Salvatore

17

I stare out the window, watching the tarmac appear in my view. The trees get replaced by a large black gate, hiding the planes from sight. The driver pulls into the parking lot, taking a spot right near the entrance. From here, I can see the hangar I arrived at just a week or two ago. The door is open, revealing the large jet. There's a group of men walking around it, each wearing high vis clothing. There's a couple in suits too, and I think I recognise Jordan among them.

"I'm glad Jordan is coming," I comment.

"I thought so," Sainte responds. "I assigned him to you to make you more comfortable."

"You knew we were friends?"

"Of course. It was part of my research."

"You did research on me?"

"How else would I have known to invite you?"

I scowl. It makes sense, but I hadn't realised he'd looked into me that thoroughly.

"That's unfair," I state. "You already knew everything about me, and I know nothing about you."

"I didn't know everything about you—only some observable things," he defends. "But I understand your position. You're welcome to ask me anything you'd like to know."

"Well, I don't have any specific questions, but I want to know everything."

"Everything?"

"Yeah," I nod. "I know we only just met, but I'm excited to know more about you."

"I'm an open book to you, Sofia. I don't plan on keeping anything from you."

"Good," I smile. He's so good at reassuring me.

The driver opens the door for us, ushering us out of the vehicle. Sainte climbs out first, but I take a moment to calculate the distance to the floor. I could easily jump it, but Sainte offers me his arm before I can do so. I balance myself between his arm and the door and land safely on the ground. He shuts the door for me, but I don't bother removing my hand from his arm. Instead, I give him a sweet smile and link our elbows.

"Are you still nervous?" he asks.

"A little," I admit. I've been trying not to think about it, but it's only going to get worse the closer we get to take-off.

"Stay by my side," he instructs. I'm not sure if that's to calm my nerves or to keep me away from the other men, but either way, I don't mind. I don't want to be anywhere else, anyway.

"Well, well, well, look what we have here," a smirking Jordan walks our way. "I knew you'd manage to tame the beast."

I laugh at him, but I feel Sainte's arm tense.

"Watch it, Makris," he grumbles. "I'm still your boss."

"It's fine," I wave him off. "We're all friends here."

"Seems like you two are a bit more than friends if you get what I mean," Jordan teases.

"Makris!" Sainte scolds. Jordan face drops, all humour gone from his eyes.

"Apologies, sir," he says.

"Go," Sainte tells him. And just like that, Jordan turns back around, walking away without even saying goodbye.

"Hey," I scowl, looking up at Sainte. "Why'd you do that? He was just messing around."

"He's my employee, Sofia. He has to stay in line."

"But he's my friend."

"That doesn't change his position in the family."

"Oh, come on. Can't you cut him some slack?"

"So he can lose focus and put you in danger?" he snickers. "I don't think so."

"Sainte..." I sigh, pulling my arm from his. "Don't you have any friends?"

"I do, but they aren't in charge of my safety."

"Then maybe I should get a different security guard."

"Is that what you want?"

"If it means you'll be nicer to Jordan, then yes."

"Even if I reassign him, I'll still be his boss.

"God, you're impossible," I turn around, heading towards Jordan and the group of men he's now with."

"Sofia!" Sainte calls out to me, but I ignore him. I'm not mad at him. I'm just frustrated.

Jordan walks up the stairs of the jet. I climb in behind him, instantly recognising the cream coloured leather chairs. It's a different plane than the one I was in, but it's designed similarly. This one is much, much bigger. There's a long couch on the opposite side of the entrance, with a table before it. There's a man lying here, so I walk past it, following Jordan further into the plane.

Here, it looks more like a traditional plane. There are three rows of four seats, with two seats on each side of the path. It's unbelievably roomy. One of the chairs is folded out into a bed, and each seat has a table and a screen before it. There's a wall at the end of this area, with an open door, revealing another space, but I don't make it that far. Jordan takes a seat in the back row, and I slide in next to him.

"I'm so sorry about Sainte," I blurt. "He's not actually mad, I swear."

"Don't worry about it," he chuckles. "He's right. I just couldn't resist."

"No, he doesn't have to be so rude."

"He's my boss," he shrugs.

"But you're my friend. He could at least be nice to you."

"It's fine, Sofie, really. I'm not the one dating him."

Dating.

Dating? It sounds strange, but that kind of is what we're doing. We're getting to know each other in the hopes of building a relationship. It feels weird in this context, though. Dating doesn't really cover it.

"Sofia," the sound of Sainte's voice interrupts my thoughts. He's looking over at us with his brows furrowed, clearly angry. His lips are pursed in a straight line, and I can see the outline of his tensed bicep through his suit. To my surprise, he doesn't yell at me or scold me at all. Instead, he speaks softly. Well, as soft as he can. "There's a separate area for us in the back. The door will be open for you when you're ready."

"I'm ready," I say. He may be frustrating at times, but right now, I'm more worried about surviving this flight. Sainte extends his hand to me, and I take it. We'll argue about this later.