Tattooed in Moonlight

Chapter 10

Chapter 10

The helicopter blades slowed to a halt, the sudden silence almost deafening after the roar of the flight. Heat slammed into me the second the door opened—late-morning Manila sun glaring, asphalt shimmering, the whole tarmac smelling like jet fuel and melted rubber.

I climbed out, squinting, tote bag still in hand like the universe's worst carry-on. And there it was: Travis's jet. Sleek silver, its nose angled like a predator's jaw, flanked by crew in sharp navy uniforms. Stairs already down, red carpet rolled, as if this was just another Tuesday for him.

"Well, this is obscene," I muttered. "Normal people go through security, fight with overweight luggage, and cry over overpriced sandwiches. You? You roll out your own runway like it's your driveway."

Travis didn't respond. Of course he didn't. He just walked ahead, hands in his pockets, every inch of him broadcasting control, as if even the tarmac belonged to him.

I jogged to keep up, sneakers squeaking against the hot ground. "You know, at some point, I'm going to have to call my manager and explain why I got kidnapped by a billionaire. She's already bald from stress. This'll finish the job."

He paused at the stairs, turned, and looked at me. "Come."

I threw my hands up. "Not even a please? Just come? You really are allergic to courtesy, aren't you?"

But I followed him anyway, because apparently sarcasm was my only weapon left.

Inside, the jet was every bit as ridiculous as I expected. White leather seats that looked softer than clouds. Dark walnut panels gleaming. A minibar stocked with crystal decanters I was afraid to breathe near.

I dropped into a seat, hugging my bag like a hostage. "This isn't a plane. This is Versailles with wings. What's next, does the bathroom double as a spa? Is there a masseuse hiding in the closet?"

"No spa," he said simply, buckling into the seat across from me.

"Tragic," I muttered. "How do you even survive."

The engines rumbled beneath us, a low vibration curling through the cabin. I glared at him across the aisle. "So. Taiwan. What exactly am I being abducted for this time?"

"Photoshoot."

I narrowed my eyes. "Photoshoot for what? Don't tell me you have a secret cologne line. 'Eau de Efficiency: Notes of intimidation and dragon fire.'"

"You," he said.

I blinked. "Me what?"

"You're the face." His voice was calm, final. "Of my hotels. All chains."

I gasped so loud the flight attendant startled. "I—excuse me?! You were serious?"

"Yes."

I leaned forward, jabbing a finger at him. "You can't just decide that! I'm not a mannequin you can plop in front of a camera and call brand representation! I have a career—had a career—that's already in shambles, thanks to you, might I add."

"This is new," he said.

"New?" My voice shot up an octave. "New?! Like a reset button on a video game? You don't get to reset me, Javierres. I'm not your empire. I'm me."

His gaze stayed steady, unblinking. "And they'll see you."

I barked a laugh. "Oh, great. The whole of Asia will see me plastered across your hotels like some luxury screensaver. That's not terrifying at all."

His mouth curved, faintly. "Better than shampoo."

I gawked at him, heat flooding my cheeks. "Oh my god, did you just mock my shampoo endorsement? That's low. Even for you."