My heart pounds harder the closer we get to the helicopter with Carter emblazoned on the side. I’m not short of breath trying to keep pace with Jared’s long-legged stride. I’m short of breath because I may hyperventilate before this is all over.

“You’ve been in one of these before, yeah?” Jared asks offhandedly.

“Uh, no. I haven’t actually.”

“What’d you say?” Jared yells, stopping at the two steps leading up into the helicopter.

“No!” I scream, less for volume sake and more because of my rising hysteria.

“Oh.” He searches my face, and I’m sure he doesn’t miss the signs of strain. “Sorry. Come on.”

Hand at the small of my back, he helps me up into the helicopter. The red leather seat wraps around my body and gives me a reassuring squeeze. Jared greets the pilot with familiarity and takes two headsets from him, offering one to me. I slip mine on and buckle up, mimicking Jared’s actions. I jump when his voice comes in my ear.

“We can talk using this.” He taps the headset microphone at his mouth. “It’s only about fifteen minutes to the house.”

My stomach roils when we lift off and I grip the armrests tightly. Riding in a helicopter is nothing like flying on an airplane. That’s probably self-evident. It’s not a smooth gradual ascent, but a more immediate lift. More exhilarating, rawer, without the insulation of thick steel separating you from the air and the ground growing smaller below you. It’s loud, and the machine sounds like it’s working hard to overcome the laws that would chain us to the ground. I’m more conscious of what a miracle flight is, more aware that we are defying gravity with every mile we travel and every foot we rise.

“You okay?” Jared asks, pulling me from my thoughts and my senses absorbing the experience.

“Getting there,” I say wryly.

“Well we have a little time to review your changes to the proposal I sent. You have it, right?”

“Yeah.”

We both pull out our iPads to discuss the proposal he drew up.

I knew Jared must be thorough to have accomplished all that he has, but I haven’t seen this side of him. Haven’t actually done business with him. The proposal came over just before midnight. Zo had gone to bed, exhausted from off-season demands with sponsors, charities, and probably just post-season weariness. I stayed up and made notes and suggestions, which I sent over before I went to sleep.

I tap my screen, identifying the areas I had questions about. When I look up, Jared wears black-rimmed glasses and frowns down at his screen.

“So you finally did it,” I say into the headset microphone.

“Did what?” He glances up, one brow raised. It’s all very sexy professor.

“You got glasses.” I laugh lightly, disguising how yet another memory from that night penetrates the protective bubble I’ve encased myself in. “I told you so.”

His deep-throated chuckle reaches through the headset and strokes my skin. Thankfully the leather jacket hides the gooseflesh sprouting on my arms.

“Only for reading.” He takes them off and hands them to me.

I hold them up, looking through the lenses, and he’s right. There doesn’t seem to be much medicine. I slip them onto the bridge of my nose, peering at him over the rims.

“Believe it or not, I used to want glasses so badly I asked Mama to get them for me.”

“Why?” he asks with a narrow smile.

“I wanted to look smart.”

He snorts and shakes his head.

“Well how do I look?” I lift my nose in the air and touch the corners of the frames. “Smart?”

He relaxes into the supple leather like a king considering his consort, scouring me from the pointed tips of my pumps, up the length of my legs, where the fitted dress interrupts the bare skin at my knees. His eyes trace the curve of my hips and waist, caress my breasts, lingering so long my nipples tighten under the stretchy fabric. I pull my leather jacket closer around me, hiding the effect of his sensual perusal.

“How do you look?” he finally repeats. “Sexy as fuck.”

What the hell?

Not addressing his comment or that hungry look, I hastily hand his glasses back, making sure our fingers don’t touch.

“Um . . . I had a question on page three.” I drag my finger down the screen until I reach the spot. “Can we talk about the incentives for sponsors again at the platinum level?”

When I glance up, he holds my stare for a second longer, suspending the tension between us. Finally he laughs and I redirect the conversation back to the proposal.

“We’re almost there,” he says a few minutes later, turning toward the window overlooking the jeweled Pacific coastline, a shimmering sheet of emerald and sapphire butted against semiprecious sand.

From here, it appears infinite, stretching as far as my eyes can see in any direction. The hills rising up from the coastline are studded with Terracotta-topped houses dangled precipitously over the almost painfully vibrant water. It’s breathtaking. I’ve survived my first helicopter ride. After the initial rush of fear, Jared and I had been so consumed preparing for the meeting that my fears fell to the side.

