Sky High (Three Contemporary Novella's) Page 2

  He nodded. “You too?”

  “Yes, ever since I got out of college.”

  “Have you worked in travel all that time? It was travel, right?”

  “Yes, corporate travel. I love the industry, it’s what I always wanted to do. But…”

  “What?”

  “I love my job. I really do. But the travel isn’t nearly as glamorous as people think it is.”

  He laughed. “No, it’s not. Not at all. I can’t remember the last time I spent a full week sleeping in my own bed.”

  “Exactly! And all the fantastic places I go? They might be great, but I never see them. All I see are the airports and the hotels. It’s like I spend my life working through other people’s dream vacations.”

  “What would you do if you could do what you wanted?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’re at one of these destinations, but no job, no responsibilities. What would you do?”

  She had to think about it. It had been so long since she’d traveled someplace for fun. She couldn’t quite remember how it worked. “I think I’d just want to lie by the pool and read. I have these stacks of books I see recommended and—”

  “No time to ever read them,” he finished for her.

  “Yes! You too?”

  Simon sighed and nodded. “I know more about a city’s airport layout than I do about its downtown. I never actually see anything in all these places I visit.”

  Cassie slipped off her heels and tucked her feet up underneath her, leaning back in her seat to get comfortable. “So what would you do? If you could do anything?”

  He thought for a moment, rubbing the knuckle of his left index finger back and forth under his bottom lip. God, he had pretty lips. And no tan line on his ring finger. Not that it meant much. Even single, he could still be a cad. “I’d like to walk out the door without a plan. Explore. See something amazing. Listen to a local band. Find some cheap dive and eat good food and drink all night without talking about work or investments.”

  “That sounds fun. Just wandering. No plan at all. I can’t remember the last time I had no plan. College, maybe?”

  He refilled their champagne flutes. “Where was that? College?”

  The time flew by faster than it had any right to, considering the circumstances. Talking to Simon was so easy. She told him about wanting, more than anything, to see the world when she grew up, and how that had led her to her job. He told her about growing up outside London, and being recruited by his company out of a law firm six years ago. He told her he loved the States but missed his family in England. She told him how much she loved living in New York, even though her brutal travel schedule kept her from fully enjoying everything the city had to offer. Simon commiserated.

  “Have you ever done the Philharmonic in the park?” he asked.

  She shook her head. “Always wanted to, but no. Add that to my ‘one day’ list.”

  “It’s lovely. People bring blankets and lawn chairs and picnics. As you can imagine in a city as food-obsessed as New York, some people can get quite elaborate with the concept of ‘picnic.’”

  “That sounds like so much fun. Are you one of those food-obsessed New Yorkers?”

  He shrugged. “I suppose so. I love to cook. I insisted on a state-of-the-art kitchen when I bought my apartment. Sub-Zero fridge, Viking range, the best of everything. But I’m never there to use it. Or picnic in the park listening to the symphony.” He smiled at her. “I suppose it’s still on my ‘one day’ list, too. When I get around to cooking something in my fancy kitchen.”

  It was far too easy to imagine Simon cooking in that state of the art kitchen he was describing. What did he wear at home? Was he a sweats kind of guy? Doubtful. She suspected that even when dressed down he was somehow sophisticated, and likely just as appealing. She found herself wishing she could watch him cook in his fancy kitchen, and she wanted to go on that picnic in Central Park, listening to the symphony under the stars.

  But she needed to stop building this fantasy around the guy immediately. Sure, he was handsome, urbane, and seemingly perfect, which meant he was undoubtedly not perfect. He was likely just another commitment-phobic player, conning women with that smooth accent and gorgeous face everywhere he went. He probably got them all dreaming of romantic picnics under the stars and cozy morning-after breakfasts in his lovely kitchen. But there was never a morning after, merely “I have an early morning so you’d better not stay the night” and an “I’ll call you”, and then inevitably the phone call would never come. She’d learned the hard way that when it looked too good to be true, it always was.

  Still, they were trapped on this plane. He was perfectly charming and great to talk to. She’d enjoy it while she could and make sure she played it safe. Plus, he was buying the champagne and she wasn’t about to say no to that.

  They talked a while longer about all they hadn’t done yet in the city, despite the many years they’d both lived there—the must-see exhibits they’d missed, the hot shows that had come and gone while they were prowling foreign airports, the festivals that every year they swore they’d attend and every year managed to miss. The conversation made her wistful, and she promised herself that she’d spend less time at work this year. Like she promised herself every year.

  Simon popped the cork on yet another mini bottle of champagne. The empties were lined up at the front of his tray like soldiers. He leaned across her to refill her glass, his eyes cutting to hers when his face was a few inches away. At this close proximity, she could smell him when she inhaled. Soap and maybe some really expensive kind of hair product. He smelled delicious.

  “Where was home before New York?”

  “What?” She blinked, having momentarily gotten distracted as she examined all the shades of gold visible in his hair up close.

  “Home.” He sat back and she finally exhaled. “You’re not a native New Yorker, I think.”

