future boss, period. I should probably stop sending him notes as well. But I keep telling myself there's no harm in them. He'll be gone in two and a half months, off to a different department. Our weird dynamic has a clear expiration date, there's nothing wrong in wanting to enjoy playing while it lasts. Or so I'm trying to convince myself because last night, all I could think about was Thomas in his villain costume and the very naughty things I wanted him to do to me.

Good thing I won't have other visuals of the man to fuel my vivid imagination for the next five days. A break from Thomas Mercer and his sexy everything—face, smile, ass, dimples—is just what I need.

I grab my suitcase, ready to go even if I skipped breakfast. I plan on having it later at the airport. Since I'm taking an intercontinental flight, I have to get to JFK hours in advance, so I'll have plenty of time to eat. And I don't even have to call a cab.

A company car should be waiting for me outside my building to take me to the airport where I'll be flying to Rome in business class. One perk of working for a large conglomerate like Mercer Industries is that they give their executives the luxury of traveling in style.

As I step out of the building, a sleek black Mercedes is already parked off the curb—as expected.

What's not expected is the tall, sexy man leaning against the side of the car sporting a self-satisfied smirk. Thomas is dressed in casual clothes, jeans, and a jacket. He hasn't shaved, and the scruff on his square jaw is unleashing the weirdest impulses in me. For one, I want to rub my cheek against it, feel the bristle on my skin, and then I'm dying to kiss that wicked grin right off his smug face.

"Morning, Campbell." He beams at me.

I swallow the shock. "W-what are you doing here?"

"We have a flight to catch. I thought carpooling would be a more environmentally friendly means of transportation."

My mind races as I try to make sense of this. "Oh, you're going somewhere?"

"We," he says, pointedly looking at me, "have the same flight to catch."

"You're coming to Rome? Why?"

"As future CEO of Mercer Robotics, I must keep up to date with the latest technological developments."

I cross my arms over my chest. "Oh, really? Because even Proctor never came to these events. CIVEMSA is one of the most technical conferences there is, not a business major in a ten-mile radius, I promise."

The smug smile he flashes me next is equally infuriating and irresistible. "All part of my training, I can assure you." He steps aside and opens the car door for me. "Shall we go, before we become late?"

My heart races as I give my suitcase to the driver and climb into the car.

I can't believe this is actually happening. We're going to be spending the next few days together in one of the most romantic cities in the world. So much for my much-needed break. Being in Rome together will be a test of my resolve and my ability to keep my distance from him. And I don't know if I'll be able to resist Thomas's charm for that long.

At the same time, I can't deny that a part of me is excited at the prospect of exploring the city with him. And maybe, just for once, to make a mistake? A huge, dimpled, sexy mistake.

Just the thought gives me goosebumps.

As the car pulls away from my building and onto the empty streets, Thomas turns to me with a mischievous glint in his eye. "So, Campbell, ready for a Roman holiday?"

I try to keep my features impassive to set the right tone for the trip. "This is a business trip."

"Absolutely," Thomas says with such a straight face he makes me doubt if he might really be tagging along to learn more about computational intelligence.

As the car merges onto the interstate, I steal quick glances at him from the corner of my eye. He's checking emails on his phone, his lips pursed in concentration. I clear my throat, suddenly nervous about breaking the silence.

"So, did you pack everything for your ‘training'?" I ask, hoping to start a casual conversation.

Thomas looks up and meets my gaze, amusement dancing in his eyes. "Got all I need right here." He stares at me pointedly.

I roll my eyes at his teasing tone. "You're impossible," I mutter under my breath.

He chuckles softly before leaning closer to me. "But you like it," he whispers, his breath hot against my ear. I inhale sharply at the sensation, pretty sure I'm about to give a demonstration of spontaneous combustion when he adds, "In a friendly professional way, of course."

I glare. There's nothing friendly or professional about him joining me on this trip. This is a full-on ambush of my self-control.

On the rest of the drive to the airport, I try to keep my mind focused on the presentation I'm giving the day after tomorrow, but it's hard. Thomas is right beside me, his scent a mix of musky cologne and something woodsy that makes me want to bury my nose in his jacket and breathe deeply. He says nothing for a while, and I keep stealing glances at him when he isn't looking—precision-pointing technology becoming the furthest thing from my mind. It's remarkable how attractive he is, with those sharp cheekbones and piercing hazel-green eyes flecked with gold. And that scruff. It's torture.

"Are you nervous about the presentation?" Thomas finally asks, interrupting my thoughts.

My heart jumps in my chest. "No. Not really. I know what I'm talking about."

"Really?" His smiles will be the death of me. "Because you seem a little preoccupied."

Yeah, but visual analysis technologies have nothing to do with it.

"I'm fine," I retort, trying to sound confident.

