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I trail off, glancing over at Zack, reassuring myself that he is not hearing any of this. But just as I let myself feel that relief, he suddenly lifts his gaze from his tablet and catches me staring. My heart stops. His eyes hold mine for a beat, long enough that I feel exposed, like he’s seeing right through me. I snap my gaze away, feeling my cheeks burn.
Me: Camille, he just looked at me. Why would he do that? I’m scared. I think he might understand French.
Camille: Oh my God, girl, you’re screwed… do you really think so though? Maybe all rich guys understand second languages…
Panic seizes me, my pulse racing out of control. I feel my face turn red, and my mind jumps to every single word I’ve just said. God, if he caught even a little bit of that… Then he sighs, lowering his tablet with an irritated look, and his voice cuts through the air, sharp and commanding.
“Stop staring at me. You’re distracting me,” he says. He says this in English, each word clipped and impatient. I release the breath I didn’t realize I was holding, a wave of relief washing over me.
Me: I don’t think he understood… Thank God. I think I would have thrown myself off this plane if he did.
Camille: Oh, poor Jenny. You’re doomed. But I love seeing you in this mess.
I hate it, but still I laugh softly, still shaken but feeling a little more grounded. I lean back in my seat, closing my eyes, letting the relief settle in, knowing that this is a game I shouldn’t play too seriously—but somehow, I just can’t stop.
Me: I have to hang up… if I keep going, I think he’s going to throw me off the plane. He’s busy and I’m distracting him.
Camille: Alright, but remember… have fun, and if you ever find yourself in a situation where you don’t know what to do, call me.
I laugh softly, the tension easing just a bit, but I still feel my heart racing.
Me: Love you, Camille. Talk soon.
Camille: Love you too. Call me soon, okay?
With that, she ends the call, her laughter still echoing in my mind. I lean back, letting out a long sigh. I can’t stop thinking about everything we talked about, her words looping in my head. Finally, the exhaustion pulls me under, and I drift off.
Chapter
Sixteen
ZACK
Iknow now that I can stare at the screen of a tablet and not read a single word in ten minutes. And it’s not because I’m tired. No, it’s because the girl next to me…who’s oblivious to the fact that I understand every word…is busy on the phone with her friend, whispering in French as if it’s some secret code. But it’s not. I catch every single word.
I’m not even sure what to make of it…her “fantasies,” as she calls them, spilling out in a low, embarrassed rush. Her words replay in my head, one after another, and I can barely process them.
I try not to look at her as she finally drifts off. There’s a strange mix of disbelief and… something else, gnawing at me. Because for all her rambling, all her innocent denial of these feelings for me, she wants things from me she couldn’t bring herself to admit out loud if I asked her directly. She wants intensity. She wants to be consumed. I never truly thought she had that kind of fire in her.
And maybe… maybe she’d be easier to win over than I thought. It was a simple enough plan, to have her infatuated with me, so she’d leave Brett alone. But now, I find myself watching her, maybe longer than I should. There’s something interesting about her…stubborn and completely unaware of herself, like she doesn’t see just how clearly she shows everything she feels. But I shake the thoughts away, forcing myself to focus back on the screen, on the numbers waiting for me.
The plane touches down in Rome as the sun begins to set, bathing the runway in a golden light. Jenny, of course, is buzzing with excitement, practically bouncing in her seat. From the windows, she scans the tarmac, clearly looking for her own way out, as if she’s forgotten I’m even here.
Once she collects her bags, I point her toward the black sedan waiting for us. “Your ride’s this way.”
She frowns, glancing past me. “Actually… I already booked a hotel for myself. I can find my way there from here. It’s a little place on Via Maggio. It’s affordable, and you’ve already done more than enough for me, so I’d like to handle it from here.”
I feel my jaw tighten, but I manage to keep my voice calm. “Affordable?” I repeat. “Jenny, we’re in Rome. It’s a big city, and I’d rather know you’re safe. I have a suite at Hotel de Russie. You’d be comfortable there.”
She shakes her head, crossing her arms. “Thank you, but no. This is my trip, and it’s work-related, so I’d really like to handle it on my terms.”
I take a slow breath, forcing myself to stay patient. “Alright,” I say, meeting her eyes. “But if anything feels off or you change your mind, call me. Don’t take any chances.”
Her mouth quirks up in a small, triumphant smile. “Noted,” she replies, clearly feeling victorious.
We step off the jet onto the quiet tarmac of the private terminal, where a sleek black sedan is waiting nearby, the chauffeur already holding the door open. However, she doesn’t get in.
“What is it now??” I ask and her hand tightens around the handle of her suitcase.