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It took the entire walk to my gate to calm my racing heart. Rain drizzled down the glass windows overlooking the tarmac below, planes en route to their next destinations parked like dominoes. Their white exteriors stuck out like sore thumbs against the rather dreary backdrop, but I was too lost in my own head to really pay attention.

My shoes squelched with every step, a reminder of today’s poor, poor luck.

I didn’t know why I was so worked up over this.

It wasn’t like he had been about to hunt me down and demand answers. I wouldn’t be subjected to an interrogation. Nor would he openly laugh at me—though that felt far more plausible.

And yet…I couldn’t get that damn smirk out of my mind.

So cocky.

Self-assured.

Playful and infuriatingly unflappable .

My complete fucking opposite.

Maybe it was his lack of reaction that bothered me, actually. The fact that this horrible-awful-mortifying experience meant absolutely nothing to him. Not that I wanted it to. Of course I didn’t. But still. I both envied and loathed that casual nonchalance.

Still on edge, I scanned the rows of chairs at my gate for an empty seat. There. Perfect. With a rustle, I slid into place against the back wall. I preferred being seated as far from other people as possible. Especially as I was debating digging in my bag for a pair of dry socks, even though the idea of having my naked feet out in an airport, of all places, made my skin crawl.

I felt bare as it was.

My phone buzzed in my pocket, and without thinking, I pulled it free. With a groan, I turned it off again. But Brendon’s texts had been short enough I’d caught the gist.

Brendon

Why am I only now hearing you’ll be out of town?

I am your supervisor.

Did you go over my head?

How childish can you be?

To distract myself, I shakily unzipped my backpack to double-check that I’d gotten everything safely inside it. The whole thing had been a blur. I still felt off-center, and Brendon’s texts hadn’t helped. He was my supervisor, yes. But he wasn’t actually my boss. Charles, the man above him, was a lot easier to talk to—all things considered.

I’d known going to him to schedule my accrued PTO was a recipe for disaster. But it felt like the lesser disaster of the two options.

I refused to disappoint my mom again. Even though choosing this path had meant opening myself up to Brendon’s negative attention. A sick feeling of dread curled cold and tight in my chest. Heavy enough it was hard to breathe .

I almost wished the embarrassment would come back—finding the flush and horror preferable to this.

To this…icy guilt.

Biting at my chest and fingertips.

Frostbite of the heart.

We’d been over for a year now, and yet, it still felt as though he loomed above me, casting his shadow over everything I did.

“At least you’re loyal,” I muttered to Neil without heat as I hunted past the back-up t-shirt I’d packed for a pair of socks. Nothing was in its correct place, unsurprisingly—again, because Missy had been the one to pack. Neil’s fat crown poked out of the fabric innocently, as if in agreement. “Even if you are an exhibitionist.” I was half-tempted to sneakily toss Neil in the trash so that I wouldn’t face potential future humiliation.

But… that felt disloyal.

And I couldn’t bring myself to do it.

So instead, I quickly and efficiently switched out my socks, relieved when the soggy bundle was shoved into a separate pocket and my feet were more comfortable. I was straightening the hem on my pants when I heard it.

The click of expensive shoes.

Like any sane introvert in a crowded space, I ignored their approach. It was only natural to hope the newcomer would find somewhere else to sit. Unfortunately for me, the footsteps didn’t stray or change course.

They steadily became louder as they headed straight for my gate.

With a sigh, I lifted my head, only to balk when I spotted a familiar stranger striding purposefully down the hallway. Oh dear god. Hell no. Once again, it seemed that life had decided to demonstrate how unfair it could be.

His sturdy thighs flexed as he walked, challenging the seams of his suit pants. He was so much more muscular than I’d realized during our brief encounter only twenty minutes prior. I figured that was probably a result of the fact that at the time I’d quite literally been dying of embarrassment. There had not been a lot of time to ogle his quads.

I shrank in my seat, quickly turning my attention to the water-speckled glass to hide that I’d been staring. A few incoming planes wheeled toward our section of the terminal.

There was no denying it was him.

The guy from security.

And he was headed my way.

Fuck. My. Life.

Tall, dark, and handsome paused at the end of my row.

The footsteps drew closer and closer.

Don’t sit by me.

Don’t-sit-by-me!

Don’t—

Fuck.

He sat by me.

A beat passed in silence.

When I was nervous, I had a bad habit of fixing my hair, even when I didn’t need to. That was no different now as my anxious fingers fidgeted with my half-ruined gelled-back waves, desperate for some semblance of control.

I swear to god my shirt collar was growing tighter by the second.