“Thanks for distracting me,” I say, realizing that’s exactly what he did and why he did it.

“I threw up my first time flying out here to see Kip,” he confides with a wry smile. “So don’t feel bad about a few jitters.”

“Careful, or I’ll stop believing you’re the asshole everyone thinks you are,” I tease.

“Oh, I’m an asshole.” He tips his head back to rest against the seat and watches me, eyes heavy-lidded. “Just not to you.”

Jared admitting weakness, alleviating my fears, singling me out for kindness, feels strange. This whole sequence of events feels strange, like beneath the surface and in the air something is changing. Invisible, but affecting our every interaction. I have to keep reminding myself I don’t like him because the very fabric of our relationship is morphing so quickly I’m no longer sure what we’re made of.

Kip Carter’s helicopter lands on a carpet of lush grass in front of a Mediterranean-style mansion. He personally greets us at the front door. I’m taken aback by the warmth between him and Jared. Not the cool handshake of a business acquaintance, but an extended hug, inside jokes, and the kind of familiarity usually reserved for family.

Managing millionaires has earned me my own millions, and I’ve grown accustomed to decadence and luxury I never imagined growing up in our modest San Diego neighborhood. This Oceanside estate is beyond anything I’ve personally experienced. With its high ceilings, cool marble floors, and priceless art tucked into alcoves everywhere you turn, the house smacks of opulence, just like its owners.

Kip and Karen Carter are exactly what you would expect from an LA couple with more money than they know what to do with. His clothes are tailored. There’s an ascot at his neck and a wildly expensive boat moored in his backyard. Her face is lightly Botoxed, and the years are marked by sparkles on her fingers and throat. All the trappings of a celluloid life leap out at you, but the truth may lie in the subtle details. The way they hold hands and touch every chance they get. The kindness and genuine affection between them and the staff who keep their mammoth home running smoothly. The wistfulness in their voices when they speak over a chilled lunch of their grown children. It’s a Hollywood life, yes, but it’s real. Somehow for them, it’s still real.

“Gracias, Luciana,” Karen murmurs when a dark-haired young woman clears the delicious salads and fruit we had for lunch from the table. I noticed she speaks fluent Spanish with her staff, a point for her in my book.

“You have a lovely home, Karen,” I say, taking in the spectacular view of the Pacific from the terrace where we’re eating. I sip the spring water I’d requested. I don’t drink my calories when I don’t have to.

“Thank you.” She touches the beautifully casual stones at her throat. “Should we leave the men to talk business and I could show you more? The west terrace offers the best view of the ocean.”

“I’m afraid she needs to stay for the business,” Jared says before I have to explain. “She’s an agent like I am, Karen. Sorry. I thought I mentioned that.”

“Oh.” Surprise registers on Karen’s still-pretty face. “I thought you two were . . . you know. Together.”

“Oh, no.” I laugh lightly. “Just business. I’m not his type.”

“Well if Jared doesn’t like smart, beautiful women,” Karen replies, offering me a wink, “then he doesn’t know what he’s missing.”

“Oh, I know exactly what I’m missing,” Jared says, taking a sip of Perrier and studying me over the rim of his glass. “I miss it more every day.”

Kip and Karen chuckle into the pool of awkward silence rippling around us, but neither Jared or I laugh. We don’t smile. We stare at each other, assessing, plotting our next move. Mine is to withdraw. By the determined set of Jared’s lips and the hard gleam in his eyes, I’m afraid his next move will be to charge. I’m just not sure when.

“This looks good,” Kip says, considering the proposal once Karen has excused herself. He may have greeted Jared like a son, but he grilled him like a stranger. He’s a shrewd businessman, and Jared’s assertion that the deal was “all but done” may have overstated the matter. Kip might have intended to sponsor the tournament from the beginning, but he made me believe he needed to be convinced. And if there’s one thing I learned from Professor Albright’s debate class, it’s how to persuade, so I add my input every chance I get.

“This will be great,” Kip says, flipping to the last page of the proposal. “The homeless situation in San Diego and in LA is abominable.”

“My client, Kenan, and Jared’s client, August . . . we have the same concerns,” I say. “We couldn’t stay on the sidelines, so to speak.”