The Wonder of Now

by Beck, Jamie

  Taller and thinner than he’d expected, she moved with a grace he hadn’t been prepared for. Her lightweight ice-blue top billowed with each step, brushing against leggings that showed off shapely legs. It almost seemed as if her spirit raced ahead to part the crowd for her. “Breathtaking” sounded so trite, but he literally had to think about breathing while watching her move toward him.

  After weeks of glimpsing her bald-headed photo on his desk corner, he was now surprised by the blonde locks that brushed her jaw with the kind of natural waves that his sister, Lauren, would call “beach hair.”

  Peyton’s face lit with recognition when she caught sight of him. She must’ve looked him up, too.

  Her quick smile heated something inside him. Something that made him dizzy and feverish.

  When she drew near, he extended his hand, his gaze drifting away from the enticing blaze of light in her eyes. “Peyton, it’s nice to finally meet you.”

  “Mitchell.”

  The brief but firm contact left his hand warm and tingly. He wiggled his fingers at his side. “Please call me Mitch.”

  Thank God she wasn’t a hugger like his sister or he might’ve melted on the spot. Lauren had hugged almost everyone she’d met since she’d seen My Big Fat Greek Wedding on cable, in a determined effort not to be like its Waspy Miller family.

  “Okay, Mitch. Thank you for everything you’ve done to support this launch. I know my editor has big expectations, although they’re nothing compared with my brother’s.” When she teased, her blue eyes twinkled like aquamarines. Stunning.

  His heart beat harder, having no defense against the onslaught of desire she inspired. His plan to keep a distance had already faltered and they’d yet to leave New York.

  He cleared his throat as the passenger line began moving past the ticket counter. “We’ve got our work cut out for us. Glad you made it on time.”

  She motioned “voilà” with her hands. “My timing is perfect. I completely avoided a long wait in those awful gate seats.”

  Fair point, although he preferred to be early for appointments.

  “In the future, I’d appreciate being kept apprised of your plans.” If he sounded like a school principal or annoying great-aunt, so be it. Anything that helped draw a line between them might save him from himself.

  “Sorry.” She patted his shoulder while shooting him a solemn look. “I’ll share a secret with you, though. Something I’ve learned these past eighteen months or so. Don’t waste time stressing over things you can’t control, especially things that might’ve gone wrong. I’m here on time. It’s all good.”

  “I suppose I can’t argue with that,” he conceded, distracted by a whiff of the citrusy scent of her hair—a sassy, short hairstyle as free and easy as she seemed. He waved her ahead of him in line. “Ladies first.”

  “Thank you.” She handed the ticket agent her boarding pass and passport and then stepped aside and waited for him to be checked through, too. The man who went ahead of them glanced back at her for a second look, although she seemed oblivious to the guy’s interest. “So tell me, have you been to any of our destinations before?”

  “No.” God no. Even if he’d had the spare money to blow on trips to Europe, he detested flying. “But I’ve planned many events there and have ongoing relationships with the booksellers and publishers we’ll be meeting with.”

  They started down the humid gangway. Each step they drew closer to the entrance of the airplane, the tunnel seemed to narrow and recede. The sickening taste of bile filled his throat.

  Conversely, her smile broadened. “Well, then, I’ll be your tour guide in each city. I know we have a busy schedule, but I know a million little detours. Tell me all your favorite things to do and I’ll come up with some plans.”

  Handing her information about his favorite anything would be tantamount to arming her for his own undoing.

  “You might prefer to rest or be alone during your downtime. Being ‘on’ in front of journalists, bloggers, and readers for days at a time is very draining.” He hesitated to say more. Given her lack of enthusiasm for discussing promotion these past few months, a frank discussion about the toll this tour would take on her might send her running.

  She stiffened, making him wish he hadn’t said anything. Before he could recant, his phone rang. Lauren.

  “Excuse me,” he said before answering the call. “Hey, Bug, what’s up?”

  Silence.

  Oh yeah. She’d taken a stance against that old nickname ever since graduating from college this past spring.

