by Meg Watson
“He seems happy,” I remarked into my cup.
“You’re surprised?” Declan said, reaching for a white-frosted scone and popping it in his mouth whole.
“No… I guess yeah. Last night he didn’t seem too thrilled with me. Not too happy I was coming,” I admitted. I cut my eyes toward Declan to gauge his reaction but he didn’t offer any new insights, just shrugged and poked through the plate of fruit until he found the blackberry he wanted.
“Jackson never gets riled up,” he replied, distracted by another pour of dark, rich coffee.
“Never?” I asked carefully.
“Nope.”
“Huh.”
I swirled another mouthful of coffee over my tongue and watched Declan’s long, heavy muscles working under his skin as he reached across the tray.
“How about you?”
“How about I what?” he teased, quirking an eyebrow at me. I searched his face for remainders of our previous conversation and found nothing. No sign.
I thought he broke up with me, I mused. Maybe not.
Maybe Amsterdam was my best idea ever.
Carefully, I got up and knee-walked across the mattress, watching his eyes following the pink triangle of silk that covered my sweet bits. I pushed him lightly with my fingers to roll him on his back and then straddled his hips, letting my hair sweep across his bare chest.
“You wanna take a shower?” he murmured in a low voice, his fingers playing in the string of my bikinis as I brushed my crotch across the bulge of his cock.
“Yeah,” I whispered, ducking my head and mouthing his nipple playfully. He still smelled like the sharp caramel of bourbon.
“OK, you go first,” he offered suavely, pushing me up and off him. I stared in surprise and then tried to cover my expression with my hair, but he was already turning away anyway.
“We don’t have a lot of time,” he continued, “but if you’re fast I can still hop in before we go.”
“Yeah, OK,” I muttered, sliding off the end of the bed with my gaze carefully averted. My belly roiled with embarrassment. “I’ll be quick.”
I heard him make some kind of affirmative grunt and walked into the bath, reaching for a clip to hold my hair. My reflection in the triple mirror caught my eye and I winced at the sight of the cartoonish rings of smudged eyeliner, the yellowing bruises on my thigh and wrist, and the fading hickie on my neck.
Geez, girl, you gotta eat, I scolded myself as I stared at the too-prominent jut of my hipbones. You look like half a junkie.
I turned the shower on full steam and stepped in gingerly, setting right to work on a proper scrub of all my planes. I was leaning into a new life, new opportunities, I reminded myself. Anything could happen.
As I inhaled the fragrant, lemon and spice-flavored steam, I began to get excited all over again. A new world of people would see my work, without the prejudice of the whole LA art market working against it. I had never really felt like Bridget was entirely on my side, not that her cynicism allowed her to be on anybody’s side, really. But with Declan’s endorsement, anything could happen, right?
It was a strange way of getting to the career I dreamed of, I knew, but that wouldn’t matter for long. I had always imagined Bridget and I cracking open the critics’ opinions like soft-boiled eggs under a hard spoon. I’d make them love me. She would help. But was it really that different if the help came from Declan, and the critics’ opinions were uttered in Dutch? Probably not that different, I consoled myself as the old dream evaporated in the steam. It was still my own work, and I was eager to see what a fresh perspective could do.
The whole future was just moments away. I couldn’t wait.
***
This time, I had worn some sensible wedges with an ankle strap. As we walked to the Gulfstream, waiting with its door and stairs open and welcoming, I remembered that first trip in the private jet. The broken shoe, Jackson’s weirdly sweet paperback fetish, and Declan’s fingers on my ankle. It seemed so far away now that I could hardly believe it was real.
I could feel their eyes on my backside as I walked confidently across the tarmac, my dress drawn snug around my thighs by the breeze. Hopefully, whatever starry-eyed dork impression I had given them the first time would be obliterated by the new Margot: the non-stumbling, non-bankrupt, non-Kevin-addicted version they saw before them now. I was different. I hoped they knew it.
