It Matters To Me (The Wandering Hearts Book 2) (13 page)

I press my lips together and make my way to the door. “Good thing I’m not asking you to, then.”

He moves swiftly to the steps, his strong shoulders tensing through his jacket, pulling the fabric tight. “Remember, I was the one who tried to fix this.”

“Noted,” I say, watching him as he walks down the sidewalk. I push open the door, seeking refuge on the other side before I break apart into a million shattered pieces of my former self. I don’t watch him go.

Once inside, my back presses against the door. My breathing is heavy. I’m not alone. I look up to find my mother’s wide eyes peering back at me. She opens her mouth, hesitating for a moment.

“I can’t right now, please,” I plead before she can even begin, a wall of tears building in my eyes, threatening to break free.

I feel her hand on my back. “I was just going to tell you, I’ve thought about what you said, and you’re right. You should take this trip.”

“What?” I can’t shield the disbelief in my voice.

“You were always meant for more than the bakery, baby girl.”

I shake my head. “Mom, I didn’t mean that there’s anything wrong with what you and Dad do for a living.”

“I know.” She nods assuredly. “I also know you were born looking for adventure. You were the kid who leaped from the swing set at the park. The one who always convinced the other kids they should go with you in search of Bigfoot.”

I laugh through the snot.

“I’m sorry I let you feel trapped,” she continues with a tender smile.

“So you were listening?”

She winks. “I’m your mother; it’s what we do.”

“Mom, you’re fine. I just said that so Ben would leave me alone,” but I can tell from the look in her eyes she knows there was some truth to my statement.

“If I can wish for one thing for you,” she begins reaching out and pulling me into an embrace. “It’s a life without regrets.”

“Oh mom,” I sob, the wall of tears I had been holding back, breaking free.

“But so you know, I am adding international calling to our family phone plan and you better have it with you at all times,” my mom informs me.

“Of course!” I affirm through a snotty breath.

I
’VE LOST TRACK OF HOW
many cups of coffee I’ve downed, but based on the tremors I keep fighting it must be a lot. I glance out the window again to see if they’ve finished fueling our plane, but my reflection distracts me. I look tired. Exhausted. I am exhausted. Between my Dad’s angry, threatening voicemails and Kitten’s midnight surprise visit that resulted in several hours of screaming on her part, the last thing I feel like doing is boarding a plane for a ridiculously long flight.

To make matters worse, I had to go and do a foolish thing like hiring an assistant with absolutely no experience. Maybe my dad was right, and I don’t think straight around a pretty face. I run my fingers through my hair, securing an ear bud that’s slipping out.
What was I thinking?

The song changes. I cringe as a Nickelback song comes blaring through my headphones, causing me to question if a music subscription service is simply not for me. Pulling my phone out to thumbs down the selection, I jump when I feel a hand on my shoulder.

My eyes dart up. Kenzie is looking down at me. Her hair is twisted up into a messy bun, and her skin glows with a natural and clean beauty. My stomach sinks when her eyes shift to the screen of my phone and her eyebrows lift questioningly.

“I hate them,” I shout, forgetting to adjust my voice volume to account for the headphones.

She tilts her head, puzzled.

My face flushes. I turn off the music and pull the ear buds out with a single yank. I shake my head; she’s laughing slightly.

“Sorry,” I start, standing up to greet her. “I just signed up for this music subscription service and apparently they think I’m a twelve-year-old girl with no taste in music.”

“Twelve-year-old girls have better taste in music than Nickelback.”

I shove my phone into my pocket and offer her a lazy smile. I suddenly remember one of the reasons I hired this girl. She’s quick, and not many people can make me laugh.

“Touché.”

When I catch her eyes, they shift to the floor, then aimlessly and anxiously around the room. I can’t help wondering what her story is. She’s not scared. That’s not what I’m sensing. Maybe it’s distrust? Of course, who could blame her?

“I kept it to one bag,” she offers at last.

Looking at the green duffle bag at her feet, I smile.

“What?” she asks quickly when she sees my expression.

I don’t want to tell her that I think it’s amazing she has a single, no frills bag. Kitten would have had her dozen Louis Vuitton suitcases and bags despite my restrictions on her. In fact, she would have tried to turn the trip into a vacation for her and her anorexic socialite replicas.

“Just impressed,” I reply, leaning in and wrapping my left arm through the straps of her bag.

“I can get it,” she exclaims lunging forward.

I straighten up, our heads colliding, resulting in blinding pain.

“Damn it,” I moan, dropping her bag and grabbing my forehead.

“I’m so sorry,” she breathes, rubbing the collision point on her head rapidly.

She looks mortified, and I force a smile and low laugh despite the pulsing pain. “I insist,” I say, lowering a hand and scooping up her bag, tossing it over my shoulder, cautious of her location the entire time.

Kenzie drops her hand to reveal the red spot on her forehead… God, are her eyes jade-colored? They are. They’re incredible. The light in my studio and at the restaurant must have muted their brilliance.

“I probably should have told you before you hired me that grace is something I do not possess,” she jokes.

I stiffen, making my tone serious. “But then I never would have hired you. I mean hell, you’re handling thousands and thousands of dollars’ worth of sensitive equipment.”

