Maid for Each Other(44)

21

Taking Off

Abi

It’s impossible to believe people actually live this way.

I looked around the luxury hangar and had a hard time believing this was in any way, shape, or form related to the airplane travel I remembered. While normal people stood in security lines with donut-shaped pillows strapped around their necks and sat in crowded terminals, the privileged hung out here?

Unbelievable.

The Monk Aviation hangar was ridiculously cool. It had tall ceilings, shiny floors, and a wide-open warehouse feel that was the polar opposite of modern air travel spaces. The furnishings were all next level, sleek and modern and actually comfortable, and I swear to God there wasn’t a speck of dust or piece of trash anywhere in this place.

Tables had been brought in for the brunch—tables that were covered in food. A huge buffet was laid out, but not the kind of buffet I was familiar with in my life. There were no sneeze guards dangling down in front of aluminum trays filled with precooked scrambled eggs and questionable bacon.

No, this was a carefully curated collection of exquisite breakfast foods.

A crepe station （manned by a chef, of course）， gorgeous pastries heaped upon gleaming silver trays, a full-service bar, and a man in a big white hat carving prime rib—this was the shit.

And the second we walked in, we were approached by many familiar faces.

There was Warren, and Dex’s parents, and I could see all his fellow vice presidents wandering around, socializing with the elite shareholders who all looked like they were on golf vacations and preparing to return home to their mansions of choice.

“I think we should get some prime rib before we do anything else,” I said, sliding my arm through Declan’s and pointing toward the buffet. “All of your people are going to keep you busy, so you deserve some delicious meat first, don’t you think?”

“So you’re hungry?” he asked, glancing down at me with a smirk on his mouth, that mouth that was such a distraction now that I knew what it was capable of.

“No, I’m a good girlfriend and I think you need to eat. I mean, that’s kind of my love language, making sure that my man is well-fed.”

“Really?” He narrowed his eyes and looked at me like he wanted to figure me out, like he was trying to see more. I loved that look. It was intimate and made it feel like he actually appreciated the real me. “That doesn’t seem like it would be your love language.”

“Sure it is,” I replied, lowering my voice. “I think I know how to make three dishes, maybe even four, so I’m going to make some man really lucky someday.”

“Name the three dishes,” he said, grinning.

“Okay, maybe two,” I said, thinking through the things that I made when I felt like preparing something not from my freezer. “I make killer spaghetti and meatballs, I slay goulash, and I also make a really great pepperoni casserole.”

“So you only make pasta,” he said around a laugh, and I was a big fan of the way his eyes got squinty when he genuinely smiled.

“Yeah, I only make pasta,” I agreed. “Although I also make a really good Crock-Pot beef roast, too.”

“Isn’t that just dropping meat into a pot and hitting the power button?”

“I drop it really well, though.”

“Fine,” he said, his smile simmering down to just the slightest curve. “Let’s go get my girl some meat.”

We were just playing, I knew, but there was something about this indulgent side of him, when he gave me a look that meant he was going along with what I wanted, that was unbelievably charming. It was so out of character for the all-business, vice presidential version of Declan that it almost skewed romantic.

He was a control freak boss who ruled everything, so the times that I wore the pants felt really fucking delightful.

We went over to the buffet, and I entertained myself by putting food on his plate that I knew he didn’t want. It felt very girlfriendy to say things like “Oh you need to try the crepes,” even though I’d already seen him eat three whole-wheat bagels after the 5K so I knew he couldn’t be very hungry.

But I liked the way it made his lips quirk, like he was trying not to laugh every time I plopped something unwanted on his plate.

“I should make you eat everything you’re loading up,” he said quietly, out of the corner of his mouth, as we walked over to a tall table.

“But it would look very unladylike for me to eat that much,” I said sarcastically. “Although you’re probably watching your figure and won’t eat anything I put on your plate, anyway.”

“Oh, I think you’re the one who’s been watching my figure,” he teased.

“No, I’m not,” I squealed, cringing at how much I sounded like a middle schooler. “I walked into your closet and you were half-naked; I had no choice but to look at your chest.”

“Honey, I didn’t say anything about that,” he said quietly, a sexy smirk on his mouth. “I was just joking, but apparently your brain is still on my chest in the closet yesterday.”

I didn’t know what to say to that, so I proceeded to cut into my prime rib and stuff my mouth, which made him laugh.

After eating we made the rounds, and it was actually pretty nice. I’d started to come around to a lot of Declan’s co-workers; I still thought they were pretentious and privileged, but I appreciated the kindness they showed me.