6. Conrad

CHAPTER 6

CONRAD

I hung up with a weight of dread in my gut. Claire was going to hate this. She'd been on edge all through dinner, though she'd hidden it well, and now she was twitching fit to jump out of her skin.

"We're grounded," she said, before I could tell her.

I tucked my phone away. "Yeah, for now. They're not letting anyone out till the storm's passed. But that doesn't mean we can't leave tomorrow. It might just be a few hours we end up delayed."

"A few hours is enough to get stuck playing tennis."

"That wouldn't be the worst thing," I said, taking her arm. I guided her across the lobby, toward the elevators. "Think of it this way: you can't talk much, playing tennis. It's a social activity, but not really social . Not a whole lot of room for us to slip up."

"That's what you think," she sniffed. "You can tell when two people haven't played doubles before. They don't anticipate each other. They don't have, uh…" Claire snapped her fingers, trying to think of the word.

"Synergy?" I ventured.

"Yeah. Synergy. We won't have that, and they'll know we're liars."

"Or… they'll just think we're lousy at tennis."

The elevator opened, and I hustled us on it. My head was already swirling with all the work I'd be missing. I had my twin acquisitions, my new campus opening, a huge recruitment push for new engineers. Then Joe had been texting with some weird HR problem, a contingent protesting peanut noodles in our staff café. Apparently, we couldn't just take them off the menu. Particles might linger and travel home to kids — kids who might or might not have peanut allergies. Kids who might or might not even exist.

"You're not listening," said Claire.

I coughed. "Yes, I was."

"Then, why did you press for five and not six?"

I scowled at the console. "I thought I did press for six."

"I just told you, you didn't." Claire pressed it herself. "Listen, I know this isn't ideal. But we can't give up now. We need to keep this thing going."

I nodded, half-listening. All this for peanuts? Were they even real? The flour in the café was all made from rice. The chicken was seitan. The cheese was cashew. Maybe the peanuts were fake news as well. I'd have Joe look into that, and if not?—

Claire clapped her hands in my face. "Hey. Where'd you go?"

"Nowhere. I'm with you." The elevator dinged for the fifth floor and we watched the doors open. They stood that way a few seconds, then they slid shut. We jerked up to the sixth floor, and I steadied Claire on her feet. She glared at me.

"I said, we need to keep this thing going."

"By ‘this thing,' you mean our loved-up charade?"

Claire winced at my tone, which was harsher than intended, colored all rough by my peanut frustration.

"Sorry," she said. "You didn't sign up for this. Or, wait. You did. What am I saying? You were the one?—"

"No, I know. We've got this." I took her hands to calm her down, feeling guilty even as I did it. Claire had some "cheat codes" when she was freaking out, little distractions that helped still her nerves. Touch was one. Soft words were another. Lowering my voice so she had to be quiet and listen. It felt sneaky, manipulative, to use those tricks now. She was right to be nervous, right to be angry. But I needed her not to be, so I stroked her smooth palms. I'd deal with her, then I'd deal with my peanuts, then I'd get down to tackling my real work.

"We did great at dinner," I said. "We'll nail tennis too. If it even comes to that, which I'm betting it won't."

Claire let out a long breath. She bobbed her head. "All right. Oh, you know what?" Her green eyes lit up with new inspiration. "We'll just stay in our suites till we're clear to fly out. Say the storm kept us up and we slept late. It'll be perfect, no tennis, no stress."

"Perfect," I said, and flashed the okay sign. I headed for my suite and she made for hers. Peanuts , of all things — whose stupid idea… Everyone knew peanuts were evil, up there with gluten and egg yolks and carbs. We'd have to clean the whole kitchen. Have it detailed. Did they do that for kitchens, or?—

Movement caught my eye, shadows shifting behind me. The elevator dinged, its doors sliding open. I glanced back, and my skin pricked with sudden alarm. Claire had her door open, and beyond her, oh shit .

