Chapter Four

(Laura POV)

Nathaniel Cross. The man that is always on the front cover of every magazine.

The Billionaire bachelor, splashed across business magazines and gossip columns in equal measure, the one whose face I'd seen staring back at me from newsstands more times than I could count over the past two years, usually under some headline about a merger, an acquisition, or which billionaire's daughter he'd supposedly been seen with that week.

I remember the last time I saw him two years ago.

"You do realize the Arson account was mine before you came in and stole it," Nathaniel said, sliding into the seat across from me at the industry dinner.

"Stole it?" I raised an eyebrow, unable to stop a small smile from tugging at my mouth. "I believe the term you're looking for is outperformed."

He didn't smile back, though something in his eyes suggested he wanted to. "You know my company have been after that contract from a while now."

"You had a proposal that arrived a week late and a projection that underestimated their growth by a factor of three." I leaned back, enjoying this far more than I probably should have. "I had a better pitch, Mr. Cross. That's all there is to it."

"There's always a next quarter."

"There's always a next quarter," I agreed. "And I intend to win that one too."

Nathaniel Cross has always stand out, he was sharp, relentless, and infuriatingly good at his job, and somewhere in all that competition between our companies, without either of us admitting it out loud, something had curdled into more than professional rivalry. If not for the contract that we always share between us, The Cross would have been the leading organization in the region by now.

"You look like you've seen a ghost," Nathaniel said. His voice carrying that same dry, controlled amusement I remembered from every boardroom and gala we'd ever crossed paths in.

My gaze shot back to his, it seems this last few hours I have been getting lost in my thought a lot.

"I am so sorry for bumping into you," I replied, staring down at my stained shirt. "What are you doing here, Nathaniel?"

"Flying, same as you, apparently badly, given the circumstances." He glanced down at the coffee stain spreading across his shoe, then back up at me, something almost amused flickering across his face. "Though I suppose I should ask you the same thing. Last I heard, you'd disappeared off the map entirely. No industry events, no company listings under your name. I assumed you'd left the business world altogether."

"I did," I said. "I left a lot of things."

Something in my voice must have caught his attention because his expression shifted, the sharp edges of his usual composure softening just slightly.

"I heard about your father," he said, quieter now. "I'm sorry, Laura. I mean that."

Hearing him say my name after two years of Ms. Whitfield across conference tables, after everything sent an unfamiliar feeling down my spine catching me off guard more than I wanted it to.

"Thank you," I said, and for once, I didn't have a sharp comeback waiting behind it.

"Whatever else was between us," he continued, "I always respected him. He was a hard man to compete against, but a fair one. That's rarer than people think in this industry."

"He was," I agreed quietly, though even as I said it, I thought of the office, the denied leave, the last words he'd ever said to me ‘’you're better off without him’ and wondered whether "fair" was really the word I'd have chosen if Nathaniel had known the whole story.

We were still standing there, caught in that strange, charged silence, when the same woman from the check-in counter came hurrying over.

"Ma'am, I'm so sorry to bother you again," she said, slightly out of breath, "but I wanted to confirm. We've checked every available option, and I'm afraid there's genuinely nothing except that there is a forty-eight-hour window. I know that's not what you wanted to hear, especially given the circumstances, but I didn't want you waiting at the gate for nothing."

"Forty-eight hours," I repeated, the words landing heavier the second time, now that they were being confirmed rather than just feared. "There's really nothing sooner? Not even standby?"

"I checked every flight on the board, ma'am. I'm very sorry." She hesitated, glancing briefly between me and Nathaniel, "If anything opens up, I'll call the number on your file immediately. I promise."

"Thank you," I said, though the words came out flat, all the fight draining out of me at once. She gave a small, apologetic nod and hurried back toward her counter, leaving me standing there with my bag at my feet and two full days suddenly stretched out in front of me like a wall I had no idea how to climb.

"Forty-eight hours," Nathaniel said quietly, watching me. "That's a long time to sit in an airport."

"I don't have forty-eight hours," I said, more to myself than to him, my voice starting to crack in a way I hated. "The funeral is in three days. If I lose two of them sitting here…"

"You won't," he said simply.

I looked up at him. "What?"

"You won't lose them. I have a plane." He said, "I am also about to leave and go back to New York within the hour. If you need to get to your father's funeral, I can have you there faster than any standby list this place is going to manage."

I hesitated, running through every reason this was a terrible idea the history between us, the company rivalry, the fact that two years of professional animosity didn't exactly evaporate because he'd offered me a favor at an airport gate. But then I thought about the funeral, about Luciana's cold, clipped text, about how much I needed to just get there and stop fighting every single piece of this trip.

