Rage courses through me as I consider the mass of Russian businessmen who seem to be caught up in whether or not they can still milk a profit out of me. Aimee is nearly hyperventilating at my side, though I’m confident that the sailing will smooth itself out in a matter of minutes.

I idly keep an ear on what the men are discussing in Russian, noting that they plan to contact SharpeFocus headquarters to secure the documents that would finalize the deal we agreed on. Exhaling an angry sigh, I can’t help but clench my fists at my side.

“Aimee, calm down. Everything is going to be okay,” I murmur soothingly, reaching out to grip her hand in my own.

She doesn’t seem particularly soothed by my words, but they’re all I can offer for the time being. My sweet personal assistant glances from me, to the horde of angry Russians, before chuckling softly.

“You’re right. Of course, you’re always right,” she breathes, her tone surprisingly absent of malice.

I offer her a smile, faltering as my potential business partners begin to curse at each other in their mother tongue. Something has them in a tizzy, though it’s unclear from how loud and chaotic the shouts are getting. They keep repeating something about the papers, the papers being missing. I have no idea what papers they could be talking about, and grumble unhappily.

“What papers could be so important…” I trail off, eyes widening as I hone in on one man in particular.

He screams curses regarding my company headquarters, wondering aloud who could be foolish enough to lose the finalization documents.

“Shit! The documents are missing!” I cry out, looking to Aimee with wariness in my gaze. “I thought you transferred those files to my personal cloud before the trip,” I hiss urgently. She appears to be on the verge of tears, fidgeting with the hem of her dress and refusing to meet my gaze. “Aimee!” I demand.

“I’m so sorry, Carson. It was an accident… I didn’t know what I was doing and I…I deleted the files from the cloud server. Everything regarding the Russian deal is gone,” she finally admits in a whisper, and my eyes widen in shock.

As much as I want to be angry, there’s little time for that. Aimee grinds her teeth, wrapping her arms around herself.

“Just tell them I screwed up. Surely it can be fixed,” she pleads, fear shining in her gaze.

The possibility of throwing Aimee under the bus doesn’t even occur to me, and even as she’s mentioned it, I refuse to consider it. Our only out has been flushed down the metaphorical toilet.

While the situation seems grim, I notice that the security guards for the venue are trying to keep the Russian businessmen under control. A fight breaks out, and my heart hammers in my chest. The remaining guard watching us darts away to deal with the disturbance, and I grab Aimee by the hand.

“Be quiet, keep your head down, and run,” I hiss.

Leaping to my feet, I nudge her ahead of me and towards the exit. We’re nearly out the door, and I breathe a sigh of relief when it seems we’re home free. An abrupt shout for us to stop puts a snag in that plan, however, and Aimee looks towards me imploringly.

“The car! Get to the car,” I cry out. I grab her by the wrist, pulling her along with me as we dart through the parking lot. She kicks off the heels she’d worn for the flashy event, and it’s no small wonder that she hasn’t already broken an ankle.

“Shit, they’re right behind us!” she swears, speeding up now that her movement is less limited. It takes me only a few strides to catch up with her, and I can’t help but admire her form as she runs for the car.

Shaking off the dirty thoughts that swirl through my mind, I grab the key from my pocket and hit the button to unlock all the car doors. Aimee slides across the hood of the car, swiftly pulling herself into the passenger seat as I dive behind the steering wheel. I’m so preoccupied that I barely register what a badass move the young woman had just pulled, but when I do, my lips twitch into a smile. I jam the key into the ignition, glancing into the rearview mirror just in time to see the crowd closing in on us.

“Hold on to your ass,” I shout, shifting the car into drive and slamming the pedal to the metal.

The tires squeal, and for a moment, I’m afraid they won’t catch. However, that fear is almost immediately squashed as the car surges forward, out of the parking lot. Aimee twists in her seat, watching the scene unfolding behind us.

Hopefully, I have a bit of time before it occurs to the men to get in their pricy cars and chase us—or worse yet, alert the authorities that we’re fleeing the scene. The sound of burning rubber from behind us assures me that I have even less time than I anticipated, and Aimee growls as she fumbles with her cellphone.

“Mike’s number. Go!” she cries out, and without really thinking, I recite the number from memory.

She dials the number, clutching her phone white-knuckled before abruptly reaching out to grab the steering wheel, forcing me to turn down a side road that’s entirely off the course we’re headed. I cry out in shock, but take the turn she’s indicated as the call connects.