Her gorgeous eyes widen, and I realize my sarcasm was not as evident to her as I hoped.

“I’m kidding,” I clarify.

“Oh,” she cracks an uneasy smile.

“Are you okay?” I ask.

“Yeah, you had me. You were a little too convincing.”

“Sometimes I forget exactly how dry my humor can be.”

She hesitates, studying me for a moment. “Yeah, I guess you could call it that.”

I’m staring at her.
Stop staring at her. You’re her boss,
I remind myself. Clearing my throat, I say “Well, they were just fueling up the jet and waiting on flight plan approval, so we should probably head on out to board.”

“Don’t I have to check my bag first?”

I shake my head. “No, it’s a chartered flight.”

“Oh,” she gasps, and it’s obvious this is a new experience for her. Sometimes I forget that the experiences I’ve had as a billionaire’s child aren’t the norm. Not that this flight will be anywhere near the extravagance my father’s private jets are.

“It’s not as exciting as you think. I carry so much equipment it’s cheaper to charter a flight sometimes.” I explain. “Also, I hate connecting flights when I have anything more than a carry-on. Inevitably, something never makes it to the destination.”

She’s watching me now, her eyebrows lifted, a slight smirk on her face, “I never said I thought it was exciting. You know, I have been on a plane before.”

“I’m sorry,” my voice is surprisingly high pitched. “I just thought you—”

She’s laughing at me now. “I’m just giving you a hard time.”

My cheeks burn and the drumming of my heart thumps in my ears. People don’t tease me. They call me sir. They ask for favors thinking I have the ear of my father, which I don’t. They want things from me. They don’t lightheartedly tease me.

I give her a tight smile and toss her bag over my shoulder.

“Seriously, I can get that,” she says in a panic, pulling the oversized duffle from my shoulder before I can react. It’s more than half her size, but she doesn’t seem to care.

I shrug and motioning toward a Starbucks I ask, “Coffee?”

She delivers a quizzical smile before nodding. Silence grows between us, and I want more than anything to fill it. I have never minded silence before, but for some reason, I feel compelled to not let it linger with her. Is this what it feels like to be nervous?

I attempt small talk, which I quickly figure out can be much worse than the silence.

We stand in line, and I remind myself not to stare too long at her. The silence is less awkward if I’m not caught staring. We order our drinks, and I begin to over scrutinize if I sounded ridiculous with my grande mocha, sugar-free syrup, coconut milk, no foam half-caf latte after she simply orders an Americano.

I let out a breath of relief when her phone buzzes and she lifts it to read a message. Her nose wrinkles briefly before the corners of her lips pull down into a frown. She quickly shoves the phone back into her pocket without responding to the message.

An urge builds deep inside the pit of my stomach. I can’t stop thinking that I should ask her if everything is all right. But I don’t. The man on the other side of the counter hands me my order; I notice my name is misspelled, as usual. I’m confident this is something they train their employees to do at all Starbucks.

“Umm …” she starts, then hesitates.

“What is it?” I ask her.

“I kind of have a really stupid question.”

“Okay,” I draw out the word.

“I Googled what currency I would need in Africa, and it said I would be fine with American money. Is that true?” Kenzie inquires.

“If Google said it, it must be,” I joke, but she doesn’t laugh. “You’re fine. They also accept the Euro everywhere.”

“Lord Voldemort,” the man calls out a moment later.

“Oh, that’s me,” Kenzie says and steps forward, retrieving her order.

I laugh, and she simply smiles in return.

We make our way through security, then we’re escorted to where our plane awaits us. Taking our seats, her phone buzzes again. I watch as her head tilts and her eyes narrow. This time, she turns the power off before putting the phone away.

Debating if it was rude not to ask, I finally managed the words, “Everything okay?”

“Huh,” she breathes, frowning at me, then shakes her head. “Oh, it will be.” She tucks her hair behind her ear and gazes out the window. I suddenly remember the project binder I prepared and retrieve it from the hidden pocket inside my backpack.

“Before I forget,” I say leaning forward, “these are some notes about our client and what they’re looking for from this shoot.”

Her frown quickly shifts upright again as her hands grasp the black three-ring binder and she began to flip through the pages. It takes approximately five seconds before lines begin to form on her forehead.

“Is something wrong?” I inquire.

She forces a smile and shakes head. “Nope.”

“I know this is all new for you. If there’s anything in there you don’t understand, just let me know, okay?” I offer.

She glares at the words on the pages for another minute. “Thanks, I got it.” I can see the information is making her feel pensive. I swallow, my mouth is suddenly very dry. I contemplate explaining the information in the binder further, but then decide to let her digest it on her own first.

Kenzie’s interesting, that much was obvious to me rather quickly. Her duffle bag tells me she’s not high maintenance. Based on her Starbucks order, a sense of humor isn’t lacking. She must be brave to take such a leap of faith on a new job halfway around the world, but what really intrigues me about her are the things I don’t know. There’s something inside her that’s so bright, I have trouble not staring.

The flight takes off and rather than try to fill the silence and risk exhibiting the habit of putting my foot in my mouth repeatedly, I close my eyes and opt for a nap.