"Okay, okay, no need to get defensive." Thomas raises his hands in a gesture of surrender. "I'm just saying, if you need someone to practice your presentation with, I'm here."

I scoff at the offer. "Right, because you have nothing better to do than listen to me talk about gesture-based interfaces for hours on end."

"Well, that, or pretend to be interested in the Roman ruins all by myself," he says with a grin.

My lips twitch against my will as I imagine Thomas Mercer wandering around Rome with a tourist map and a fanny pack. "Fine," I concede. "You can sit in on my rehearsal tonight."

"Excellent," he says before settling back into his seat and returning to his emails.

We keep silent for the last few miles, each of us focused on our own thoughts. But it's not an uncomfortable silence. More effervescent. It's filled with tension that simmers around like smoke from a fire that hasn't even been lit yet—like everything we're not saying is just bubbling under the surface, waiting to be unleashed.

We arrive at the airport with plenty of time to spare. Once we've recovered our suitcases from the trunk of the car, I head straight for the check-in line, but Thomas grabs my suitcase and steers me in a different direction. "Wrong way, Campbell."

I frown. "How is this the wrong way? It says check-in right there."

"My assistant already checked us in last night, we only have to drop off our baggage, and then we can enjoy the first-class lounge."

"I'm not flying first class," I protest.

Thomas gives me a stare that could melt glaciers. He's worse than global warming. "Now you are; I've upgraded you."

I swallow hard as a flush of embarrassment sweeps through me. "Thomas, I can't accept that. It's too much."

"Nonsense," he says with a smile. "Think of it as a perk of being the soon-to-be CEO's travel companion on a business trip."

I hesitate for a moment before relenting. It's not like I can afford first class anyway, and if Thomas is offering, who am I to turn it down? We make our way to the baggage drop-off and breeze through security thanks to our priority boarding passes.

As we step into the luxurious first-class lounge, my eyes widen at the sight of plush armchairs, complimentary drinks and snacks, and even a private shower area. This is a level of luxury I've never experienced.

Thomas, on the other hand, is right at home in this environment. He comes and stands next to me. "Had breakfast already?"

"No," I say, my mouth watering. I'm not sure if it's from the lush buffet or the sexy billionaire by my side.

I pile a plate with cinnamon rolls and almost die of delight when I take a bite of one and it's still warm. "These are the stuff of dreams," I mumble between chews.

Thomas chuckles. "Glad the service is up to your standards."

"Do you always travel in style like this?"

Thomas's gaze drops to the floor as he scratches the back of his head, embarrassed almost. "This is actually a slight downgrade for me."

"A downgrade?" My mouth gapes. "What's above this?"

He looks up again. "I usually fly private… with the family jet."

The world tilts. With Thomas, it's so easy to forget how much money he has. But now he just said private jet like a regular person would say bike. "Sometimes I forget you're so rich! How do you stay so"—I circle a hand in his general direction—"normal?"

His lips quirk. "I hope I'm at least a bit extraordinary."

He's all extraordinary. "I meant so down to earth? You never use your money as leverage."

"Guess my mom taught us right." Thomas shrugs. "She didn't come from money like my dad. And she always made it a point that we didn't make our billions a source of discomfort for anyone. Money is not an indication of any person's worth."

"Well, she did a stellar job," I say, slightly out of breath.

Our eyes lock. Everything around us fades away, leaving just the two of us standing there, lost in each other's gazes. The glint in his eyes makes me nervous. He's up to something, I can tell. Swirling in his hazel irises I see a heat and a determination that make me a little lightheaded. As if I were standing at the edge of a cliff about to take a step into the void. But before I can even process what's happening, Thomas clears his throat and sets his empty plate aside.

"Anything to drink?" he asks, gesturing toward the lounge bar. "I can order you a cappuccino."

My response comes out in a croak. "A cappuccino would be wonderful, thank you."

Here I am, thinking about charged gazing into each other's eyes and falling off cliffs, and he's thinking about coffee.

We spend the next hour lounging in the first-class area, chatting and enjoying the luxurious amenities. By the time our flight is called, I feel more relaxed than I have in weeks.

On the plane, I don't even try to play it cool. I've never flown first class in my life, so I push every button in my seat, stretch it until it becomes a single bed, and pull it back up. Then I explore the contents of the complimentary beauty case: ear plugs, a sleeping mask, a moisturizing spray, and socks.

I stare at the socks, puzzled. "Why are they giving us socks?"

"They're single use, so you can pad around the plane without shoes if you need to stretch your legs."

"Oh, wow, good to know."

Thomas and I are seated next to each other, but the seats are so large that it's not uncomfortable—neither physically nor emotionally.

Still, as the plane takes off, my heart pounds in my chest. I'm not sure if it's from the altitude or the anticipation of the destination—and I'm talking figuratively here.