24. Starter Pack

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A/N:
I want to thank Daffodils__ for always supporting me throughout my story and giving me the motivation to continue writing. I couldn't have gotten this far without your constant love and support! 

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The sounds of engines rolling, cars honking and pedestrians chattering away—the norm of NYC—is muffled from our location high above the bustling streets, but still audible because we're out in the open.

The sun dangles low in the angry crimson sky striated with a majestic amalgam of oranges, pinks and yellows, apprising the vibrant city beneath of the approaching melancholia that comes with nightfall. But the large circlet of blinding light still perseveres; its rays reaching out like fingers swaddled in gold to emblazon our vehicle of transport with the sole purpose of enhancing its beauty.

And it's working.

Because I've been gaping at it for more than thirty seconds, my mouth hanging off its hinges.

"Gloria, you should close your mouth." Galan's voice hints of amusement. "It's doing naughty things to me."

I ignore his teasing and continue giving my full attention to the black and sleek vehicle before me, its burnished surface like a siren luring the part of me that loves cars. Well, cars no more—I have a new obsession.

A chilly breeze whistles past, lifting the loose, wavy tendrils of obsidian hair framing my face as if to remind me that time isn't at a standstill, but is very much ticking by. 

Blinking away the haze in my mind, I pivot my head to the side to face Galan. "Is this for real?"

"No, this is all just a joke." He chuckles lowly at his own joke-joke, squeezing my hand in his lightly when I throw him a dirty look. "Obviously, I'm serious." He brings my hand to his lips to peck it affectionately.

"So," I turn back to the front where the object of discussion is perched so grandly in the centre of the helipad atop Craig Corporation, the hues of sunset acting as the perfect backdrop, "we're really going to ride in a helicopter?" My voice rises an octave, hitting the key of major disbelief effortlessly—pun intended.

A soft laugh escapes Galan's throat at my reaction. "Yes we are. I don't want to be late for my own ribbon-cutting ceremony."

"What? Ribbon-cutting ceremony?" My brows dip low in confusion. "Can't you ever just drop it all in one go?" I complain just as he gently tugs me forward to ascend the retractable stairs into the helicopter's passenger area.

The intoxicating smell of clean leather hits my senses and unlike how I always imagined helicopters to be, the area is spacious, it's like a fucking house.

"Pick any seat you like," Galan lets go of my hand and gives my lower back a gentle push.

I don't need any more encouragement and lower into one of the seats by the window, vaguely noting that the black leather material beneath my ass is smoother than my ass.

By the time I'm done studying the helicopter's classy interior, my head has rotated at least ten rounds. Although my hands itch to leave no surface untouched, they stay folded in my lap.

"Sir, we're ready to leave." A male voice drags my eyes away from the view outside the window.

It's Galan's driver. Apparently, he's a pilot too.

Galan nods brusquely. "Good." Then after his driver-slash-pilot disappears into the cockpit, he reaches across the mini coffee table between us to buckle me up. 

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