I suddenly regretted my decision to wear one of my casual powersuits to visit home. I’d hoped it would make me feel more confident. That it might make my mom smile—maybe influence more bragging to her friends. But…as I sat there in silence, yanking on my bangs, I didn’t feel more confident.

Didn’t feel put-together.

Didn’t feel in control.

Every breath was arduous. Especially as the silence stretched. I wasn’t sure if I should be more ashamed about Neil, or about running when he’d tried to speak to me. Either way, I was not eager to be called out for my childish behavior.

Why had he approached me ?

This was just…mean.

Wasn’t it?

He had to know I was embarrassed. Was he here to make fun of me? Sure, he’d been…somewhat kind earlier, but that didn’t negate the fact that his presence was ambiguous at best. If I had been in his shoes—and what a pair of shoes they were, damn—I would absolutely not be terrorizing the poor dildo-yeeting man. I genuinely could not understand his motivation.

Up close, Mr. Armani’s smell was tantalizing. Like sandalwood and crushed up money. It was the type of scent that belonged between the pages of a smutty romance novel—not here, in my very real life. Underneath the layer of cologne was an underlying musk of sexy-man sweat—which made sense, seeing as he’d crossed the terminal, same as I had.

It was infuriating.

Peeking through my lashes at his legs manspreading beside mine, I was forced to come to the conclusion that he must be an asshole. No one smelled that good and sat like that if they weren’t.

He was enjoying watching me squirm.

Mr. Armani shifted until the heat of one of his supple, glorious thighs pressed snug against mine. It was nearly a rub, and the simple brush made the hair on my arms stand on end. I snapped my knees together, practically pinching my balls to get away.

Was he doing this macho-posturing thing to intimidate me?

Why?

He leaned over, his bulk even more distracting the closer he became.

“Hi again, Georgie.” His breath tickled the shell of my ear, and I had the oddest urge to reach up and slap him away like he was a petulant fly. The stranger’s tone was chipper now and just as devastatingly attractive as it’d been earlier.

Time screeched to a halt.

There was only his voice, my name, and the weight of his body leaning into mine .

And theeeeen, the panic set in.

It took me less than two seconds to leap from my seat without a word. I tripped over my backpack, and decided to abandon it in retaliation. There was no time to right its topple as I fled across the hall and into the men’s restroom.

The entire walk of shame, I could feel those same infuriating eyes on me.

Why the fuck did I run away?

How childish can you be, George?

Christ.

I splashed my face a few times, hoping to clear my head. It was only when my flush had faded beneath chilly droplets of water, and I’d stopped gawking at my own panicked expression that it finally struck me what had really been odd about that whole interaction.

He’d known my name.

How the hell had he known my name ?

A man finished peeing in the urinal behind me. He flushed, and with an oddly demure sniff, walked over to me only to completely bypass the sink and exit the doors without washing his hands. Disgust nearly overwhelmed my confusion.

No, no.

Focus on the problem at hand, George.

Nails biting into the surface of the counter, I glared at my reflection, then pointed an accusatory finger at my own splotchy face.

“Just because he knows your name and how big you like your dicks doesn’t mean the man can intimidate you. You’ve won employee-of-the-month six months in a row. You successfully tamed Mr. Pickles into somewhat of a pet. You survived Brendon . You’re made of tougher stuff than this. Stop freaking out.”

I didn’t respond to myself because I was already feeling out of my mind, and good god, what the fuck was I doing? Talking to myself in the mirror. Giving myself a goddamn pep talk.

I was ridiculous .

Today had been disaster after disaster after disaster—and I hadn’t even boarded the plane yet.

I was exhausted by it all, to be frank.

It didn’t help that I’d been up all night, fretting about the wedding and working overtime from home to finish a design for a client that needed approval while I was away.

But no more.

I would not allow myself to be intimidated any longer, dammit, karma be damned.

I’d figure out what the hell this man wanted—how he knew my name—and then pop my headphones in so that I could zone out until it was time to board my flight. If I cut him down with an efficient interrogation, he’d leave me alone.

We’d all be happier.

Me, especially.

Splashing more icy water onto my face and fueled by righteous indignation, I practically stomped out of the bathroom, across the hall, and back to the seat (and backpack) I’d abandoned a few minutes prior.

Unsurprisingly, the asshole had not left the chair beside mine.

In fact, he’d settled in. His legs were still spread, his own carry-on parked on the seat to his right. He hadn’t pulled his phone out—like a normal person would. He’d obviously been waiting for me, because as soon as I paused in front of him, his trademark smirk graced his lips.

If he wasn’t an asshole it would’ve been a nice smile.

But he was.

So it wasn’t.

In fact, I kind of wanted to punch it.

