“Where’s the other plane?” she asked as they boarded the smaller plane painted a midnight black.

“My father needed it, so we have the Piper Matrix,” he said. “And don’t worry, there aren’t any ‘servants’ on board this one. Just us and the pilot.”

She played with her hair and ignored the dig. Sam fell into one of the six seats, worn out from the so-called vacation. Muscles she didn’t know she possessed hurt, and the ache between her legs was constant.

As they took off, she gazed out the window and watched their little slice of paradise disappear. In just a few hours, it would be back to the grind. A Tuesday morning in DC, normally a workday, but with the Fourth of July holiday she’d have an extra day to recover.

Sam looked at Connor next to her and had an idea. “The pilot’s staying in the cockpit, right?” she asked.

“I certainly hope so.” He flipped through the CNN app on his phone.

“Then how about we make use of the truly private flight?” she asked as she traced a hand along his thigh. Sam could see the bulge in his trousers had grown already.

“You sure?” he asked as he looked at her over the phone.

She felt a sting of uncertainty, but forged ahead. “Since when are you so shy?” she asked.

He tossed his phone on the seat across from him and pushed up the armrest that separated them. “I just don’t want you to get too worn out,” he growled into her ear as he pulled her on top of him.

She giggled as she straddled him. The short skirt and no underwear had been pre-planned—as had the tight shirt that zipped all the way open. Connor reclined the seat halfway while she unzipped him and stroked his shaft. He glanced at his watch.

“Are you timing me?” she asked. He reached for the zipper of her shirt and released her breasts slowly.

“Maybe,” he said.

She guided him into her, slowly. Sam teased him at the tip, circling him in her wetness. He let out a huff of frustration and she lowered herself onto him. Connor went to grab her hips, control her like he liked to do, but she pushed his arms back. “You don’t always get to be in charge,” she said.

He obliged. As she fucked him at her own pace, every time he tried to reach for her she pushed his arms away. Sam wrapped her arms around his neck and pushed her breasts against his chest. Like this, fully in control, she could command when she would come—and as it turned out, him as well.

When he came inside her, it was the only time she let him grab onto her. He held her down, hard, onto him. She felt his release as it pumped into her, and it skyrocketed her to her own orgasm. His face was buried in her neck. It felt like an hour until he let her go.

She slid onto the seat beside him and pulled down her skirt. Connor didn’t look at her, but simply buttoned his pants. “Restroom?” she asked, and he pointed behind them.

As she cleaned herself up in the little bathroom, using tissue to wipe between her legs, she couldn’t help but feel like something was off. The sex had been fantastic, as always, but it was like he wasn’t fully there.

She checked her hair in the mirror and finger combed it into submission. It didn’t really matter anyway. Who was going to see her?

When she returned to her seat, he was engrossed in his phone once again. However, when he heard her approach, it seemed like he quickly switched from a different app back to the news.

“Since when are you such a news fiend?” she asked.

He shrugged. “I have alerts set up with my name, my father’s, the company’s—just seeing the publicity.”

“Anything good?” she asked.

He held up an image of the two of them at one of last month’s galas. It shocked her, seeing them on the local news like they were celebrities. They looked genuinely happy, like a real couple. The headline read, “Billionaire playboy and new Trezor COO settles down?”

“Looks legit,” she told him.

“That’s what I’m paying you for,” he replied.

Sam left him to his phone for the remainder of the journey. It had to just be work, the mini-vacation being over, and all of that. He was moody, that was nothing new.

She stretched her limbs when the pilot announced the descent. A thick mass of clouds covered DC, regardless of it being summer. “I can’t believe we’re back to the real world,” she said. The tired skidded along the runway.

“Sam, just so you know,” he said. “What we had in Monaco? It was nice and all. But now that we’re back, it has to stop. I’m sure you understand and know that—but just so we’re clear.”

She opened her mouth, but nothing came out. Sam was absolutely blown away. She wasn’t sure what she’d thought or expected, but it certainly wasn’t this. And why not? Did you think he was in love with you? Did this make her a prostitute? Was he paying extra for the “bonuses” in Monaco? She imagined herself throwing the extra cash in his face. Preferably with a full glass of alcohol to follow.

“Sam?” he asked. His eyes searched her face for some kind of reaction. “Look, I really need to get going. If you could just confirm that—”

“I get it,” she said curtly. She reached for her bag and busied herself with a search for her keys and phone.

