“Tell me,” she says.

I shake my head.

We’re sitting next to one another in the back of the limo riding to the airport. Not that Amber knows even that much.

I considered taking her out on my yacht, but I decided to save that for another time.

She crosses her arms across her chest and pouts. She seems just as annoyed at me as she does excited.

“I’m an early riser,” I say. “You might have to adapt to that.”

“I’m not,” she says. “Why do I have to adapt to you? Why isn’t it the other way around?”

“Because,” I say, grinning, “I’m in charge.”

She scoffs, but I know she knows I’m right.

“I’ve seen you stay up way past midnight before,” she says. “I assumed you were more of a night owl.”

“I only need a few hours of sleep,” I say. “I guess I’m both.”

“So where are we going again?” she asks.

“Not telling you,” I say, looking back down at my laptop.

“You know,” Amber says, “if this is a date, you shouldn’t really be working.”

I glance over at her. She’s wearing form-fitting jeans and a t-shirt. Her hair is pulled up into a messy bun, and she’s still got some gunk in the corner of her eyes from waking up too early. She looks good despite it all.

I smile and look down at the suit I’m wearing. “You’re not dressed for a date.”

“James told me to wear something comfortable!”

“The date hasn’t started yet,” I say. “We’re just traveling to it. So I’m still working.”

I’m actually in the process of writing an email to my lawyers telling them not to publicize and spin this trip. As much as it might help things out, I want this to be a real date as much as possible. Just for one weekend. I want Amber to be able to relax and be herself around me.

Amber looks out the window. “We’re at the airport, aren’t we? We’re flying somewhere?”

“It’s the airport,” I say.

She kicks my shin. “Asshole. Where are we flying to?”

I shrug and go back to drafting my email.

“We missed the terminal,” she says.

“You really think we’re flying coach?” I ask.

We soon pull up to my private jet, which is prepped and ready to go.

“No security check, no crying babies, no connecting flights, no waiting,” I say, pointing at my jet sitting alone on the tarmac.

“I’d be more impressed if I knew where we were going,” she says.

“You really don’t like surprises?” I say. “Just imagine the wheels touching down and having no idea where we are.”

She bites her lip. “Okay, that is actually kind of exciting.”

“Good,” I say. “So stop asking me where we’re going.”

My flight crew takes our bags, and I take Amber by the hand as we approach the plane. She squeezes my hand back, and I help guide her up the stairway into the cabin.

“Holy crap!” she says, boarding the plane. “This is insane. There’s a freaking dining table in there!” She says, pointing.

“You expected tray tables?” I ask.

The jet has a dining table, plush leather couches on either side behind the table, and then there are two separate bedrooms behind that.

Amber jumps onto one of the couches and sprawls out, stretching. “I’m lying down on a plane!”

“If you’re tired,” I say, “the bedroom on the right is all yours.”

“Bedroom?” She says, jumping off the couch and rushing over to pull the door open. She gasps. “Oh my God!”

I can’t help but smile. When was the last time I saw anyone get excited about a private jet? Everyone I know is rich, and we’ve all come to take this kind of thing for granted. Having a private jet has come to feel normal for me--it’s nothing special, just what’s expected. Amber is making me realize how lucky I am to have what I have and be who I am.

I walk into the bedroom and see her stretched out on the bed. “I don’t even want to sleep,” she says giddily. “What’s the point of having a fancy jet if you just sleep through the whole trip? I want to fully enjoy it--” Then she yawns.

I grin. “Sounds like you need the rest. And being able to sleep on the plane is part of the reason for having a nice jet. You can get fully rested instead of having a big knot in your back from sleeping in coach.”

She smiles wide. “You’re going to work instead of sleep, aren’t you?”

I nod.

The plane takes off less than ten minutes after we board, and shortly after, Amber collapses onto the bed and leaves me alone to work.

I take a call from one of my lawyers, Emilio.

“What?” I ask. “I told you not to--”

“This is something else,” he says.

“Great,” I say.

“That kid you got in a fight with is suing you,” Emilio says.

“What kid?” I ask. “I wouldn’t fight a kid--”

“Valencia,” Emilio says. “Anton Valencia.”

Oh, right, James Bond.

“Did he pay you to say his name like that, Emilio?”

“Like what?” he asks.

“Never mind. So the little fucker is suing me. He threw the first punch.”

“Not a single cut on you, though, Liam,” Emilio says. “And the kid is pretty beat up. I don’t like it.”

“You think I’m lying to you?” I ask.

“No,” he says. “But we don’t have the resources to bother with this right now, not with Frost’s lawyers breathing down our neck. I say we just settle. That’s all it looks like he’s doing anyway, shaking us down for a settlement.”

I sigh. As much as it pisses me off, Emilio is right. “Do what you have to, Emilio, just make sure there is an airtight clause in there that stops him from talking about it to anyone. I want him to lose it all if he slips out a word about this. And make sure he gets slapped really hard upside the head if he so much as glances at Amber again.”

“Got it,” Emilio says.

Once I hang up, I go to check on Amber.

I knock on the door.

“Come in,” she says, sleepily.

I walk in to see her wrapped up in the blanket.

“These sheets are so soft,” she says. “Why don’t you lie down?”

I take off my jacket and hang it up in the closet.

“Oh,” she says. “You’re going to lie down here?”

I’m already undoing the top button of my shirt, but I pause. “Up to you.”

“I thought you were in charge,” she says.

“Good point,” I say. I return to unbuttoning my shirt.

Amber’s eyes widen and her cheeks flush as she watches me remove the shirt from my body and toss it down on the floor.