by Julia Kent
So at least we have health insurance.
I ponder that one. Do billionaires need health insurance? Declan’s net worth isn’t a secret to me. He laid it all out before he proposed. He shared his net worth, I shared my Walk of Shame student loan debt.
He laughed at the amount I owed.
I cried at the number of zeros on his balance sheets.
Could his crazy work ethic on our honeymoon be related to losing perks? Is he worried about money?
I bite my lower lip, sucking gently where he nipped me, as I remove the dry cleaning bag from the hanger and slip into the new outfit.
Perfect.
Fits like a glove.
I look around the jet’s bedroom with a different perspective. Flying coach is the norm for me. In fact, I’ve never flown business or first class. Still haven’t—because Declan uses the corporate jet for our trips.
Time for Declan to join my reality.
I step into the main living room area in the cabin. Declan cuts his eyes to me, giving a half shrug, as if he just oops! happened to fall and the phone magically ended up in his hand.
Not his fault.
He leans in for a kiss.
“Get off the phone,” I whisper.
He shakes his head. “Can’t. Fair Trade coordinator for locally sourced beans.”
“You have to do this now?”
“Yes. I need to pin him down before we get to Hawaii and go on the tours of the Kona coffee plantations there.”
“That better be a euphemism for sex.”
His expression says it isn’t.
“Did you pick Hawaii for our honeymoon so we could look at coffee plantations?”
The slight hesitation is all I need to see.
“I’m done! Tell the pilot to turn around.”
I want to see panic. Shock. Horror.
Instead, I get the finger. He’s cool as a cucumber, unflappable, and not at all worried about my reaction.
“Adele!” I call out.
She hurries over, eyes impossibly wide.
“Please tell the pilot we need to change the flight plan.”
She looks at me in alarm. “Excuse me, Mrs. McCormick?”
“We’re not changing the flight plan,” Declan insists.
“May I ask why?” Adele asks.
“Because I just learned my husband chose Hawaii for our honeymoon so we can tour coffee plantations.”
She gives me a blank, uncomprehending look.
“My workaholic billionaire picked a honeymoon spot so he can work more.”
Her eyes narrow with outrage.
“Is this about the rumor that you’ve resigned from Anterdec?” she asks Declan, moving closer to me. Sisterhood. Hell, yeah.
“I’m not going to talk about this. Hold on, Diego,” he says into the mouthpiece of his phone, covering it with his hand. He ignores Adele and looks at me. “A word?”
I hold up one finger in response.
“Sorry. I’m busy.”
“Doing what?”
I make a play for his phone, but he’s faster, gripping my wrist.
“Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice—”
“Then you’re my mother.”
He blinks, an insolent look clouding his eyes.
“That’s true.”
“Tell me about it. She insists we’re supposed to give her a honeymoon oops! grandchild.” There. I said it. Now he’ll panic.
He grins. “Let me finish this call with Diego. Once it’s over, I swear I’ll pay attention to you.” Wink.
“Oh, so you’ll pay attention to me because my mother wants a honeymoon grandchild, but if all I want is sex, I get the finger?” My heart races every time I say grandchild.
His smile widens but he returns to the call.
I try to grab the phone out of his hand and fail. “I’m tired of begging.”
“I don’t want you to beg.”
I give him a pointed look.
“Only when we roleplay,” he says under his breath.
Adele disappears discreetly, giving me a look that is as close to a Katniss two-finger salute as can be. Too many thoughts and feelings spin through me, whirling without center, until I’m looking at Declan like he’s a stranger.
It’s not the way he’s acting that is the problem.
It’s my fear that he’ll act this way forever.
“Shannon, I bought the coffee chain for you,” he says in an earnest tone. If he’d used his all-business voice, or his control-the-boardroom voice, I’d shut him down.
This is his I-love-you voice.
“I know. And we’re going to build a great company. We will.”
He smiles, lips spreading genuine pleasure. “We damn well will.” A flicker of emotion I don’t see in him often rises to the surface.
“You’re afraid,” I hiss, the words coming out in a tone of wonder.
“What?”
“You’re afraid.” I groan, reaching for his hand. He’s frozen in place. “I didn’t see it until now.”
“See what?” he scoffs. “Fear? No.”
“Yes.”
“No!”
“You’re working so hard because you took a huge chance, one you’ve never taken before, and you’re realizing it has to work. Failure isn’t an option.”
“You’re describing our marriage. Not my new business.”
“Our new business.”
He relents silently with a small gesture.
“Of course,” he says, his voice like a feather on the wind. “Ours.”
“If it’s ours, then I should share the burden.”
“Burden?”
“You shouldn’t have to do all this work.”
He stares at me, uncomprehending.
“What are you talking about?”
“I can’t take on the complex, high-level negotiations you’re managing, but I can do more than sit on a plane, stomping my foot, being a whinypuss.”
“Whinypuss?”
“Go with it. Look, you have Grace as your assistant. We decided you’re the CEO of Grind It Fresh! That makes me chief operating officer, at a minimum.”