He had ridiculously pretty eyes. Far lighter than my solid, basic blue. Framed by thick dark lashes that drooped rather than curled, they gave him a striking appearance when paired with his other features. There was a slight crook to his nose, almost like he’d broken it and it’d set slightly wrong—but aside from that, he was infuriatingly perfect.

Eyes sparkling with amusement, the stranger nudged my abandoned backpack with the toe of his shoe. It was the same shoe that had touched Neil, a fact that had not escaped my attention. “Don’t worry, I kept your bag—and its contents—safe.” He waggled his brows. “There’s no need to thank me. Just doing my civic duty.”

He looked far too pleased with himself. Like he truly thought that he’d done me a favor by not allowing me to be robbed.

What a dick.

“How did you know my name?” I demanded without acknowledging his words, still flushed, and… dripping . I slashed my blond bangs out of my face, irritated when they only fell forward again. What was the point of gel if it didn’t fucking work?! “Are you a stalker ? Is that what this is? Dear god, am I about to be murdered ?”

A voice in the back of my head whispered, if you die, you won’t have to go to Roderick’s wedding.

Ugh.

Roderick.

My first boyfriend. We’d remained friends even after the breakup. Another bad decision. I should’ve known that keeping that door open would lead to being strong-armed into attending his pending nuptials.

We’d broken up before I moved to New York over a decade ago so I wasn’t necessarily surprised he was tying the knot. I was happy for him, honestly. Even though he’d never been the best match for me, I’d always hoped one day he’d end up happy. He and his fiancé, Juniper, had looked…peaceful, honestly, on their wedding invitation.

I could admit, I’d looked at it for an unhealthy amount of time the day it arrived in the mail.

Not because I felt jealous of Juniper’s place on Roderick’s arm. Of course not. But because…it hurt to see two people living the dream I’d held onto for so long. I’d wanted that with Brendon. Begged for it, really. Had our life planned out like it was a spreadsheet on Excel.

And look where I was now.

Boyfriend-less.

Stuck in a job I’d worked my ass off for that wasn’t what I wanted anymore. Stuck trying to keep my mom proud even though I’d kept her at arm’s length for years. Stuck working every goddamn day with my cheating ex-boyfriend. Stuck half a country away from my family—and for what?

Because I didn’t want Mom to stop smiling and introducing me to her friends as her “big city son”.

“So you can speak,” Mr. Armani said, as though he was pleased and not annoyed by my interrogation. Oddly enough, his interruption was welcome. As effective as the swipe of Mr. Pickle’s claws had been when I’d opened Roderick’s invitation.

“Of course I can speak,” I snapped, waspish.

“My bad. I assumed, given the fact you ran off without so much as a thank you, that you couldn’t.”

“Well, I can.”

“Ah. So you were choosing to be rude, then?”

“Rude?” I scoffed. “Says the stalker .”

He laughed.

It was a nice laugh.

A fact that made me even angrier than his smirk had.

“To answer your many dramatic questions—” Dramatic? I was not being dramatic. All my questions had been perfectly valid. My eyes narrowed, but he remained unintimidated. “No, I’m not stalking you. Just observant. Your name is embroidered on your backpack.”

Shit.

He was right .

I deflated.

The embroidery on my backpack—embroidery I’d genuinely forgotten was there—mocked me as I plopped into my seat with an embarrassed sigh. It said George, not “Georgie”. But…hell.

Mr. Armani cocked his head to the side with a wicked grin. He twisted to face me better, his thigh bumping mine. “Besides, if I was a stalker, I’d be an awful one, don’t you think? Considering I approached you openly.”

My cheeks felt hot all over again.

“And to answer your third question: no, I am not about to murder you in the middle of the airport in broad daylight. That would be poor planning.”

He winked.

Winked!

And I… wilted .

Now I was the one acting like an ass.

“Oh,” I said dumbly. “I…suppose all of that makes sense.”

“Now that that’s out of the way…” he trailed off with a thoughtful hum. “I’m curious. You don’t look like the kind of man who travels with a…” I watched his lips begin to form the word dildo, and I panicked, waving my hands to shut him up. His lips softened into a naughty smirk, dimples flickering.

Of course that was the first thing he’d ask me. A totally invasive question about something that was private .

“What do I look like?” I asked, even though I probably shouldn’t have humored him.

Part of me was intrigued.

There were a lot of answers I expected.

Boring, for one. Average? Another. Brendon had said I was too fussy, too needy, too colorful. I’d spent years trying to fit into the mold he’d made for me.

And it had worked.

Maybe too well.

Because Mr. Armani’s next words hit harder than he’d meant them to— based on the still-playful expression on his face. “You look like the kind of guy who spends more time with a stick up his ass than a dildo.” He looked expectant, like he anticipated a laugh or something equally optimistic.

