Damage Control

Chapter 11

Italy? Does he really think he can just waltz into my office and order me to fly across the entire country with him? When has he ever needed me for any of his business ventures anyway? I had so many unanswered questions my head began to spin as I ran after him.

"I'm not going to fucking Italy," I gasped, trying to catch my breath as I slithered through the closing elevator doors.

He glanced up from his phone then looked back down, ignoring my presence completely.

"Nathaniel, I'm not going to Italy," I repeated in a firmer tone this time.

"I'm not going to argue with you," he simply stated, walking out of the elevator and into the warm afternoon.

"Then don't; I just came to tell you I'm not going." I shrugged, turning around to leave. "Have a great trip."

"Need I remind you these trips are mandatory? He asked in a condescending tone, sliding into the back of the limo that was awaiting his arrival. "Or did you not read your contract?"

I gritted my teeth then plastered a fake smile on my face. "I actually have an important event coming up, so I'm afraid I won't be able to make it." I lied, desperately wanting to get out of this predicament.

"I cleared your schedule two weeks ago, now get in."

Fuck.

"Okay, well, I still need to pack and-"

"You can go shopping in Italy," he interrupted impatiently. "The Jet is waiting; let's go."

"What?" I choked. "I'm not going to Italy without clothes; it won't even take long for me to pack just-"

"Faye," he growled, giving me a murderous look.

"Fine," I huffed, sliding in and slamming the door behind me. "For the record, I only listened so your employees wouldn't see you throw a tantrum like a fucking two-year-old."

He rolled his eyes before tapping the window that led to the driver section letting the driver know we were ready to go. During the ride, I sent Carter, Stella, and Keenan a text in our group chat explaining how I'm being kidnapped by Nathaniel and going to Italy for two weeks.

Of course, Stella and Keenan were the most excited and demanded I take lots of pictures to send to them while Carter wished me a safe trip. I clicked my phone off the same time the limo pulled into the private airstrip with a beautiful blacked out Jet that had "Creed" spelled out in gold cursive letters waiting at the entrance.

"I can do this, I can do this," I whispered to myself, following Nathaniel to the aircraft. I didn't want to come because there was a high chance of him finding out about my fear of flying. Every time I step on a plane, I instantly get light-headed as if all oxygen gets sucked out of my body, which makes me want to throw my intestines up. How the fuck was I going to survive this thirteen-hour flight ahead of us?

"Do not touch anything," Nathaniel ordered as we walked up the stairs and into the flying machine of death.

I've been on many Private Jets before, but this one, in particular, took the prize. In the center was a beautiful white and black U-shaped sectional with a dark brown coffee table placed in the middle. To the right and left corner of the plane were three white leather swivel chairs surrounding beautifully carved black tables, and in the very back was a bar/fireplace island. Of course, Nathaniel would have his jet looking like the inside of a corporate office. (See picture above).

I plopped down on the sectional and placed my head in between my legs, already starting to feel light-headed.

"You get airsick," Nathaniel stated all knowingly as he set his briefcase on the table and unloosened his tie.