  “Sorry. Old habits.” Being eleven years his junior had made Lauren more like a daughter than a sister at times.

  “Same old excuse.” Her words carried no real heat.

  He sensed Peyton listening, so he tucked his chin and lowered his voice. “I assume you called for some reason?”

  “I’m having trouble with something . . . a guy.”

  He whipped his hand up like a stop sign even though she couldn’t see it. “Talk to Mom about men unless you need me to publicly destroy someone. Then I’m your guy.”

  He’d use every weapon at his disposal to go after any man who hurt his sister. From the look on Peyton’s face, she approved.

  Lauren replied, “A—I can’t talk to Mom about men. She’s still trying to sell her mom’s 1950s version of life. B—no one needs to suffer public humiliation. This is a work thing.”

  “Steer clear. Nothing’s worse for you or your career than mixing personal and work relationships.” A reminder he’d need to repeat to himself every day in Europe. He turned away from Peyton.

  After a three-second silence, Lauren said, “There’s something wrong with you that the first thing you think about is sex. Trust me, I love you, but I don’t want to talk about my sex life with you. I’ve got girlfriends for that.”

  He could practically hear her eyes crossing. In any case, he released a thankful sigh. “So then I’m confused. What’s the problem? And be quick. I’m boarding my flight.”

  “There’s another paralegal in my department—Joe—with barely more seniority than I have, but he acts like he’s my boss. If he mansplains one more thing to me, I might punch him. But the partner we work for—Gary—loves him. I’m talking serious office bromance, with lame fist bumps and everything. I can’t complain about Joe to Gary, yet I’m doing more than my fair share of the work, while Joe acts like he’s ‘supervising’ me.”

  Office politics. Another reason he’d left Savant Press, although he’d had the reverse situation from his sister’s. A majority of that office had been female, making him the odd man out, so to speak, which got worse after the mess with Danielle. To nurse heartache at work had sucked, but then to realize she’d used him all along—acting enthralled by his ideas when she’d actually been using them to get ahead herself—had been an unexpected blow that he’d never quite forgotten.

  “Establish your own relationship with Gary. Figure out how to make his life easier. If he sees you—and only you—doing that, you won’t have to worry about Joe taking credit.”

  “But how?”

  “Thought you didn’t want any mansplaining?” He smiled, but she didn’t chuckle. “Stop moaning and make a list of things you can do to go above and beyond. Things that don’t involve Joe.”

  She sighed. “I was hoping you’d be more specific.”

  “I can’t be. I don’t know your job. But I know you, and I know you’re able to handle yourself.”

  “Thanks, I guess.” A quiet bell sounded in the background, like she’d unbuckled a seat belt or opened a car door. “How long will you be away?”

  “Seventeen days.”

  “Peyton Prescott.” She clucked her tongue. “I looked her up. Her Insta is amazing. She’s been everywhere.”

  He’d noted that as well. In fact, he’d consulted her for some hotel recommendations for their trip, suspecting she’d have definite preferences. Her road warrior status aside, he’d bet her recent journey inward h
ad been her most harrowing.

  He glanced over his shoulder at Peyton, who openly studied him while he spoke. “She’ll be a good travel companion.”

  Peyton nodded her approval at that remark—eyes twinkling—setting off another round of flutters. Again? God, he had to get control of himself.

  Lauren’s voice dipped, ribbing him. “Does she know how much you hate to fly?”

  He tensed, hoping Peyton couldn’t hear his sister. “No.”

  “Guess she’ll find out soon enough,” Lauren teased.

  “Doubtful. I’ll be too busy working.”

  She huffed. “Why don’t you try something different? Knock back some drinks and play cards or talk to her.”

  “This is a business trip, not a vacation. Weren’t you listening to my first piece of advice? Never mix work and pleasure, Lauren. Not unless you want to sidetrack your career.” He averted his eyes now. Lord knew how Peyton might be piecing together this conversation.

  A short pause ensued before Lauren answered, “You’re going to be single forever, aren’t you?”