I yelled out, wordless. Claire dropped her keycard. She stooped to get it, and her door slammed shut. Verity stepped off the elevator with Ken at her heels.

"Verity!" I called, half-greeting, half-warning. Claire let out a gasp and bolted upright.

Verity's gaze flicked to Claire, then back to me. Her brow knit in puzzlement. I frowned at my keycard.

"Hey, Claire, uh, what room is that?"

She gaped a moment, confused, then caught the hint. "Six oh-nine," she said.

"Well, we're in six-ten."

Claire laughed. "Oh, dear. And this one's unlocked. Did I almost barge in on some honeymoon couple?"

Verity giggled at that. "I did that one time. We were in Australia, at this outback retreat, and instead of rooms, we had these, what were they?"

"Yurts," said Ken. "Yogurts with the ‘og' scooped out."

"That's right, yurts." Verity grimaced. "They're like these huge tents, and they all look the same. And the couple I walked in on, let's just say they were fit. Flexible as acrobats, let's leave it at that."

"Lucky I avoided that, then." Claire hurried over to me. I slung my arm around her and drew her into my side. We ducked together into my suite, Claire waving over her shoulder at Verity and Ken. I shouldered the door shut, and she leaned against it. I watched her and waited, but she didn't move.

"What are you doing?"

"Waiting for them to leave." She turned and squinted through the peephole. "These doors are too heavy. I can't hear a thing."

"Come have a drink with me. They'll be gone by then."

Claire came in past me and strode through my suite, the lounge, the bedroom, the long balcony. She stood at the railing, then came back inside.

"The wind's picking up, but it's not even cloudy. We could be halfway home right now if they'd let us take off."

"Maybe. Or we'd still be queued up, waiting on the tarmac." I slid the glass doors back open and leaned into the wind. The air had got cooler, and bitter with brine. When I breathed deep, I picked up an electric tang, the promise of lightning sharp in the air. Verity's laughter drifted in from two balconies over, and I closed the door to shut it out.

"You shouldn't go back," I said.

Claire frowned. "Back home?"

"Back to your room tonight. It would be too risky."

"Risky how?"

"With the storm coming in, who knows what'll happen? What if your window breaks, or the fire bell goes off? You'd have to come out then, and Verity'd see you. She'd know that was your room, and she'd know we lied."

Claire turned away, her troubled frown deepening. "My pajamas are in there. My face cream. My clothes."

I edged up behind her and stroked her arms some more. "Tell you what, then — Verity's out on her balcony, and Ken's out there with her. I'll keep an eye on them while you grab your things. Shoot you a text if I see them moving."

Claire pulled her phone out and took it off silent, and I slipped outside as she hurried next door. Ken and Verity had settled in for a nightcap, mostly hidden from me by a planter full of ferns. I stretched out on a lounger and listened to their chatter, a quiet drone deadened by the crash of the waves. I couldn't pick out their words, but their tone seemed light, punctuated at intervals by loud bursts of laughter. Claire had nothing to worry about, from what I could hear.

Soon, my phone beeped, a thumbs-up from Claire. I turned, and she was back and sitting on my bed.

"It's your suite," she said, when I came inside. "I'll take the couch, but I want the first shower."

"I'm fine with the couch," I said, but Claire was up already. She marched out to the lounge and tossed her bag on the couch, and went rooting through it. I watched as she pulled out a pink, fluffy robe, one I thought I recognized.

"Is that from college?"

She looked up at me. "What?"

"Your robe. That's from college."

"Excuse you . It's new." She shook it out. I tried not to laugh, but it was worse than her college robe, cotton-fluff pink with teddy bear patches. Big, puffy pompoms hung off the cord. I grabbed one and squeezed it.

"Are you serious with that?"

"What? It's comfy. And you weren't supposed to see it." Color rose in her cheeks, darkening her freckles. She dipped her head so her hair hid her blush.

"Where'd you even find that thing?"

"I Googled ‘soft robes.'"

