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“It’s nice to meet you.”
Arthur opens the door wider. Eric offers me his hand, then keeps his other one lightly at my elbow as I hop into the car.
The interior smells of leather. Soft light glows along the dark wood trim. Between the rear seats, a bottle of champagne sits in a silver cooler. I know the label at once. It comes from a small producer in France. I tasted more than a dozen champagnes before choosing this one for the Hartwell, and I don’t know of anywhere else in Alton Hills that stocks it.
“Did you choose this?”
Eric lifts the bottle from the ice. “It’s a personal favorite.”
I cover the label with my fingers. “What’s it called?”
He studies the bottle. “The name isn’t important.”
“You have no idea.”
“Fine. I checked the Hartwell’s wine list.”
“And chose this one?”
“You approve every detail at the Hartwell. I knew you wouldn’t put a bad bottle on the list.”
Eric removes the cork and pours two glasses. “You spend every day making sure other people have what they need. I wanted tonight to begin with something I knew you’d enjoy.”
It’s so thoughtful that, for once, I can’t think of a single clever thing to say.
He passes me a glass before I have to answer. I take a sip. It’s just as good as I remember.
“Where are we going?” I ask.
“It’s a surprise.”
Twenty minutes later, the Bentley passes through a private gate and follows a narrow road into a small airfield. The sun hangs just above the horizon, turning the sky gold behind a concrete landing pad.
A helicopter is waiting for us.
I’ve taken more flights than I can count, but I’ve never been in a helicopter. I’m instantly, embarrassingly excited, and I have to press my lips together to hide it.
I turn to Eric with what I hope is mild interest. “You said we were having dinner.”
“We are.”
“Is the restaurant in another state?”
“Not quite.”
Arthur stops beside the helipad. Eric gets out on his side and walks around the Bentley, reaching my door before Arthur can. He opens it himself and offers me his hand.
I take it and step from the car, trying to act as if this is an ordinary evening. Just a normal helicopter ride at sunset.
The smile tugging at my mouth ruins the effect. Eric glances at me, but he must know what’s good for him because he doesn’t mention it.
The pilot leads us through a safety briefing and helps us with our headsets. A few minutes later, the engine grows louder, the blades blur above us, and the ground begins to fall away.
I curl my fingers around the edge of my seat. Eric notices and holds his hand out between us, palm up. He waits until I place my hand in his, then closes his fingers firmly around mine.
Alton Hills opens beneath us. The city stretches in every direction, softened by the last gold light of the day—roads curving between buildings, hills rolling toward the coast, water shining in the distance. For several minutes I’m so caught up in the flight that I forget the point of this date. Forget that I’m holding hands with the billionaire hotelier building next door.
Even when I remember, I can’t help myself.