"Fine," I said finally. "New York. But I'm not thanking you for this."

"Wouldn't dream of expecting it," Nathaniel said, already turning toward the exit, that same maddening half-smile still in place. "Come on, Ms. Whitfield. Let's get you home.”

(Nathaniel's POV)

As I was walking towards the plane field with my personal assistant, I caught sight of a familiar lady I hadn't seen in years.

Laura Whitfield the lady I'd been dreaming about for two years now.

I can't quite remember when it started, but all I know is that I always found myself wanting to see her dismantle my pitch with nothing but a raised eyebrow and a sentence that landed harder than anything my own board had said to me in months. She had this way of tilting her head slightly when she was about to win an argument, like she already knew the outcome and was simply waiting for the rest of the room to catch up. Dark hair that she always kept pulled back in something severe and professional, though it never quite disguised how striking she was sharp cheekbones, warm brown eyes that missed nothing, a mouth that curved into something dangerously close to a smirk whenever she'd bested me on a deal. She dressed like she meant business and carried herself like she'd never once doubted she belonged in any room she walked into. I remember thinking, even then, that I'd never met anyone who could make losing feel almost worth it. Every quarter after that, I told myself the only reason I looked forward to seeing her name on a rival proposal was the competition. It was easier than admitting the truth that I looked forward to seeing her, regardless of what deal either of us was chasing.

And then, two years ago, she simply vanished.

No announcement, no farewell circuit through the industry events she used to dominate, no listing under her name anywhere I could find.

I never understood, back then, why her absence bothered me as much as it did. I understood it a great deal better standing across from her at that gate, watching her try to hold herself together over news I didn't yet have the full shape of, and feeling something in my chest tighten in a way two years hadn't managed to dull in the slightest.

She looked different than I remembered thinner, maybe, tired in a way that had nothing to do with the flight, her hair looser than she used to wear it, a few strands falling loose around her face like she hadn't had the energy that morning to care. And still, somehow, she was the most beautiful thing I'd seen in two years.

The walk to the plane was quiet. Once we'd boarded and taken our seats, the air hostess walked toward us.

"Good morning, sir, ma'am." The name tag on her dress read Elena.

I turned toward Laura to ask her what she wanted.

"Just water, please," Laura replied, looking out the window.

"Why don't you relax and let me help you with your bag," I said, standing up from my seat across from her and taking her bag. "Try to rest before we land."

"Okay," she said, sounding tired, her fingers working at the seatbelt buckle with more difficulty than the mechanism actually warranted.

"Here." I leaned forward, a jolt running through me the moment our hands touched. She pulled hers back immediately, clasping them in her lap.

My hands found the belt beside hers, guiding the clasp into place with a practiced click. As my gaze lingered on her, I could feel the warmth radiating off her skin, could see the fine tremor still lingering in her fingers from where we'd touched, could smell whatever she'd worn that morning something faint and fruity.

She looked up at me then, closer than either of us had been in two years, and for a second neither of us moved.

If I just moved a bit, I could kiss her right there. I remembered the breathless kiss we'd had at a charity event we'd both been invited to, the two of us standing too close in a hallway, mid-argument.

"It's not my fault you can't keep up," I'd said to her.

"You know I wanted that contract. You went behind my back to sabotage it," she'd screamed in my face, stepping closer.

"Can you prove that?"

Before she could reply, I'd decided to shut her up.

The moment my lips touched hers, I'd never felt so lightheaded in my life. The kiss started slowly as she parted her lips, and I groaned as our tongues intertwined. Her hand curled into the front of my shirt like she needed something to hold onto, and I cupped her jaw like I'd been waiting for this moment to happen. She tasted like strawberry.

When she pulled back, her eyes were wide, startled, like she'd surprised herself as much as she had me. "That shouldn't have happened," she'd whispered.

I nodded, still holding her close.

Neither of us moved to put the distance back between us.

If only she'd waited then, before walking away.

Chapter Six

(Laura's POV)

Who would have thought I would still feel this way after two years of staying away. As I stared into Nathaniel's eyes, I could feel the current flowing between us.

"Uh… sir, should I come back later?" I heard Elena's voice behind him.

Without breaking eye contact, Nathaniel moved back, his hands sliding down mine before he finally took his seat.

"There would be no need for that."

"I would just take that," I said, my face burning from what had just happened. Taking the water from the tray holder and gulping it down too fast, I almost choked on it.

"Sorry, ma'am, should I get you something else?" Elena said, turning around to pick up a napkin and hand it over to me.

I waved it away between coughs, my eyes watering, though I wasn't entirely sure anymore whether it was from the water or from how close I'd just let Nathaniel Cross get to me.