  “Funny, you can always tell, can’t you? But no, I’m not. I’m from a little town just outside Pittsburgh. You wouldn’t have heard of it.”

  “Do you miss it?”

  She rolled her eyes. “I couldn’t get away fast enough.”

  “Unhappy childhood?”

  “Not really,” she said. “Not terribly so, anyway. My mother was a single mom and it wasn’t always easy. But I don’t have some tragic tale to tell.”

  “Your father wasn’t around?”

  She shook her head as she sipped her champagne. “Left when I was five. The first in a long line of—” When she realized what she was about to say, she stopped short.

  “What?” he prompted.

  “Nothing. I was about to say something remarkably personal and a little bitter.”

  He chuckled and took a sip of his own champagne. “Now I really want to know what you were going to say. Out with it, then.”

  She bit back her smile. “I was going to say, he was the first in a long line of men I shouldn’t have trusted.”

  Simon winced. “That sounds grim.”

  “Again, no tales of horror to tell. Just your average dating battle scars.”

  Marianne had brought them another tray of fruit at some point and now he held out a strawberry to her. “Here. Have something sweet and tell me all about it.”

  “You don’t want to hear all that.”

  He gestured around them with one hand. “We’re not going anywhere and we have nothing but time. Yes, I do, actually.”

  She sighed and slumped back in her seat, eating the strawberry to buy herself a moment. “I’m going to skip high school, because those don’t count. None of mine counted, anyway. So…college. Again, nothing remarkable until junior year. Chad. I was crazy about him. He was crazy about me. We were supposed to move to New York together after graduation.”

  “What happened?”

  “He applied for a senior semester abroad without telling me. Then he went to Spain and found a new girlfriend, also without telling me.”

  �
�Ouch.”

  “Oh, he wasn’t the worst.”

  “Who was?”

  “Let’s see… Once I moved to New York, there was Clint, who was commitment-phobic. I can hardly blame him. We were twenty-five and in New York, and he wanted to enjoy that. Then there was Robert, who’d seemed perfect until we’d start making out, and then he couldn’t stop talking about his mother.”

  “Good God,” Simon groaned.

  “In his defense, he seemed to be in it for the long haul. He wanted me to meet the mother, but I thought better of it, all things considered.”

  “Wise woman.”

  “I’ve always thought so.”

  “And then?”

  She stretched, getting into her narration a bit. “Then there was Alec, who seemed great until he told me he needed a chance to date a model and I was holding him back.”

  “Pardon?”

  “That’s exactly what he said. He sat me down and was very logical about the whole thing. He pointed out that he wasn’t even thirty yet, and he was living in New York where there were models everywhere. He said it was probably the only chance he’d have in his life to date one and he didn’t want to look back when he was old and feel like he’d missed out. He did say that maybe he’d call me down the line if the model thing didn’t work out and we could start dating again.”

  “I hope you told him not to bother.”

  “I threw my drink in his lap and walked out.”

  “Well done.” Simon mimed applauding for her and she laughed.

  “So then there was Peter, who I worked with. He took a job at a competing company and promptly dumped me out of loyalty…to them. And then there was Mitchell.”

  Simon stared at her and arched an eyebrow expectantly. “Well? I’m waiting. What was the story with Mitchell? Unsavory sexual proclivities? Dated you so he could steal company secrets? A member of the mafia?”

  “No, none of that. He was…” She paused, looking for the right words to describe him and allowing herself to think back on Mitchell in a way she rarely did anymore. He belonged in the deepest recesses of her memory. She couldn’t believe she’d even mentioned him at all. Mitchell had been relegated to her past but the pain he’d caused her hadn’t been. Not entirely, anyway. “Mitchell was nearly perfect.”

  Simon’s lovely eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Perfect?”

  “For me, anyway. I met him through work. He was at a bank that used our services. I was moving over into management at that point, but I still handled travel bookings for a few important clients. He was one. We got to know each other pretty well over the phone and through email.”

  “And eventually you took it to real life, I assume?”

  She thought about that year with Mitchell, how sure she’d been that she’d found the one. They’d even been looking at apartments together. The word “marriage” had remained unspoken but was implied daily, as they slowly wove their two lives into one.

  Something must have happened to her face because that teasing smile on Simon’s face faded. “I’m sorry to pry. You don’t have to tell me.”

  “It doesn’t matter anymore,” she said, inhaling deeply and willing it not to matter anymore. “I found out that he only considered himself with me when he was with me. Whenever he traveled, or whenever I did, there were apparently other rules. And other women.”

  “And you found out…”

  She laughed. “Canceled flight, actually. Like today, I ended up back home unexpectedly. And there she was.”

  Simon didn’t say anything, he just refilled her glass, which she’d drained at some point. “And today? No chance of that happening anymore?”

  She supposed that was his way of asking if there was anyone post-Mitchell, another man waiting back in New York for her. “Nope,” she said with a tight smile. “No chance of that happening again.” Her answer meant more than that, though. She wasn’t leaving herself open for it to happen again. “So what about you? Surely you have your own sordid tales to tell.”