But I didn’t laugh.

Instead, I glared at him.

My fury came back full force.

“That may be true,” I admitted, and then added in a darker tone, surprising myself. “Do I also look like the kind of guy who wouldn’t hesitate to stab you? Because I assure you, I’m that too.”

Instead of being frightened, as he should’ve been, Mr. Armani chuckled. Like he did not believe me. Which was fair—and frustrating. I kind of couldn’t believe that had come out of my mouth either. Fighting was not normally something I did.

And yet.

I knew my threat had not been empty.

Which was…odd in and of itself.

And only made his blasé attitude piss me off even more.

“Hey, man. You were the one that asked! It’s not my fault you didn’t like my answer.” The stranger shook his head. “I’m Alex, by the way.” His playful smile was horribly attractive and irritatingly gorgeous. Alex held a hand out to me, massive tanned palm hovering expectantly in the air.

Ass.

I took his hand, surprised by how much bigger it was than mine. Though I was only a few inches shorter than him, he was maybe double my mass. Thick where I was thin, as broad as I was willowy. Alex’s skin was hot and dry. He had calluses—not something I’d expected, given what he was wearing.

Most men in suits like his did not have rough hands.

Begrudgingly, I introduced myself, “George-Arthur Milton.” Alex arched an eyebrow at me in question. “Two first names. Hyphenated.”

“Do you prefer George or Arthur? Or both?” he asked, though I was having difficulty paying attention to what he was saying when his hand was still clasped possessively around my own.

Should I pull away?

No…no.

That would be weird, wouldn’t it?

Like I was losing this unspoken battle of wills.

“I’d prefer you stay out of my business.” And then, because I didn’t want him getting any ideas, I actually answered. “But if you must address me, George is fine.”

“Georgie it is.”

I’d had my fair share of men try to intimidate me via the good ol’ handshake. This was my first time responding to macho posturing this way, with goosebumps that prickled up my arms and a surge of lust so fierce it made me breathless. Electricity zapped down my spine when he squeezed.

What the hell?

Quickly, I withdrew my hand, accepting my loss. Something flickered in Alex’s pale gaze that made the hair at the back of my neck stand up.

“You know, there’s a bathroom further down the hall that no one ever goes to.” He tilted his head, and I narrowed my eyes at him.

Was he… propositioning me?

“In case you wanted to wash your…” Alex waggled his eyebrows, “not-so-little friend.”

“Neil is never leaving my backpack again, if I have anything to say about it,” I found myself blurting on autopilot.

“Neil?” Alex blinked, then snorted. “You named your?—”

“ Travel companion, ” I interjected before he could say the actual word out loud.

“You named your travel companion? ” Alex looked far too entertained by all of this, tone dripping with disbelief. “ Really ? You don’t seem the type.”

“Why? Because you think I look like I have a stick up my butt?”

“Your ass,” he corrected. “And sure.” Alex shrugged. “Let’s say that’s the reason. Why Neil?”

I glared at him, unamused. “He looks like a Neil,” I defended.

Alex’s grin only grew. Like with every quip we shared, his evilness multiplied. He was chaos incarnate. “He looks…like a Neil ,” he echoed slowly. “ Fascinating .” I did not like the glint in his eyes. At all. “Do you name all inanimate objects? Or just the ones you fuck yourself with?”

Demon.

He was an actual goddamn demon.

No one had ever looked at me like that before.

Like he wanted to crack me open and peer at my insides to see how they worked.

We were interrupted by the announcement that my flight had begun boarding. Relieved that this confusing and irritating conversation was over, I stood up. On autopilot again, I gathered my backpack, and belatedly figured I should probably say goodbye.

And also, maybe thank you.

Because as he’d unhelpfully pointed out, he had, in fact, saved me.

“Thanks for, you know…whatever this was,” I said, stiff as a board. And then, because I couldn’t help it, the sarcasm slipped free. “I’d say it’s been a pleasure, but it definitely hasn’t.”

“You’re welcome,” Alex said, far too chipper all things considered. “And I beg to differ. It’s definitely been a pleasure—for me , at least.”

At least one of us was entertained.

I was still contemplating stabbing him.

“Goodbye.” I almost saluted, but realized that was stupid and odd and not appropriate given the circumstances. So I didn’t. I simply stalked off, head held high—you know, in case he watched me leave.

He’d seen my ugly sides enough for one day.

After waiting in line for an ungodly amount of time, I boarded my plane with one prayer—one solid, beautiful, wonderful prayer.

Dear God, please don’t let Alex be on my flight.