Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 81535 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 408(@200wpm)___ 326(@250wpm)___ 272(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81535 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 408(@200wpm)___ 326(@250wpm)___ 272(@300wpm)
I stare at her. “Orlando? Kitten, I have an entire plane just for the two of us. Why would you make your grandfather drive you all the way to Orlando when Daytona is a half hour away, and we can fly home together?”
“That’s what I told Emma yesterday,” Ted says, looking at the two of us. “But she said that’s what had been decided.”
Emma’s jaw tightens, and I realize I was wrong. The next big battle isn’t moving her in; it’s this. For some reason, I assumed she’d fly home with me, that this would be like the boat, where she’d see the utility of joining me since I’ll be using the jet regardless.
“I can take an Uber to Orlando,” she says stiffly. “If driving me there is a problem.”
Ted sighs. “Don’t be silly. I’m happy to drive you, of course. It’s just that—”
“It’s just that I have a perfectly good plane nearby and a car parked outside that we can take there, thus freeing your grandfather from any and all unnecessary driving,” I say, my resolve hardening.
This isn’t like the twenty she put on my wallet—and which I quietly stuffed into her bag when she wasn’t looking. It’s bigger, more important. Worthy of a fight. Tomorrow, we’re going back to our regular lives, back to work and separate (for now) apartments. This is our chance to spend a few more hours together, and I’m not going to let it slip away because of her stubbornness.
Emma’s gray eyes turn stormy. “I have a flight, all booked and paid for. I even checked in online last night.”
“So what? I’ll get it refunded for you.”
She smiles triumphantly. “You can’t. It’s too late, and besides, it’s a nonrefundable ticket.”
My poor kitten. She has no idea what I can or cannot do. My answering smile would make a shark proud. “What if I could? What if I got you a refund right now? Would you fly home with me then?”
Mary and Ted turn expectant gazes on her, and she frowns, realizing I’ve maneuvered her into a corner. The nonrefundable ticket made for a good excuse; without it, all that’s left is her irrational stubbornness, laid bare in front of her grandparents.
“Look, Marcus—” she starts, but I raise my palm.
“Let me try to get you that refund, okay? Maybe it won’t work after all.” It will, of course, but I want her to think there’s still a chance she can win.
“Yes, let him try, sweetheart,” Mary urges softly. “Won’t it be nice to fly together rather than apart?”
Emma hesitates for two long seconds, but then she reluctantly nods. “Fine. You can try. But I’m telling you, the best they’ll be able to do is change my flight to another day after first charging an enormous fee.”
“We’ll see. Give me a few minutes.” Setting down my coffee cup, I get up and walk out onto the lanai, where I place a call directly to the United Airlines’ CEO. I have his cell number from our conversation on Wednesday, when I had him delay Emma’s flight by an hour.
Ten minutes later, I return to the table to find Emma staring at her phone in disbelief. “How did you do this?” she demands, turning the screen toward me to show an email with a refund confirmation. “And so fast? The last time I had to call this airline for something, I was on hold for two-plus hours. And they didn’t even charge a fee!”
I shrug innocently. “Maybe their customer service has improved.”
“Yeah, right,” she mutters, eyeing me balefully. “I guess money pulls all kinds of strings.”
Oh, she has no idea—but she will.
I intend for my money to pull whatever strings it takes to win her.
18
Emma
I should be mad, upset that I’d been outmaneuvered so skillfully, but as we board Marcus’s private jet, I can’t help but be grateful that we’d had those extra few hours with my grandparents—and that I don’t have to part from Marcus quite yet. As excited as I am to see my fur babies tonight, I’m dreading having to sleep alone in my cold, lumpy bed.
And then, of course, there’s the fact that I’m flying on a freaking private jet. As much as I’d like to pretend such over-the-top luxuries hold little interest for me, I can’t lie to myself.
Private planes are awesome.
First of all, we drive up right to the plane. No security lines, nothing—we step out of the car and board right away. I guess the thought process here is that the jet owner is not likely to blow up his own plane.
Then, as soon as we get on the plane, we take off, with only a five-minute delay to get air control clearance. There’s no waiting for the other passengers to settle in, no stuffing of bags into a tiny overhead compartment. We just get in and fly, like one would get into a car and drive.