Still, I held tight to the railing as I climbed the stairs. No sense in tempting fate. Falling backwards, ass over ankles to lie unconscious on the concrete would just be so Margot.
A new flight attendant nodded her head at me as I walked into the cabin. I could hear the captain’s competent murmur from the cockpit. Jackson slipped his hand over my waist as he entered and gave me an encouraging squeeze and a peck on the forehead.
The Burkes slid in behind me and took the captain’s chairs next to the dining table. Declan watched me with a smirk and pulled his sunglasses off, folding the arms in and sliding them into the leather case.
“Make yourself at home,” he said, grinning suavely.
I nodded, momentarily dazzled by the circumstance again. They fixed me in their sky-blue gazes and waited: Naughty and Nice, all set up in their private jet. The jet I was on. The jet we were taking to Amsterdam. The three of us. Like we belonged together.
If this is a dream, I would like to never wake up, thank you.
“How long is the flight?” I asked as I settled on the sofa, arranging my silk dress over my hip to show just a flash of the pointelle, side-tie panties I’d worn. The leather felt warm and soft on the back of my thighs, like a lover’s hand.
“About eleven hours,” Jackson answered. “You can sleep most of the way if you want.”
“No she can’t,” Declan growled, his eyes hungrily skirting the hem of my dress. My heart jumped in my chest to see the desire in his face.
Yes, Amsterdam was my best idea ever!
The cabin door closed with a hydraulic sigh and a solid thud, and the cabin hissed as it pressurized. The hangar slid by the windows as we edged out onto the tarmac and I bit my lip, watching the LA skyline going by next to us, wondering when I would see it again.
“You nervous?” Jackson asked, his head cocked adorably to one side.
“Am I?”
“Well, you look nervous,” he said.
“I feel… outstanding,” I replied with a grin.
He winked at me and nodded. His smile was affectionate and earnest, and I saw the pride in his eyes as his gaze flitted over my earlobes. I had worn the diamond earrings he gave me and was happy to watch him notice them. He looked pleased, and my inner puppy wriggled happily as he smiled at me with unconcealed delight.
“Prepare for takeoff,” the flight attendant called out politely from the front of the cabin, and we all dutifully snapped the seatbelts over our laps.
The jet sped down the runway like a predator hurtling after some unseen prey. In seconds, I felt the cabin lunging into the sky, the sound of the tires silenced, the whine and clunk of the landing gear being tucked away into the machine’s belly. We were in the sky already, and the whole trip was really underway. I bit my lips closed, trying to control my kid-at-Disney expression.
Declan and Jackson chatted seriously as we ascended, leaning across the table toward each other while I watched LA sliding away below us. The jet banked hard to the right, filling up the small window with the sight of neighborhoods, one after the other, all arranged in neat symmetries.
Everything flowed beneath us, silently slipping under our wings and away, the landscape changing almost faster than I could understand it. First the houses got closer together, then farther apart, gradually taken over by the great circles of fields all set together, knitted together like a patchwork quilt.
Clouds shot by outside my window, cotton-candy puffs of white. We ascended into a blinding fog and I peered into the grey, trying to see individual shapes. Then suddenly we were above it, and a bumpy sea of white froth stre
tched out farther than I could see to the horizon. I remembered a story about Georgia O’Keeffe going up in an airplane for the first time, and how seeing the tops of the clouds had changed her forever. For years after that, she was obsessed with painting these huge, thirty-foot-wide canvases showing rows upon rows of orderly, overwhelming masses of white. I knew exactly the feeling she was trying to convey.
“Margot,” Declan said suddenly from across the aisle, “why don't you come over here?”
He opened an envelope and spread out three sets of papers before him. Each was stapled together. Jackson held his chin in his fist and looked out the window.
“What’s all this?” I asked as I slid into the seat next to Jackson.
Declan took a pen from the front of his Hermes bag and worked it between his fingers.
“Well since we’re going to be working together,” he said with a brilliant smile, “I’d like to get everything laid out.”