He nods. I’m not sure what to say next, because I’m totally winging it. I have his full attention purely by accident and I want to keep it.
“Have Grace handle whatever she can. Then split the workload with me.”
His eyes travel away from me, zig-zagging as he thinks through my words. It isn’t often that I do this to him. Stopping his pre-determined decision is hard.
“You’re right,” he says slowly. “We’re partners.”
“We are.”
“In every way.”
I grin. “Yes.”
“And you should share in the suffering.”
“Right. I—what?”
“Why should I be rejected in Spanish and Balinese? You can make the calls to the suppliers. You can talk to the worker’s collective representative about malaria nets for the children and family planning curricula for the plantations.”
“I thought we were talking about coffee shops.”
“We are. What do you think we’re doing here, Shannon? We’re buying a socially-conscious coffee chain. You wouldn’t believe the code of ethics they have in place for coffee purchases.”
“That’s what you’ve been talking on the phone about so much? Can’t it wait until the honeymoon’s over?”
“Why do you think I’ve been so focused on so many calls? I’m trying to be done before we touch down in Hawaii.”
“But you said you wanted to tour Kona coffee plantations!”
He has the decency to look sheepish. “Aside from that. I am placing all the work on hold once we touch down. But when we’re home, we can integrate you into leadership.”
“What about my job at Anterdec?”
“Resign.”
“What about benefits?”
“Benefits?” His dark brow knits in confusion over those handsome moss-green eyes. “The biggest benef
it will be building this together.”
“I mean tangible benefits. You know. Luxuries like medical care, retirement plans, etc.”
He waves a hand. “We’ll have that set up shortly.”
“By waving your magic hand?”
“Magic hand, huh?” He waggles his eyebrows.
“Dec, can you be serious for a minute?”
“You’re the one who wanted to stop talking about business and focus on sex,” he hisses, still covering the phone’s mouthpiece.
Damn it. He’s got me there.
“Shannon.” When he says my name like that, it’s an acknowledgement that I’m right, but I need to be patient.
My head turns into a blank sheet of paper. “I need coffee.”
“And I need to wrap with Diego.”
Adele appears with a tray of coffee and tea, as if she heard me mention coffee thirty seconds ago. By the time Declan’s done and off the phone, I’m sipping my caffeine and my mind’s more clear.
“Look,” I say, working hard to find a solution here, and not just leverage to prove I’m right. “We have two distinct issues: you’re working too hard when we should be playing this week, and you want me to leave Anterdec when our financial resources may not support that decision.”
He’s agog.
I almost grin, because getting Declan to show any emotion other than bedroom feelings is damn near impossible.
“What?”
“You heard me.”
“Our financial resources may not support that decision?”
“Well...yes.”
“Why would you jump to that conclusion?”
“You just bought a regional chain. I know you financed it. And we’re losing all the perks from Anterdec.” I sweep my hand in the air around the room. “Like this. We’re losing private transportation, from jets to limos. Health insurance. Paid vacation.”
He snorts.
“Even if you don’t take it, some people do.”
“Shannon, I have more than enough money for everything to be fine. You don’t need to hang on at Anterdec for your salary and benefits.”
“I don’t?”
He gives me a smile that makes it clear he thinks I’m adorable, like a cocker spaniel puppy or an American Girl doll. “No. You don’t. Your salary is negligible.”
Huh?
“Excuse me?”
“It’s cute that you wanted to stay on at Anterdec after we married, but you can give it up now.”
“Hold on.”
He did not just call my working “cute,” right?
“Cute?”
Dec shrugs. “You’re a modern woman.”
Did Folger’s Coffee secretly replace my husband with his father?
“And I know you want to contribute,” he continues.
“I want to work,” I insist, temper flaring.
“Don’t look at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like I’m wrong.”
“You are!”
“What did I say?”
“You are so condescending.”
The plane jerks, curving at a hard right, sending me into Declan, his arms wrapping around me as we fall down. He takes the brunt of the fall by instinctively turning, his shoulder and hip the first point of contact.
“We’ve hit another rough patch,” the pilot says over the intercom.
No kidding.
“Are you hurt?” Declan asks as we stand carefully and make our way to seats with belts attached.
“Bruised ego and elbow. Nothing too important hurt,” I say with a sniffling flourish.
He peers at me.”You’re really pissed.”
“I am.”
“Why?”
“Because I think you’re performing all this extra work because you overcommitted our financial resources and you’re shutting me out from the truth.”
The expression that spreads across his face is the most infuriating response he could give.
Because he smiles.
“You really think that?”
“How am I supposed to know?”
“Shannon.” His voice downshifts a gear. “You know my net worth.”
“But the coffee chain must cost so much.”
He quirks an eyebrow.
“And you know that I know how to operate when it comes to finance.”
“Sure, but—”
“And you know my mother’s trust provides an income.”
I start to protest and stop.
“We don’t need to get desperate here. It’s not like we’re about to be thrown out on the street and you have to work the Vegas Strip topless with your breasts painted as Minions.”
