Page 29 of Gilded
MALIA
A s I board the charter jet, I’m trying to figure out why Luka’s really going to Kenya.
It kills me to think he’s coming to do what I’ve learned my father and Soren do on trips—scout for victims or facilities to hold those victims.
The jet is roomy enough for all of us to find our own space, and I take the first plush seat by the window, leaving the entire rest of the plane for the men.
I pull the small square block from my pocket and run my fingers over the edges, pushing the sharp corners into the pad of my thumb until it hurts, then start on the edges again.
James takes the chair beside me, and I have to force myself not to roll my eyes.
Tim, guard two, is as old as dirt and hates everyone and everything, most especially me, though I don’t know why because he was always a dick to Yari.
Michael, guard three, is just a blockhead. Tall, dark, ugly, and dense.
Tim and Michael pass, taking the seats farther back.
“I’m sure you’d rather sit with your team,” I tell James.
“You’re right. I would.” But he doesn’t move.
“I won’t jump out of the plane at forty thousand feet, as much as we’d both like me to. Go.”
His scowl cuts toward me. “Don’t tell me what to do. I handle security. And I’m?—”
“No, I handle security.” Luka steps into the main cabin and glares at James. “Find another seat.”
My chest squeezes as my gaze darts between the men. But James stands without a word and turns toward the back.
Luka grips his biceps and leans in, lowering his voice. “Don’t dig yourself a hole, because I’ll bury you in it.”
James jerks his arm from Luka’s grip. “Then you’re perfect for each other.”
Luka straightens his blazer and slides his big body into the chair beside me. I pull out my iPad to read over the project notes I received from Zendaya this morning. Thoughts of the sweet, nurturing director of the orphanage make my heart a little lighter.
“You’ve got your fidget toy with you,” Luka says, drawing my attention.
“My what?”
“Fidget toy. The Lego.”
I look at my block, this one yellow. “I don’t know what a fidget toy is.”
“It’s something you keep with you to play with when you’re anxious.”
“I like the straight edges and perfect corners.”
“Gives you a sense of control.”
“I don’t know about that. But I’ll have to find another one to replace this when I move to Soren’s.”
Luka’s phone vibrates, and he scrolls through messages.
I think of Thrive and all the great things we’ve built there. If the donations I take at the galas bring harm to some people, I can at least try to use more of the money to alleviate the suffering of others.
I read over the document while ideas for doing more whirl around my brain, and we climb in altitude.
“Your smoothie, ma’am.”
I look up to find the flight attendant holding a large cup out to me. “Oh. I didn’t order?—”
“I did,” Luka says, then asks the woman, “Does it have the supplements I asked for?”
“Yes, sir. Ashwagandha, L-theanine, rhodiola, lemon balm, and whey protein.”
He nods and takes the drink with a thank-you, then offers it to me. “You’ve barely eaten all day.”
I stare at him a long moment, unable to process this. I’ve never had anyone think of my needs, let alone do something about those needs. “How do you know that?”
“I asked.”
He asked. He asked about whether or not I’m eating. “What are the supplements?”
“They help your body deal with stress. It’s the dragon fruit blend you like.”
“How do you know I like dragon fruit?”
“I asked,” he repeats.
I take the smoothie and sip. It’s the exact smoothie I often ask for in the morning. God, it’s so hard to distance myself when I see his good side. “Thank you.”
“We need to go over some rules.”
I roll my eyes. “You don’t think I have enough already?”
“When you’re with me and I’m in charge, no one else’s rules matter. I supersede everyone, including your father, Soren, and those thugs.” He tilts his head toward the back of the plane.
“And how do they all feel about that?”
“My main concern is your safety,” he says, ignoring my sarcasm. “Not the orphanage, not the children, not the media, and not what your father or Soren want. When I tell you to do something, know it’s in your best interest and don’t give me any attitude or resistance. Do you understand?”
“No, I don’t understand. I don’t understand you at all. You flip moods on a dime. Happy to angry. Warm to cold. Generous to restrictive. Engaging to a concrete wall.”
I glance toward the back of the plane to make sure none of the other guys are close before meeting his annoyed gaze.
“You’re not like them, so stop trying to act that way.
I can see through you, and your moody sonofabitch attitude is annoying as hell.
I’m sick of being bullied.” I unbuckle my seat belt and stand with my iPad, turning toward the back of the plane and the bedroom there. “I’m tired. I’m going to lie down.”