Font Size
Line Height

Page 3 of Clock Strikes Paradise (Island Escapes #4)

I was very good at what I did, but I wanted to be more than an executive assistant. And Clay Harmon’s empire could provide endless opportunities.

As I prepared for bed, I set my suitcase by the door next to the banker’s boxes. All was ready for tomorrow. My thoughts returned to Clay. He was magnetic, incredibly handsome, and terrifyingly intelligent. But he was also my boss, and not to mention way, way out of my league.

I’d arranged countless dinner dates and weekend trips for him with various women over the years, but none of those relationships lasted. I was never clear whether it was because of Clay’s workaholic tendencies or something else entirely.

“Life isn’t a fairy tale,” I muttered to myself, acknowledging the truth that billionaire CEOs don’t fall for their assistants in real life. It might make for a thrilling romance novel, but reality was much less glamorous. I needed to stay focused on my job and the opportunity this trip presented.

Tomorrow would be a new day, a new adventure. I vowed to keep a professional distance from my billionaire boss, no matter how blue those eyes were, or the power he exuded from every pore.

I woke before my alarm, too excited to sleep any longer. The thought of traveling on Clay’s private jet added to the thrill. My two business trips with him had been in the city, and we’d traveled by car.

“This is going to be so different,” I told myself as I stretched in bed, welcoming the day ahead.

After a shower, I set to work curling my hair and applying minimal makeup.

I stared at my reflection, satisfied that I looked both professional and put together.

Next, I dressed in a soft blue business suit and black pumps, figuring this was a business trip after all and wanting to present the proper image.

As if on cue, the buzzer sounded, announcing the arrival of the company driver.

After wriggling my fingers to dispel the nerves, I wrangled my suitcase and the banker’s boxes, neatly stacked them onto a handcart, and made my way down the elevator.

The weight of the boxes felt symbolic of the responsibility I carried, both professionally and personally.

“Morning, Elise,” the driver greeted me with a friendly smile as he opened the door to the car. “Ready for your trip?”

“Good morning, Fred. And yes, I’m more than ready,” I replied, trying to sound confident despite the butterflies in my stomach.

“Great,” Fred said cheerfully as he helped me load my luggage into the trunk. “Let’s get you to Teterboro.”

As we pulled away from my building, I exhaled through my nose, then looked for a distraction from my nerves. I’d never been to a private airport before. We exchanged Christmas pleasantries while he navigated the morning traffic, and I asked after his wife and son.

“They’re doing great, thank you. My son just started soccer last week, and Tracy is busy with her book club.” He nodded in the rearview mirror. “You always remember the little things.”

I smiled fondly at him. Fred had worked for Podium for years and drove me whenever I needed to go somewhere for business.

Clay might be an aloof figure himself, but he was a stickler for making sure his employees enjoyed a good working environment.

Bart Mayhew was one of the few people I didn’t care for .

Before I knew it, we’d arrived at Teterboro Airport.

Anticipation filled me as Fred pulled up alongside a sleek white jet.

This private airport was a world away from the bustling commercial terminals I was used to, and I didn’t even need to clear security.

I took a deep breath, trying to calm my pounding heart.

“Here we are,” the driver announced, putting the car into park. “I’ll take care of your luggage, and your ID has already been processed. You go right ahead and board the plane.”

“Thanks for the ride, Fred.”

Exiting the car, I gulped at the impressive aircraft before me. I’d never been near Clay’s private Gulfstream jet. I felt like I was stepping into an entirely different world, one where anything could happen.

Climbing the steps to the entrance, I debated if the tropical destination might be enough to coax him out of his designer suits and into something more casual.

I laughed quietly at the thought, shaking my head.

I wouldn’t be surprised if he slept in a suit.

I reached the top of the staircase and stepped onboard.

As soon as I entered the cabin, my gaze landed on Clay as he sat in an oversized cream-colored leather seat.

And he wasn’t in formal business attire.

My billionaire boss was dressed in a light-blue Lacoste polo the exact same shade as his eyes and a pair of gray cargo shorts.

Shorts!

My gaze quickly took in a pair of muscular calves anchored in Italian leather loafers.

His normally immaculately groomed hair was more natural today, and a section in the front had dropped onto his forehead.