I shudder, remembering the incident with my dad and the woman working a footbridge in front of Caesar’s Palace.
“You’re sure?”
“Of course, I would pay you a pretty penny for that show. Private audience only.”
“Stop!”
His eyes dart to the window, then move silently, slowly, taking in the jet. “We won’t have a corporate jet. But I’m sure first class commercial is fine.”
“You’ll suffer.” I brush the hair from his brow. “But stay strong.” I offer him a fist bump. He declines.
“Andrew’s letting us acquire the Beanmobile.”
“The what?”
“The car formerly known as Turdmobile. Plus I have my Audi SUV and the Tesla. We’re fine for transportation.” He frowns. “I might have to learn how to pump gas, though.”
I laugh. “Right.” Now he’s taking the joking too far. What grown man who drives doesn’t know how to pump his own gas?
“You’re losing Grace.”
He goes pale. “Ouch. That’s right.”
“And if I quit, we need benefits.”
“Grind It Fresh! has a new human resources team. They’re on it.”
“So I don’t have to worry?”
“You never have to worry about money.”
I punch him in the chest.
“Ow! What’s that for?”
“Calling my salary ‘cute.’”
“It is cute!”
“It’s more than the median income for a family of four in the U.S.”
“Right. Cute.”
Billionaires.
“Let me worry about money. You focus on branding. I’m getting everything set up before—”
The pilot cuts in with landing instructions. We click our seat belts.
“Before?”
“Before we land in Hawaii. If you can tolerate one—one—coffee plantation tour, the rest of our week is devoted to you.”
“Us.”
“You.” He kisses the back of my hand, then bites the skin at my middle knuckle, plucking it like a rose petal between his teeth.
I sigh.
“A week alone with you in an oceanside villa with complete privacy, endless room service, and no clothes is my idea of a honeymoon.”
“Mine, too,” I reply.
“Good.” He wiggles his phone in front of me. “Let me make one more call and—”
I turn away, pretending to nap.
Might as well.
Sounds like the next week will involve lots of time in bed.
But not much sleep.
Chapter 4
“This is going to be great,” Declan says out of the corner of his mouth, hand on the small of my back, sliding to my hip and up my torso, the promise of sex in his touch as he brushes against the bottom curve of my breast. “A week of nothing but sex and time with you.”
“And sex,” I whisper back.
“And time with you.” He kisses my cheek.
And sex.
Finally. Our real honeymoon. One hundred sixty-eight hours of one hundred percent focus on each other.
“Mr. McCormick!” A line of twenty hula dancers in traditional dress are lined up to form an aisle as we descend the stairs from the corporate jet, with two businesswomen in suits flanking them.
“Ms. La
ndau?” Declan asks. “Good to see you again.” Ms. Landau wears a perfectly-tailored pale cream suit that hugs her curves like a two year old seeing her mommy for the first time in a week. With five-inch heels that show off calves with muscles that curl into an upside-down heart, and a bright, wide smile that acts like a second sun, Ms. Landau intimidates me.
Especially because I have a raging case of sex head, I tore my pantyhose putting them back on, and I think my shirt’s inside out.
“I want to assure you that we’ve taken all appropriate measures to shield you,” she says to Declan, her face filled with that tightness workers get when they’re preemptively cushioning the blow they have to deliver to their boss.
“Aloha,” the other suited woman says, slipping a lei over my head, making it so I can’t hear Declan’s response. These aren’t those cheesy leis you get in bulk at the dollar store. Oh, no. They’re real, made of carnations, orchids, and other flowers I can’t identify, and woven together with an artistry that speaks to expertise. The thoughtfulness and luxury make me feel welcome instantly.
“Shield?” Declan asks, giving her the blank stare he’s practically patented.
Ms. Landau opens her mouth to respond. The other woman smiles at me. As she slips the lei over my head, I hear a buzzing sound in my ear. I falter, one of the flowers caressing my cheek, like silk and butter combined.
Bzzz.
And then her fingernail brushes over my ear and I feel a horrific pinch.
Bzzz.
“Bee!” I scream.
The next ten seconds pass in slow motion, the tick-tock of my mind’s eye like a dented gong being pelted in a hailstorm.
One: I rip the cord of flowers off me.
Two: A bee lands on my ear.
Three: Declan reaches into his breast pocket of his suit jacket and pulls out an EpiPen.
Four: The bee flies off me, but lands on the lei, which bounces off Ms. Landau and back in my face.
Five: I enter a portal into hell.
Six: The lei ricochets off me, onto Declan’s foot, while the bee dive-bombs me.
Seven: I thought Hawaii didn’t have bees? Mom told me that. I’m going to kill Mom if I survive this. She said volcanic ash was Kryptonite to bees.
Eight: I should have asked Pam for the truth.
Nine: Declan bends down, pulling me with him.
Ten: His palm glides up my leg, yanking my skirt to my hips, silky smooth fingers over the globe of my ass cheek, up to my hip. He wants to make love now? Here? Look, buddy...