“And you intend to keep the terms of the contract?” he asked.

She realized she had some leverage here. She sighed, and knew she could get out of the contract at this point if she really wanted to. In fact, maybe that was what he wanted. Or did he expect her to ask for more money now? There was no way in hell that was happening.

“I keep my word. No matter what,” she said. But she couldn’t bring herself to look him in the eye. She was afraid she’d cry, or worse. The last thing she needed was to flip out on him.

Connor got up to leave. He didn’t say a word.

She once again opened her mouth to say something. Wasn’t he at least going to give her a ride home? Sure, she’d taken an Uber to the airport, but she’d thought—fuck. She was a goddamned idiot.

Sam powered up her phone and ordered an Uber. It was ten minutes away.

As she waited in the private area of Reagan, she couldn’t believe it. She kept going over the weekend in her mind, looking for some kind of clue. What did she miss? Did he really feel so little for her? Obviously. He made that quite clear.

The Uber driver tried to make conversation on the way back. “I’ve never picked up anyone from that part of Reagan before!” the man with dreadlocks to his mid-back said. “You famous or something?”

“Or something,” she said quietly.

He eyed her in the rearview and tried to make out who she might be. “I don’t recognize your name,” he said, and he held up the app. “You one of those millionaire YouTube beauty vloggers or something? You look like you could be.”

“No,” she said. “I just work for an asshole rich guy.”

“Oh, I get you,” he said. “I get some of those sometimes in my car.”

When she walked into her home, it felt stale and foreign. Some of her houseplants had wilted already. Usually she’d ask a neighbor to water them, but Connor’s request had come so fast—and early—she hadn’t had time. “I’m sorry,” she said to her plants as she watered them and situated the ones that liked it closer to the sun.

You just going to up and leave your life like that whenever he calls? But she’d meant what she said. She would fulfill this contract no matter what. It was a matter of pride at this point. And she’d just have to forget what had happened in Monaco.

She reached for her phone and texted Jenny. Hey! Happy Fourth. Weird question, are you still on that dating app?

Jenny replied immediately with a series of firework emojis. Yes on the app. Why? You thinking of signing up?

Was wondering if I could just check it out. Can I login as you?

Sure, haven’t been on in awhile. Might be a ton of messages, just ignore them, she replied, along with the login information.

Sam downloaded the app. Her heart pounded as she logged in with Jenny’s information. She hadn’t been joking. There were over 200 unread messages and a slew of other notifications she didn’t understand. Curious, she clicked on the fire icon.

Jenny had an impressive amount of matches. She’d matched with Connor just nine hours ago. Of course, it wasn’t his real name, but Sam would know that photo anywhere. She’d taken it of him on the beach not even three days ago.

Sam slammed the phone down on the couch and tucked her knees under her chin. I will not cry. I will not cry, she told herself. Is that what he was doing whenever we weren’t fucking? Setting up hookups and dates for the minute he got back?

She felt like the biggest fool. Worse, she hated herself for feeling anything for him at all. How could she be mad at him? He’d never pretended to be anything other than what he was.

Still, as she thought about the last four days and how over the moon she’d been, the tears started to fall. They were ugly, the kind that left her breathless.

Sam curled up onto the couch and let it all out. She wanted to hate him, but couldn’t. This had all been her doing. She should have seen the signs.

When the doorbell rang, she quieted down and hid deeper into the couch. Heavy footsteps could be heard on the porch. It rang again. If that’s Connor, I don’t even give a shit. I’m going to give him a piece of my mind.

Her hurt had turned to rage, and she stomped toward the front door. She yanked it open to a scared-looking young kid holding a large package. “Oh, I was—are you… are you okay?” he asked.

“Fine,” she snapped, and snatched the box from him.

“You’re going fucking crazy,” she told herself out loud. Sam opened the box and nearly laughed at herself. She’d forgotten all about it. It was a carton of bachelorette party items she’d ordered right before Monaco. She’d figured she might as well enjoy a raucous night out if she was going to fake a marriage.

She remembered how she’d looked forward to showing it to Connor, and how he’d surely get a kick out of it.

Sam dumped the contents into the garbage bin. She only felt a little bad about not donating the goods. But screw it, it felt too good.