  “I can assure you, Mitchell and I were never involved.”

  His unexpected, deadpan delivery made her burst out laughing, which was exactly what she needed after revisiting the Ghosts of Bad Boyfriends Past. “You’re not his type. Although…” She cocked her head to the side and considered him. “He always did have a thing for blonds.”

  Simon’s eyes skated over her hair, long, straight, and dark brown. “He had no taste.”

  Well, then.

  She cleared her throat. “Then I can assume that all your stories will feature brunettes?”

  He chuckled. “Not quite. Penny’s a ginger.”

  Penny. Dammit. Simon had so thoroughly disarmed her that for a moment, she’d almost forgotten to be wary. She braced herself to hear that Penny was the ex-wife, or perhaps even the current wife. Maybe he’d start spinning his sad tale of woe, telling her they were separated, or she didn’t understand him anymore. “Penny was six.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “She was six. I thought we were sharing our pasts. Mine starts with Penny Millbank, who lived down the lane from us in Abington when I was growing up. She’s a ginger, although in the last family photo she sent me, she looks as if she’s taken to dyeing it darker. Shame. It went well with her freckles.”

  “Be serious. I told you mine.”

  “And I’m telling you mine. I harbored very strong feelings for Penny until she told me she didn’t like Batman.”

  “She’s the one with terrible taste.”

  “I agree. You should see her husband.” He gave shudder and she laughed.

  “Okay, enough about no-taste Penny. When did you move on to grownups?”

  He gave an exaggerated sigh and looked heavenward. “Let’s see. The teens don’t much count for me, either. And university was…university.” For a moment, he looked almost sheepish.

  “Ah, I see. You were a player.”

  “Well…not exactly.”

  Now Cassie was the one to refill their glasses, because this was getting good. Smooth, urbane Simon was starting to look a little flustered. “Hey, who can blame you? You were young.”

  “Precisely.”

  “And with that face, I’m sure you were a force to be reckoned with.”

  “What do you mean?” The smirk taking over his face made her think the cocky bastard knew exactly what she meant. It certainly couldn’t be the first time he’d heard he was beautiful.

  She pushed his champagne into his hand. “Oh, please. Don’t be modest on my account. So there you were in university, looking like you do, and enjoying…whatever life sent your way.”

  “And for a few years after university.”

  “Pardon?”

  “If you want the whole story. I was—how did you put it?—‘enjoying whatever life sent my way?’ Right. I did that for a few years after university as well. After all, I was still young and—”

  She waved a hand to stop him. “Yeah, I got it. You did a lot of enjoying. And then?”

  Simon shrugged. “And then there was Nicola.”

  From the way he said her name, quietly and without humor, she knew Nicola was serious. Like, Nicola was probably his wife’s name kind of serious. She said nothing. She just watched him as he thought about this ‘Nicola.’

  “We met through friends from university. My old flatmate was dating her old flatmate.”

  “And then?”

  He glanced up at her. “And…we had three great years before I was recruited by my current company.”

  “She’s not…” She almost blurted out “she’s not your wife?” but caught herself at the last second. “She didn’t come to New York with you?”

  “She didn’t think she’d like it here.”

  “So you broke up.”

  “Not right away. We gave the long distance thing a go.”

  “Wow. Long distance to London is tough.”

  “I was working beastly hours getting my feet under me here, so it’s not as if I was missing out on
a relationship. I thought by the time I’d gotten myself settled, she’d have made up her mind and moved here, too.”

  “And then?”

  “She made up her mind to marry my old flatmate instead.”

  “Oh, God.” Without thinking, she reached out and touched his arm in sympathy. Then she realized what she was doing and snatched her hand back. “I’m so sorry.”

  “It wasn’t quite that dramatic. It’s not as if she sent me a wedding invitation to let me know she was breaking things off. But yes, it looked as if, while I was putting in all those hours getting established in a new industry, she was establishing something new for herself as well. She couldn’t see a future for herself with me here and she could see one there with him. They seem very happy. They’ve just had a little boy. No hard feelings.”

  “And no one since then?”

  “Well, there were some hard feelings for a time.”

  She sighed in sympathy, remembering that first year after Mitchell, when she couldn’t even bear to think about men and dating.

  Simon inhaled and ran a hand through his hair. “And you see what my travel schedule is like. There have been some casual things but…it just hasn’t happened.”

  They were quiet for a minute as the story settled. She suspected it hadn’t “happened” for Simon because he wasn’t looking for it to happen. Those causal things were probably more than enough for him. Why should he even look for something more? Like Mitchell, maybe it was more fun keeping every option open. Simon seemed like a decent guy, but Mitchell had, too. And really, he could be nice and still run screaming from commitment. The two weren’t mutually exclusive.

  Marianne arrived at her side, breaking the tense silence. “Another round?”

  “Oh, absolutely,” Simon said, shaking off his momentarily somber mood. “Especially now.”

  “You got it,” Marianne grinned, turning away and retrieving two more mini bottles from the galley.