“Oh this is for me?” I blurted and instantly wished I hadn’t. God, you still sound like a bumpkin, I scolded myself. I felt Jackson wince beside me but he kept his gaze out the window.
“This is for all of us,” Declan said simply. “It’s really just a formality, but I like to have a paper trail. Feels so official,” he added with a wink.
“Are you buying me?” I chuckled, half-believing that was true.
“Ha, no not exactly. You probably know we make it our business to find undervalued assets, small businesses, things like that… And then we bring them to buyers who will assess them properly. We create value... for everybody involved.”
“For everybody,” I repeated.
“Yes,” he nodded. “Everybody wins.”
“OK,” I said slowly, unsure if I should read the papers or act like I was so accustomed to this situation that I didn’t even need to do that.
“You’re very much an undervalued resource.”
“Oh really? I never thought of it that way, that’s funny…. Like an undeveloped lot?”
“You could say that.”
“And you’re going to fix all that?”
“It’s my job,” he replied.
I nodded. “That’s what Edna said.”
Declan drew himself up slightly, his eyes narrowing for just the briefest moment. “Oh she did, did she?”
“She said you’re a collector, like her,” I responded, watching his posture relax again. “And she said you’re ruthless.”
Declan snorted in irritation, looking away and then back to me, his composure miraculously reassembled just like that.
“That’s not a word I would use,” he said, scowling.
“Oh I don’t know,” Jackson drawled, turning in his seat to face us. “I’m sure she meant it as a compliment, Dec.”
Declan flared his nostrils and nodded, squinting.
“Actually, Margot,” Jackson continued, his fingers on my forearm, “you don’t have to sign anything.”
Declan narrowed his eyes and stared Jackson down, but Jackson gave no sign of crumpling in the slightest. His sky-blue gaze was as placid as a monk’s while I could feel Declan’s irritation growing like a pan just starting to sizzle over a flame.
Oh now that’s interesting, I thought. I wonder what kind of psychic thumb wrestling match is going on here?
The muscle in Declan’s jaw clenched and unclenched, and I watched his brow slowly relax as he faced off with Jackson in some kind of silent conversation. For the thousandth time, I was vividly aware that their bond was something I couldn’t even begin to understand.
“So what do they say?” I asked suddenly to break the tension. Both men snapped to me almost as if they had forgotten I was there.
“They simply say that I… we can act as your agents. To promote and sell your work.”
“That’s all?” I asked. Then what’s all the fuss about?
“That’s all,” he nodded.
“Well, that sounds like exactly what you promised me,” I smiled.
“I don’t say things I don’t mean,” he smiled back.
“Well then, hand me that pen,” I declared, producing my hand with a flourish.
“Margot, you don’t have to sign anything,” Jackson repeated. “We’re going to Amsterdam either way. You’re already here.”
“I know that,” I said, drawing myself up and trying to appear as professionally confident as possible. “It’s just business, Jackson. I trust you guys completely… And the foundation of any deal,” I purred as I took the pen and flipped open the document to the last page, “is trust.”
“Precisely,” Declan agreed as I signed my name with a flourish. Jackson sighed and nodded, his face inscrutable. I handed the pen back to Declan and shrugged happily under his approving gaze.
“Amber?” Declan called out after signing his name on each packet.
“Amber?” Jackson repeated quizzically.
“They’re always named Amber,” Declan replied dismissively as the blue- uniformed flight attendant strode smartly down the aisle.
“Yes, sir?”
“We’re ready for the Clos d’Ambonnay now.”
“Very good, sir,” she answered in a breathy sigh that I didn’t like one little bit, I’ll tell you the truth.
“I’m pretty sure her name was Jennifer,” Jackson muttered under his breath.
“So you felt confident I was going to sign, did you?” I said as Declan stacked the papers and replaced them in the envelope.
“Well, if you hadn’t, we would just be drinking a lesser vintage,” he smirked.
