Keeping her busy on the ride over had been the best distraction—in and of itself—and because it preserved the sheer surprise that he’d wanted to elicit from his woman. The jet was one part of the weekend he’d mapped out for Julia in Vegas. Every detail was planned to a T; every gift arranged in advance. He wanted to shower her with luxuries, capping them all off tomorrow with the one he was most eager to give her—a three-carat emerald-cut diamond ring as he asked her to be Mrs. Clay Nichols forever and ever. The ring was safely in Sin City already; he’d had it shipped from Tiffany’s, and sourced from a diamond mine in Canada, one of many that operated by socially responsible guidelines in the diamond business. His brother, Brent, had the ring under lock and key at his place in Vegas. Clay had contemplated having the ring shipped to the home he and Julia shared in the West Village, but when she’d playfully confessed one evening last month while lounging on their balcony, drinking scotch and looking at the stars, that she’d been the kid who peeked at her Christmas presents early, he knew it was safest to keep the ring far away from her prying eyes.
“McKenna almost ratted me out one year. She found me re-taping a Christmas package early one morning when I was ten, I think. My face turned bright red, but then I told her our cat was playing with an ornament, and had knocked a few presents around, so the tape must have come off.”
He’d laughed at her cover-up. “And she believed that far-fetched, multi-layered fib?”
Julia shook her head, a self-deprecating grin curving her lips. “Nope. So I tried another tactic. I gave her my most prized possession in exchange for her silence—my scrapbook of all these fabulous Jordan Catalano snapshots from My So-Called Life,” she’d said, and he’d smiled at the mention of the TV show she and her sister had been huge fans of when they were growing up. That was something else he and Julia had in common; not that show, but an affection for movies and TV as entertainment and as touch-points for special moments in life.
“You are deviously clever, and I also want to thank you for the advance warning that I should never leave any Christmas gifts for you under the tree until Christmas morning when Santa arrives.”
She’d pretended to pout. “No fair.”
“So fair,” he’d countered, as his mind whirred through the best options for keeping a ring far, far away from those exploring eyes and fingers. When he’d told her at her bar the other night that he’d planned to take her to Vegas for the weekend, she’d blatantly stated that she hoped he might get down on one knee, so he certainly wasn’t trying to catch her off-guard with his proposal. They were open with each other about their desire to be married someday soon. But the details? The where, when, and how of it? That’s what he could have fun with, moving puzzle pieces around, keeping her on her toes and hopefully finding a way to surprise the woman he loved, adored and cherished.
Starting with this jet. Mission accomplished on the first surprise.
“All this for a Friday meeting in Vegas?” she asked, as she drank in the posh interior. Her meeting with Farrell Spirits, the global beverage giant that manufactured Julia’s very special, very secret drink, had proved to be fortuitous timing. He’d already booked the trip when a few days ago one of the marketing executives at Farrell had asked her to meet in Vegas, where the company’s U.S. marketing operations were headquartered. Farrell wanted to expand Julia’s role from a behind-the-scenes mixer of its wildly popular new drink into a sort of spokeswoman for the Purple Snow Globe she’d invented. Once that serendipitous meeting was set, he had the perfect alibi to make this weekend seem like it was simply a combo business-and-pleasure getaway, not a well-planned and orchestrated opportunity to pop the question.
“You’ve got to be able to fly with the high rollers now that you’re becoming one,” he told her, sliding his palm over her ass, cupping her cheek through her skirt as they stood in the galley. “Think of it as your corporate jet for the day, courtesy of the Pinkertons.”
The Pinkertons, a duo of British film-producing brothers, had offered him the use of the jet for the weekend; their way of saying thank you for all the points he had won them in the deal they’d just signed with a studio for their newest movie.
As Julia stepped into the lush inside of the jet, he watched her take it all in. Her green eyes were wide and bright, practically inhaling the surroundings as she stopped in her tracks. Her jaw dropped and she gawked. That made his heart pound against his chest. He loved her unfettered reactions. She didn’t hold back. She didn’t pretend. She let her emotions show through, and she was clearly in awe right now, which was exactly how he’d wanted her to feel. Pride suffused him as he catalogued her response. She wasn’t a woman who needed a private jet; she’d happily fly commercial, but she sure as hell was a woman who appreciated gifts, and did he ever love giving things to her.
She launched herself into his arms and rained kisses on his cheek, jaw, and neck. “I am so glad you are making them boatloads of money, because this jet rocks. You are getting ten thousand blow jobs for this one, mister,” she said.
“That’s a lot. You better get started.”
“You’re ready again so soon?”
He pretended to look at his watch. “Soon? If memory serves the last one was twenty minutes ago. That seems like a lifetime in between to me.”
She let go of him and strolled further inside, running her hand along the soft, leather seats. In a warm shade of beige, they were spacious, complete with footrests and full reclining ability. The Cessna Citation X had nine seats, and he’d never been so grateful for an empty flight than he was today. At the back of the plane, a metallic bar boasted sleek bottles of vodka, scotch and other liquors, sturdy tumblers, and a bowl of fresh, ripe strawberries, courtesy of his clients.