The Pinkertons liked him.
A lot.
“This climbs to 51,000 feet, and the weather forecast indicates smooth sailing across the skies,” a friendly voice informed them. They turned around to find the pilot had joined them. Dressed in a dark suit and a pilot’s cap, the silvery-haired veteran of the skies quickly introduced himself.
“Greg Barton. I spent twenty years in the air force before moving to the private sector,” he said as he shook hands with Julia, then Clay. “I promise you’ll enjoy this flight so much, you may never want to get off the plane.” He returned to the cockpit to begin his preparations.
Julia picked up on his comment, and ran her fingers down the buttons on Clay’s shirt. “I suspect this will indeed be my favorite flight ever, though I kinda doubt it’ll be because of the smooth sailing.”
He arched an eyebrow. “Maybe I just want to nap rather than join the mile-high club.”
“We’ll just have to see about that,” she said, then walked across the plush carpeting to the bar, reached for a strawberry and popped a particularly red and juicy-looking one into her mouth, her lush lips closing around it. He couldn’t wait for the plane to take off.
CHAPTER FOUR
Friday, 10:03 a.m., flying above Ohio
Somewhere around one thousand feet in the air, Julia fell asleep. It was pretty much instant. She settled into her cushy seat, leaned into the comfy headrest, intending to close her eyes only briefly, and then crashed. She’d been working hard at her bar, and working late, so he figured she needed the extra shut-eye, not to mention a weekend off her feet. Her hours at Speakeasy, the bar she was part-owner of in Manhattan, had been long and late into the night, and as a bartender she was always standing. He hoped she’d be able to relax some this weekend after her meeting, and maybe spend time at the spa or pool at the new Allegro Hotel where they’d be staying on the Strip.
With her quietly snoozing, he took his laptop from his bag, and flipped it open. He had a few contracts he could get a jump-start on as well as some emails to power through. The plane had Wi-Fi, so he logged into his email. He’d planned to take the weekend off, but he wasn’t much of a napper so he could use this time to get ahead on next week’s workload. His clients kept him busy, and he liked it that way.
He fired off answers to several notes, one from his counterpart at a studio, another from Flynn at his firm, and one more from Liam, an actor he represented who owned Speakeasy. After a successful Broadway run in The Usual Suspects, Liam had landed the plum leading role in a new heist flick set to start shooting soon. That movie was one of the reasons Clay had booked a penthouse suite for the weekend at the Allegro, the backdrop for a few key scenes in the upcoming movie.
As he typed, a silent alarm popped up on the top of his browser. When he saw it was from an Etsy seller, a quick burst of hope rushed through him. He’d been hunting for something perfect for Julia, a one-of-a-kind item to include in the parade of gifts this weekend. A Purple Snow Globe necklace: it would be the finishing touch, if the seller could pull it off. He’d found a similar item—a shiny emerald-green martini glass pendant, but he’d needed it in purple, and had asked the seller for a custom order. The seller was talented, but not terribly speedy, so he wasn’t sure if it would be done in time. She couldn’t find the right clasp—she only had a long, T-bar clasp. He’d told her fine. Whatever, he’d take a different clasp. He simply wanted the pendant on the chain. He rubbed his palms together and clicked on the note. Ah, there it was. Ready. He replied with a confirmation, adding that he’d like to pay for a same-day delivery service to the Allegro Hotel.
A new note landed in his inbox from Gino Rizzo, an executive at Comedy Nation, who put the p in prick when it came to negotiations. Clay had been brokering a deal for a producer client of a new late-night show, and Gino had railroaded every point. He read the note, his chest tightening and his fists clenching with every word. Damn bastard was threatening to walk if Clay didn’t take care of the final clause today.
He shoved a hand roughly through his hair, and slammed his laptop shut. If he left it open, he’d send a nasty email. Instead, he rose and paced up and down the short aisle of the jet. He ran through options as he wore a tread on the plane’s carpeting. The silent ride and the smooth hum of the engines cleared his head, becoming the soundtrack he needed to figure out what to do next. His client, a one-time sports announcer, needed this deal. Desperately. He’d struggled mightily to get this far in his career, and Clay couldn’t leave him hanging. The guy had a wife and four kids, one of whom had needed multiple surgeries to correct a birth defect. The gig with Comedy Nation was the first nibble his client had had in a year, and he needed that deal.
Fuck.
That meant one thing.
The key to negotiating power was being the one willing to leave everything on the table. In this case, Clay wasn’t the one willing to walk away. He hated not being in that position. But if his client wouldn’t walk away, he couldn’t, so he’d have to walk—or fly, rather—to the other party.
Parking himself back in the seat, he opened his laptop, and banged out a reply.
Fifteen minutes later, Julia stirred. He turned off his computer once more, stood up to root around for his bag under the seat and locate one of her wrapped gifts, then returned to the seat next to her as her eyes fluttered open. “Hey handsome,” she murmured.
“Hey gorgeous.”
“What have you been up to?”