He absently brushed it back. My eyes widened, and I felt both overdressed and a little embarrassed that I had misjudged him.

“Welcome aboard,” he greeted me politely, his voice deep and cool. “Please have a seat. The flight attendant will bring you some coffee.” He indicated the seat across the aisle from him.

“Thank you,” I replied, trying to sound composed despite my disquiet. As I settled into the plush leather seat, Clay checked his Philippe Patek watch with a frown.

“Is everything okay?”

“Yes,” he assured me. “Bart just called to say he’s running late. We should be taking off shortly.”

“Ah, I see,” I said, nodding.

After I’d received my coffee and enjoyed half of the rich brew, the sound of footsteps climbing the jet’s stairs caught my attention, signaling Bart’s arrival.

He stepped into view, wearing khakis paired with a plaid button-down shirt that had seen better days.

His outfit was a far cry from Clay’s effortlessly stylish look.

“Hey there, Elise!” Bart greeted me with an enthusiastic tone after exchanging more subdued hellos with Clay. He pleaded bad traffic for the delay.

I forced a smile. “Good morning, Bart.”

As the CFO took a seat behind me, I glanced over at Clay, who had been engrossed in the Wall Street Journal .

He carefully folded the paper, his brows lowered as he frowned at us.

“Now that you’re all here, let’s go.” Picking up a wall phone next to his seat, he notified someone, presumably the pilot, that we were ready to leave.

As the plane taxied down the runway, Bart leaned forward. “Your first private jet ride? I’ve been on plenty with Clay. Never gets old.”

“Sure different than flying coach,” I agreed, trying not to grimace at the scent of bacon on his breath.

I shifted away from him and tried to appear unfazed.

I’d been on plenty of commercial flights, but this was a different world.

One I’d never experienced. And one that I’d leave behind the moment we returned to New York.

I decided to concentrate on the tasks awaiting me once we landed—verifying documents, attending meetings, and ensuring everything went smoothly for Podium’s benefit.

Once we were airborne, I studied my surroundings more closely.

The interior of the Gulfstream was something out of a movie.

Gleaming wood paneling lined the walls, and buttery-soft cream leather seats were arranged in a spacious seating area.

Two polished tables, crafted from some exotic wood, stood with the aisle separating them.

The three of us sat in a separate section, with pairs of chairs in two rows.

It was difficult to ignore the view of the city shrinking below, a miniature gray landscape of skyscrapers and winding streets.

“Can I offer you something to drink?” a young woman asked as she emerged from what I presumed was the galley. Her name tag read Brenda , and she was dressed in a smart black uniform with a crisp white scarf knotted at her neck.

“Coffee, please,” I replied, trying to sound nonchalant and probably failing.

Brenda nodded and disappeared. Moments later, she returned with a silver tray, setting down a bone china cup and saucer. Next to it, she placed a delicate puff pastry dusted with powdered sugar.

The flight attendant soon reappeared, her expression alert. “Mr. Harmon, breakfast is ready whenever you are.”

Clay nodded, closing his laptop. “Thank you, Brenda.”

She gestured to a small table set up with white linen and silverware. “Please follow me. ”

We moved to the section with seats around the two tables, with Clay and Bart sitting side by side and me across from them.

Brenda served us a breakfast of eggs Benedict, fresh fruit, and an unbelievable amount of cheeses and pastries.

I watched as Clay casually took a bite of his eggs as he read the paper, like he ate meals this delicious every single day.

I focused on my own plate, forcing myself to ignore the opulence surrounding us.

This was Clay’s world, but it sure wasn’t mine.

As we ate, Bart continued to chatter about nothing of importance. I did my best to tune him out, thankful when he finally leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes. Within minutes, soft snores emanated from him.

Figures. Even when he’s asleep, he can’t keep his damn mouth shut.

As Clay darted a glance at Bart, a flash of irritation crossed his face before he schooled his features into a neutral mask. He pulled out his laptop and began typing, effectively shutting us both out. And that prompted me to work on my own tasks.

Unfortunately, the CFO woke up as soon as we began our descent.

But that couldn’t dampen my anticipation.

When the plane touched down in Key West, I craned my face to look out the window, excited to face the undoubtedly challenging days ahead.

As the exterior door opened, warm, humid air entered and caressed my skin, signaling we had left icy New York far behind.

But what lay ahead?