  “Now you sound like Mom.” A quick glance at Peyton’s quivering smile proved her amusement. Time to shut down the conversation. “Check in on her while I’m gone. Take her to Finnegan’s one night, or maybe for Sunday brunch. You know, fill in for me.”

  “She’s not a baby.” Her exasperated tone summed up the relationship between his mom and sister.

  “She’s lonely.” His mother had never quite recovered from all the fallout from his dad’s death. “Please do it for me, okay?”

  “Okay. For you, Mitch.”

  “Thank you.” He stopped short of another lecture about how their mom had always done her best by them. Lauren could never put herself in their mom’s shoes. Nor did she have the life experience to consider how unprepared their mom had been to deal with being a young, broke widow left to raise two kids on her own. In contrast, his memories of their mom’s early breakdowns were as sharp as the panic he felt boarding this plane.

  “Okay. Gotta go now. Have fun.” The line went dead.

  Mitch rubbed his forehead and shrugged at Peyton. “Sorry. That was my sister. Had to take it.”

  “I understand. Logan is the same with me.” She winked. “It’s sweet. First hint that you aren’t a robot.”

  “A robot?” Clearly he’d overshot his attempts to be dull.

  “All business.” She stepped inside the plane with him, unaware of the spike in his heart rate as he crossed into the cabin. She looked up at him, a blush rising. “But that’s good advice . . . about not mixing work and pleasure.”

  She strolled ahead to find their seats, leaving him to follow behind her while blood roared in his ears.

  Chapter Three

  She shouldn’t have baited Mitch. Throughout the long ride to JFK, she’d told herself not to provoke him, or flirt, or do anything else that the old Peyton might have done for amusement or to further an agenda. Not when she wouldn’t follow through.

  She was here only to make her brother and publisher happy and help raise money for cancer research. Taunting and teasing Mitch weren’t tactics likely to sell books.

  But when she’d seen him waiting in the boarding line, he’d stood out from the massive crowd pressing to be first on the plane. Nervous energy had shimmered around him like fairy dust. His bone-colored linen blazer and blue button-down shirt dressed up his dark jeans. The chunky black watch on his left wrist had commandeered his attention. More proof that he’d been panicked about her “just in time” arrival.

  Everything about him had looked sexy—a word she hadn’t used in reference to any man in almost two years—causing something inside to break open. Something frothy and fun, like welcoming a long-lost friend back into the fold. She couldn’t resist its pull, despite the memory of how, last time she’d dived into the sea of love, Todd had belched out her remains and left them to wash ashore.

  Moreover, gorgeous men weren’t often also reliable, kind men—her brother being an exception (luckily for Claire).

  An unfortunate reality of life was that beautiful people didn’t have to work as hard to attract attention. Unchecked, that could develop into a sense of entitlement. Having never suffered false modesty, she’d admit that, until she’d met Todd, she’d never sought more than no-strings fun.

  Her private confession filled her with heat. Not the point, though. No . . . the point was that she’d thought she’d been prepared to resist Mitchell Mathis. Thought she’d had him all sized up.

  But after eavesdropping on his conversation with his sister, her interest had only increased. Might he, too, be an exception? Not that it mattered. He could not have made his credo about separating work and pleasure any clearer.

  A petite elderly Indian woman in stylish lightweight charcoal cashmere loungewear retracted the handle of her carry-on and bent to attempt to lift it up to the overhead bins. Mitch tossed his backpack on his seat and tapped her on the shoulder.

  “Excuse me, ma’am. May I help you?”

  When she smiled, one hundred happy lines around her eyes and mouth deepened with gratitude. “Thank you. Right up here, please.”

  “Do you need anything from the bag before I stow it?” His patient smile melted what was left of Peyton’s heart.

  “No, thank you. I have my book and Ambien in my purse.” A devilish grin spread across her face as she patted her black quilted Chanel handbag.

  “Ah. A seasoned pro.” He raised her carry-on as if it weighed no more than a pillow and settled it in place in the overhead bin. “I’m across the aisle if you need anything.”