"And that was the softest?" I ran my hand down the sleeve. "Ooh. That is soft."

"It's made of this fabric that gets softer when you wash it." Claire snatched her robe back and flicked me with a pompom. "Now, if you're done making fun of me…"

"I'm not," I said. "Want to see something?"

Claire eyed me suspiciously. "I don't know. Do I?"

I went to my travel bag and pulled out my slippers, moccasin-style, lined with soft wool. "See? Fuzzy slippers."

For the first time since dinner, Claire laughed for real. A tight line had formed between her brows, and now it unknotted, and her shoulders went loose.

"You do not wear those."

"Then why did I bring them?"

"I have the same ones at home, but pink, like my robe."

I laughed along with her, but my own tension stayed. I'd never expected the no-fly rule would apply to us. Not many rules did, when you had your own jet. Who could say now, how long we'd be stuck here, my empire crumbling without me to run it? Don't turn your back , that was rule one. The moment you did, it all fell apart, everything you'd worked for. Everything you'd built. What if they kept us grounded two days? A week? A week in tech was like a year in most fields. Anything could happen in the space of a week.

Claire put her hand on my shoulder. "We'll make some phone calls tomorrow. Find a way out." Then she was gone, heading into the shower. Outside, the wind sighed and surged in the ferns. The palms on the beach shivered and bowed. I could see the clouds now, rolling over the stars, blurring out the horizon with a curtain of rain. The storm was coming, no doubt about that. I hurried to grab my laptop before we lost Wi-Fi.

By the time Claire came out, I was deep in Peanutgate fix-it mode, lining up cleaners and a new menu. Just nixing the peanuts wouldn't be enough. When you'd screwed up, or were perceived to have done so, fixing the problem was only the start. You had to go further. Better than "not broken." I ordered a selection of low-allergen menus — low-carb, low-FODMAP, something for every palate — and forwarded them to catering for them to sort through. Then I set to work on our twin PITA mergers.

"It's raining," said Claire, reaching for her own laptop. "But if this is the worst it gets…" She didn't finish the thought, already buried in her own work. I hovered over my calendar, my lips a tight line. I needed to set meetings, lunches, sit-downs. Joe could handle some of them, and my legal team, but I was Constel, not any of them. Which would be worse, a delay, or my absence? If I played it right, keeping them waiting could read as a power move. As long as they didn't find out I was stranded.

A soft snort caught my ear, and I glowered at Claire. I'd thought she was laughing, amused by my plight, but her face had gone slack. She'd gone to sleep.

"Hey, Claire…?"

She didn't answer. Her laptop slid to one side. I caught it adroitly before it could fall and wake her, and set it on the table where she'd see it when she woke. Then I took the spare blanket off my own bed, shook it out quietly, and draped it over her form. Claire muttered and sighed as I pulled it up to her chin.

"Shh," I told her. "Sleep tight, okay?" I leaned over, not breathing, and switched off the light.

"Mm… night," she said, not opening her eyes. She snuggled into the blanket and my heart kind of stuttered, like a skipped beat, or a sudden flutter. I thought of those cherry flowers that night in Manhattan, pink as Claire's lips. What if I'd kissed her, asked her out on a date? If she'd said yes to me, and all this was real? I pictured myself coming back to my penthouse, finding her sleeping on my custom-built chaise. Slipping a pillow under her head. Gracing her with a soft kiss, not to disturb her. I pictured doing that every night, doing it by habit. And then in the morning — in the morning, what?

My reverie screeched to an ungraceful halt. In the morning, I'd be up for my run at five. She'd be in the shower by then, or at the gym. I wouldn't see her. She wouldn't see me. We'd be off circling our separate orbits, schmoozing our clients, working till late. I'd be lucky to catch her sleeping one night in ten, lucky to speak to her half that, even. We didn't have time for more than we had, more than this friendship, this plus-one deal. Even this, some day, we might have to drop it.

"Sleep tight," I said again, and headed back to my laptop.