Jennifer/Amber rolled a tray with a gleaming ice bucket and three beautiful, delicate champagne flutes. Whipping a white linen from the side of the tray, she draped the fabric over the end and turned the bottle expertly, releasing the cork with a low, throaty pop. As she poured out three flutes, Declan plucked them from the tray and set them in front of us.
I picked mine up and held the cool stem between my fingers, watching the tiny lines of bubbles rising magnificently through the deep golden liquid.
“To us,” Jackson offered, giving me a wink.
“To our partnership,” Declan added.
“To all of us,” I sing-songed, hoping that my words split the difference between them. Whatever kind of silent argument they had going on, it seemed to be far from over.
The champagne burst to life on my tongue at the first sip, practically turning instantly into a cool, fruit vapor. I almost wanted to giggle at the sensation.
“OK, that’s different,” I said breathlessly.
“Hm, yes,” Declan agreed. “Gorgeous.”
I took another sip, pausing for a moment to roll the liquid around my mouth. It was such a complex flavor, it was practically visual.
“I swear I can almost see what this takes like,” I said, then chuckled at the absurdity. “OK, that was a goofy thing to say, sorry.”
“No, you’re right,” Jackson said, tipping the flute back and taking a hearty gulp. I watched his throat muscles working efficiently as he swallowed, tempted to lick his neck from top to bottom. “It’s an amazing bottle. The grapes are grown in about an acre and a half in France in a walled garden. Very picturesque. I could take you sometime.”
I giggled abruptly, then wondered if I was drunk already. “You could?”
“Of course,” he said, crinkling his cheeks in a finely chiseled smile. “Anywhere you like.”
“Can we go sip chocolate out of crystal skulls in Peru?”
“I’m sure I can arrange it,” he grinned.
“OK… wait, can we discover a new alien language in the pyramids in Egypt?”
“I’ll have my people get started,” he said with a lazy, raised-eyebrow sigh.
“Wait, no! Don’t let them get too far, I hate having people unwrap my presents for me!” I objected through my giggles. I could feel a hiccup tightening in my chest. But his sky-blue eyes had me pinned, helpless and happy. Even if I wanted to start acting sane, I didn’t think I could pull it off.
“OK, yeah, after I’m done with her,” Declan interrupted.
“Ignore him,” Jackson said slyly. “He has no vision for discovery.”
“Really?” I said, leaning forward conspiratorially. “I thought he was the acquisitive one. The ‘collector.’”
“Hey!” I heard Declan say from far away.
Jackson nodded and lowered his voice playfully. “Oh, he is, truly. But I sense you’re an explorer at heart, Margot. Like me.”
“Am I?” I giggled helplessly. I found the idea thoroughly flattering.
“Absolutely. An explorer, a witness… In love with the world, with history… Aching to feel a part of it all… Knowing you don’t have to own things to love them…”
“Oh!” I said, suddenly flinching as the truth of his words shot through me like tiny darts. “Yes that’s right!” I gulped, half amazed that he could see that in me.
He nodded again, his smile becoming more brilliant with each passing moment. I felt dizzy and unmoored, as though I was falling into his space.
“Everything I own knows I love it very much,” Declan drawled as he refilled my glass.
“Oh but it’s not about you, Dec,” Jackson said, releasing me from his gaze and straightening in his chair. I nearly fell forward into the void that created and felt remarkably colder from the sudden absence of his presence.
“Not about me?” Declan repeated with a smirk. “Are you sure? Well… OK let’s make it about our lady of the hour then. Margot… Are you planning to tease me all day with those legs?”
“Um…” I started, “tease you?”
He sat back and raised his champagne flute to his lips, his blonde hair just sweeping over his eyes, hooding them slightly.
“I keep trying to not look but…” His gaze dove to my toes then climbed slowly up my shins to my knees. I could feel his eyes tracking over my skin as though he was touching me, and a shiver ran all through me like an electrical current.