  “Thank you.” The old woman then peered around him to look at Peyton. “You have a good one here.”

  Peyton nodded, letting the woman—and Mitch—enjoy her compliment. The guy might be a robot, but he respected women.

  “Need help with yours, too?” He turned to Peyton as she retrieved her book from her carry-on.

  Before cancer, the Globejotter (Peyton’s Insta handle) had never asked for help. She’d had to do it all on her own. But chemo, a double mastectomy, and reconstruction surgeries had forced her to rely on others a lot. Humbling at first, but she didn’t hate her softer side as much as she used to. “Sure.”

  Mitch heaved her bag up to the bin and then sat down and immediately buckled his seat belt. Once he settled beside her, she noted the slight sheen to his skin. Did she make him nervous? In a good way, or a bad way?

  Oh, stop!

  Packing three hundred passengers on an Airbus 330 in summer was like leaving a can of sardines in the sun. No wonder he was sweating.

  “We’ll be boarding for a while, so you don’t need to buckle up yet,” she teased.

  He looked up, his fleeting gaze avoiding hers. “I don’t mind.”

  “Suit yourself.”

  He retrieved the emergency instruction card and studied it like he was prepping for a quiz, occasionally looking around as if searching out the emergency exits. He then stuffed the laminated trifold pamphlet back in the seat pocket and tightened his seat belt. His knee bounced until he caught her staring.

  “I assume you ate at the airport because dinner will suck?” He pulled a moue.

  “Actually, I stopped at the bar to watch a bit of the Yankees game and downed some orange juice and a banana. Since treatment, I try to avoid preservatives and other carcinogens in processed foods. That said, Alitalia’s first-class service can be pretty good. Pasta, fish, wine. It’ll come early so you can eat and then get some sleep.”

  His brows rose, and that intense gaze bore straight through her. “A pleasant surprise.”

  Yet he looked ill, not happy.

  “Are you feeling all right?” She almost touched his forehead to check his temperature, like she would’ve if he were Logan. If Mitch got sick, maybe he’d cancel one or two bits of the press tour and she’d spend less time as media prey. Not that she wished him ill, but the silver lining . . .

  “Yes. I’m fine.” He released th
e fists he’d balled on his thighs. “Would you like to talk about tomorrow afternoon’s meeting? Run a mock Q and A?”

  “Mock Q and A?” She wouldn’t mind hearing about the list of reviewers, but practice questions? This wasn’t the time or place to discuss body-racking pain, needles, barfing, and panic attacks. “I think I’m better off winging it. It’ll be more authentic.”

  His silence suggested he disagreed.

  “Authenticity is important, of course,” he conceded. “But you don’t want to be caught off guard.”

  Enzo the flight attendant interrupted them to ask if they wanted a beverage. Mitch looked surprised that first-class cabin service would keep everyone comfortable for the twenty or more minutes that the rest of the passengers boarded and the crew prepared for takeoff.

  “Water, please,” Peyton said. Hydration was important on long flights.

  Mitch waved Enzo off. “Nothing for me, thanks.”

  “Oh, don’t do that. You might as well get what you’ve paid for. Have some wine! It’ll help you doze off.” Peyton nudged him with her elbow.

  He shrugged. “Okay. Red, please.”

  Enzo nodded and moved on to the next row.

  Peyton leaned against the divider between her and Mitch. “If I’m too bossy, just say so. And if you don’t like being direct, we can come up with a signal, like you could pinch your nose or affect a slight cough or tap my shoulder.”

  He pursed his lips with a smile in his eyes. “Should it worry me that you seem to have lots of practice dealing with this particular issue?”

  When he spoke, she couldn’t help but stare at those lips, which had now softened into a slight grin.

  She forced her eyes up to meet his. “Only if you don’t like assertive women.”

  Three silent seconds ticked by, their gazes locked together, energy passing back and forth in supercharged currents. Energy that hummed in her chest and then spread to her fingers and toes.

  Enzo returned with a small plastic cup half-full of wine and a bottle of water. “Here you are.”