"I'm fine," I managed, dabbing the edge of my mouth anyway. "Thank you, Elena."

She gave a small, polite nod, clearly sensing something. She retreated toward the front of the cabin without another word, her heels barely making a sound against the carpet.

I kept my eyes fixed on the window after that, watching the clouds pass beneath us in slow, indifferent drifts, anything to avoid looking at the man sitting across from me. My pulse hadn't settled. If anything, it felt louder now that the moment had passed, like my body was replaying it in slow motion just to torment me the warmth of his hands against mine, the way neither of us had pulled back first, the current that had run through me the second our eyes locked, exactly the way it had the first time two years ago when we got too close.

Two years, two whole years of reminding myself that it was just my imagination. Two years of convincing myself that whatever had existed between us was nothing more than proximity and adrenaline.

Apparently, my body hadn't gotten the memo.

"You're staring very hard at nothing," Nathaniel said after a while, his voice quieter than his usual dry drawl.

"I'm processing a lot of things right now," I said, still not looking at him. "Forgive me if I am distant."

"For what it's worth, I wasn't trying to make this harder for you."

"Weren't you?" I finally turned to face him, arms crossed, though the effect was probably ruined by how flustered I still looked, my cheeks no doubt still faintly pink. "Because it felt a lot like you were."

A look flickered across his expression and before I could acknowledge it, it was gone. "Old habits, I guess they die hard, " he said simply. "And I forget, sometimes, that two years is supposed to mean something."

"What is it supposed to mean," I said, sharper than I meant to. "It's supposed to mean” I took a deep breath “I feel…" I stopped myself, my jaw tightening, furious that I'd almost said it out loud, furious that the sentence had even formed in the first place.

"Feel what?" His voice had gone from his dry drawl to sharp.

"Nothing. It does not matter again." I looked away from him to the window, my arms tightening across my chest like they could hold the rest of the sentence in "It doesn't matter." I murmured to myself.

He didn't push for answers, even though I could feel him wanting to ask questions. But instead he leaned back into his own seat, the silence between us thick with everything neither of us was willing to say.

I closed my eyes, the memories of our banter flashed through me the moment I looked forward to anytime we had a company party and the night also I wish I could forget all together. The humiliation of wanting a man who was engaged.

I'd built an entire life out of not needing people. It had taken two whole years to get good at it. It had taken exactly one seatbelt to nearly undo all of it.

Elena reappeared a few minutes later with a small tray of tea, this time a plate of fruit I hadn't asked for, and a blanket she set gently over the arm of my seat without a word like she'd read the room and decided the kindest thing she could do was leave both of us to our silence a little longer.

"Thank you," I murmured, grateful for the distraction.

"Of course, ma'am." She hesitated, glancing briefly between the two of us, and something in her expression suggested she'd clocked exactly what kind of tension she'd walked in on earlier, though she was professional enough not to say a word about it. "Let me know if you need anything else."

Once she'd gone, I busied myself with the tea, wrapping my hands around the warmth of the cup mostly to have something to hold onto that wasn't my own spiraling thoughts. Nathaniel had pulled out his phone at some point, scrolling through something with the same composed, unreadable expression he wore in every boardroom I'd ever watched him dismantle a competitor in. It was strange, sitting across from him like this not fighting over a contract, not circling each other at some gala with champagne flutes as armor, just two people on a plane, caught in something neither of us had asked for.

"Can I ask you something?" I said finally, surprising myself.

He looked up. "That depends on the question."

"Why did you actually offer me the plane?" I turned the cup slowly in my hands, not quite looking at him. "You could have let me sit at that gate for forty eight hours. It would've been easier. Cleaner. You wouldn't have had to deal with any of this."

He was quiet for a moment, considering the question with more weight than I expected. "Maybe I didn't want easier," he said finally. "Maybe I've spent two years wondering what happened to you, and forty-eight hours felt like a long time to wait for an answer I might never get otherwise."

I wasn't expecting him to be so honest and it caught me off guard, more than the touch from earlier ever could have. I didn't have anything ready to say back no sharp comeback, no defensive wall to throw up in time so I just sat there, holding my tea, feeling the plane hum steadily beneath us, carrying me somewhere I'd sworn I would never go back to, with a man I'd sworn I was done wanting.

"We'll land in a few hours," Nathaniel said eventually, his tone shifting back to something more businesslike, more distant, like he too had decided it was safer that way after all. "Try to get some rest, Laura. You're going to need it."

I closed my eyes and let the hum of the engines fill the silence, though sleep, when it finally came, was thin and restless, chased the whole way by amber eyes I hadn't managed to forget in two years, no matter how hard I'd tried.