“Mike, get Taylor and get the plane ready. We’ll be there in five, and you’d better be ready to fly,” she shouts, listening to the other man for a moment before nodding. “Yeah, the deal went sour. We’ll talk about it later. Just be ready.” She swipes her phone to end the call, glancing behind us.

“I have no idea which way we’re going,” I admit, following the back roads as far as I’m able. “That last turn threw me off.”

“I may have gotten us into this mess, but I’m going to get us out of it. Just trust me, Carson,” she urges.

I nod, glancing briefly behind us.

“We lost half of them on that last turn; there are only a few following us, now. When you come to the next right turn, make it. We’re going to go in a circle to confuse them, then we’ll hit the runway before they can figure out where we’ve gone,” Aimee says quickly, continuing to stare through the back windshield.

The abrupt sound of a gunshot pierces the air, and the glass of the back window shatters. Aimee gasps in shock, but grips my arm and urges me to keep driving.

“I probably should have clarified the sort we were making a deal with,” I mutter, and she laughs weakly, pressing her free hand to her bleeding cheek. Some broken glass has marred her perfect skin. “How come you know all of these evasive tactics, anyway?” I inquire, and she laughs, a high-pitched and borderline hysterical sound.

“I had a phase in college where I was really into action movies. Maybe it was of some use, after all,” she giggles.

My eyes widen, and I swerve into the next turn, the side of the car scraping against the side of a building as we go.

“Jesus Christ, Aimee. You’re kidding, right?” I manage weakly. She exhales a shuddering sigh, dabbing at her cheek with a tissue she seems to have produced from out of nowhere.

“Afraid not. We’ve lost them, though. Don’t get back on the main roads. I have an idea of where the airport is, and there’s gotta be a back way,” she says blithely.

I’m simultaneously struck by the overwhelming desire to shout at her or kiss her. I can’t decide which. Maybe both. Managing to rein in my emotions, I follow her directions until we pull out of the back alleyway. It seems we’ll be in the clear soon, but as I make another turn, my heart breaks. There’s a roadblock just ahead of us. We’re trapped.

“Don’t stop,” Aimee hisses, resting her hand on my shoulder and forcing me to lower my head. “Keep your head low, but smash through. They’ll shoot, but we’re so close.”

It doesn’t occur to me to argue with her. We'll either lose our lives trying to escape, or lose our lives after surrender. Perhaps I’d seen a few too many action movies myself, but Carson Sharpe isn’t one to give up so easily.

“If we don’t survive this—” I begin, but she levels me with a glare so intense that my mouth goes dry.

“Don’t even. Brace yourself, and whatever you do, don’t take your foot off the gas,” she says loudly.

Sirens echo all around us, and I can hear the shouts over a megaphone for us to come to a complete stop. I almost feel bad for the men; they have no way of knowing what’s about to happen.

Aimee’s grip tightens on my arm, and I inhale a deep breath as we plow through the barricade, gunfire assaulting the vehicle. The bullets manage to miss the both of us, though the car doesn’t seem as if it will hold out much longer. To my utter delight, however, the sight of the small airport we’d landed in only a few hours before comes into sight just over the next hill. I whoop victoriously, reaching out to grip Aimee’s hand.

“We’re going to make it. I’ll be damned; we’re going to make it,” I breathe.

She remains silent, keeping her eyes on the road behind us. The car begins to sputter and choke, slowing markedly, and I push it to its last limits until we roll to a stop only a few feet away from the runway.

We leap out of our seats immediately, and Mike looks startled to see us. His eyes widen even more dramatically as he sees the convoy of vehicles on our tail.

“Holy shit! Get in, come on!” he shouts. “Taylor, ready the engine. We need to get out of here like twenty minutes ago!”

“Get in here and take the controls,” Taylor shouts, lurching out of his seat as the plane starts to move. Coming to the side door, he reaches out to take my hand and drag me into the open door. I grab Aimee in turn, and we tumble into the plane, Taylor dragging the door shut behind us just before the jet begins to lift off.

“Holy shit, Taylor,” I manage, glancing up at the man. He smiles wryly, helping Aimee to her feet. She gasps shakily for breath, throwing her arms him. He stiffens, but accepts her clumsy embrace.

“Hey now! There will be time for celebration when we’re back in the United States. Get up here and help me, Taylor,” Mike calls out.

Now that we’re alone, Aimee turns her attention to me, her skin flushed from exertion, her hair unkempt, and her forehead damp with sweat. She’s a mess. I can’t imagine I look any different, but in that moment, I realize just how beautiful she truly is.

Now, we’re home free.