Lily |18+ [Paraíso, #1]

thirty six

|J U L I A|

Santiago Flores.

Ever since Sam dropped the file folder in front of me, it's all I've been thinking about. The file didn't contain much, just his basic description. Attorney Flores was a Mexican immigrant married to one Merina Felicidad. They had two daughters and lived in what is now called The Flores Ruins-a big mansion estate situated in the outskirts of Grosse Pointe. The estate burned down years ago; the same timeframe in which Jake's dad wrote down in his journal about his fear for Santiago's life and that of his family.

There were no survivors, the file said. The whole family perished alongside some members of staff. Reports claimed that the cause of the fire was due to a gas leak but I know better. James Caldwell knew better. And it's exactly what his journal entry said concerning the fatal demise of his lover.

I'm jostled in my seat as the plane experiences some turbulence problems, forcing me to hold tightly on my armrest. My gaze collides with the congressman's, who's seated across from me, and he gives me a reassuring smile.

We're on our way to D.C. to attend a celebratory gala in honor of Congressman Philip Carlisle's victory in the primaries. I wasn't even supposed to be in this plane. I wasn't even supposed to go this event at all. I'm just a lowly PR consultant but Darlene told me that the congressman had specifically asked that I was saved a seat in his private jet. So here I am, trying to make best of my impromptu trip in the company of quite possibly a mass murderer and his bevy of henchmen that hide under the pretty words, "security detail."

At least Darlene's with me but she's proven to not be a candidate to talk to as she's busy going over the congressman's schedule and plans in the seat across from me.

So it's just me and my thoughts. Which are frightening to be honest. I reach for my phone and busy myself with it, wishing I could call Jake right now. We did go on a date last Friday-he took me to a family-owned Asian food restaurant-and it was the best forty-two minutes of my life because that's exactly how long it took. Forty-two minutes.

Both our phones had rang simultaneously. His call had something to do with a crisis concerning the delay of his imported goods and mine. . . well, it had to do with the winning of our camp in the primaries and my presence was urgently needed.

Our schedules clashed this week and we've had to cancel on a number dates planned, not that it's stopped us from seeing each other and we always make it a point to show just how much we've missed each other. Thoroughly.

I'm getting tingles just thinking about it, especially when I glance down at the text thread between him and I. More specifically the last text. The one where he's detailing exactly what he'll do to my body the next time we see each other.

I let out a deep frustrated sigh. Oh my God, when the fuck do we land?

"Is there a problem you'd like to share, Julianna?"

He doesn't glance up from the book he's reading.

"No, I'm just not a fan of flying."

"I can see that." He chuckles while glancing down at his wristwatch. "Not to worry. The plane will touch down in approximately half an hour time."

I don't give him a verbal answer, just a nod and I avert my eyes to look outside the window.

I hear him snap the book shut. Cue the useless barrage of questions.

"You know, Julianna," he starts and I have to chalk up my chagrin at the use of my full name. "I've been thinking a lot."

Forcing myself to remain calm, I ask, "About what?"