Chapter 337

Chapter 337
Olivia

The drive to the airport felt too short and too long at the same time. Alexander drove while I stared out the window, watching Los Angeles blur past. My phone kept buzzing with work notifications, but I ignored them. Those could wait.
At the private terminal, the jet gleamed in the late afternoon sun, stairs already deployed and ready for boarding. A flight attendant stood at the base, greeting Alexander with professional warmth.
"Mr. Carter, everything's prepared. We'll be ready for departure within fifteen minutes."
"Thank you."
I followed him up the stairs, the interior of the jet as luxurious as always. Leather seats, polished wood, that perpetual smell of expensive everything.
Alexander's luggage was already stowed. He checked his phone, scanning emails with practiced efficiency.
"Last chance to come," he said without looking up. "Say the word, and I'll have your bags packed and delivered within the hour."
"Tempting, but no." I sat on the edge of one of the leather seats. "I need to handle Cornerstone. Can't abandon my team right after landing the account."
He finally looked up, his expression unreadable. "I know. Doesn't mean I like it."
"You'll survive three weeks without me."
"Will I?"
"Don't be dramatic."
He pulled me up from the seat, his arms wrapping around my waist. "I'm not being dramatic. I'm being honest. I've gotten used to having you around."
My chest tightened at the admission.
"I'll miss you too," I admitted quietly.
"Then come with me."
"Alex."
"I know, I know. Work comes first." But his arms didn't release me. "Just promise me you'll actually sleep occasionally? Not work yourself into exhaustion?"
"Says the man who regularly pulls sixteen-hour days."
"Do as I say, not as I do."
I laughed despite myself. "That's terrible advice."
"It's the best I've got." He kissed my forehead, then my nose, then my lips. "Take care of yourself. And if you get a window, fly out and surprise me. Any city, any time."
"I promise. If there's any way to make it work, I will."
The flight attendant appeared at the cabin door. "Mr. Carter, we're ready whenever you are."
He nodded, then looked back at me. "Walk me out?"
We descended the stairs together, his hand warm in mine. The tarmac radiated heat as the sun began its descent toward the horizon.
"Call me when you land," I said.
"Yes, ma'am." His smile was genuine, reaching his eyes. "And text me updates about Cornerstone."
"You'll be in your own meetings."
"Text me anyway."
The flight attendant gave a discreet cough, and Alexander sighed.
"That's my cue." He pulled me close one more time, kissing me like we had all the time in the world, even as the clock ticked down. When we broke apart, I was breathless.
"Go," I said, pushing him gently toward the stairs. "Before I change my mind and drag you back home."
"That doesn't sound terrible."
"Alex."
"Going, going." He climbed the stairs, turning at the top to wave. "Three weeks. I'll see you in three weeks."
"Or sooner if I can swing it."
He disappeared into the cabin, and moments later, the stairs retracted. I backed away as the engines powered up, watching the jet taxi toward the runway.
Within minutes, it was airborne, climbing into the early evening sky. I stood there until it was nothing more than a speck against the clouds.
The drive back to the estate felt longer than usual. Traffic had picked up, rush hour in full swing. I turned up the music, trying to shake the weird emptiness settling in my chest.
The house was too quiet when I walked through the door.
I climbed the stairs to our bedroom, dropping my bag on the bench at the foot of the bed. The space felt bigger somehow, as if his absence had expanded the walls.
"Stop being dramatic," I muttered to myself, pulling off my heels. "He's been gone for two hours, not two weeks."
Still, the bed looked enormous and cold.
I changed into leggings and a soft sweater before heading downstairs. The kitchen was spotless, Chef having already retired for the evening. I switched on the coffee machine and started a fresh pot, needing the caffeine if I was going to accomplish anything productive.
While it brewed, I gathered my laptop and the Cornerstone files from my bag. The study seemed like the logical choice; Alexander's massive desk was already equipped with everything I'd need.
I settled into his leather chair, breathing in the faint scent of his cologne that clung to the upholstery. The coffee finished brewing, and I poured myself a large mug before spreading the Cornerstone property files across the desk surface.
I worked through each property systematically, making detailed notes on what worked and what didn't. By the time I glanced at the clock, three hours had passed, and my coffee mug was empty.
I pulled my eyes from the glowing laptop screen, pressing my fingers against my temples where a dull ache had settled. The Cornerstone properties stared back at me from seventeen different browser tabs, each one demanding attention.
Three hours. Had it really been three hours already?
My coffee mug sat empty beside a half-eaten protein bar. Not exactly the balanced meal Alexander would've insisted on, but sustenance nonetheless.
The website flickered on my screen, showing a gorgeous mountain lodge with rustic charm. I clicked over to another location, which looked like a sleek modern resort that belonged on a yacht club's waterfront. Then another, all wine country elegance and understated luxury.
"This is a disaster," I muttered, scribbling notes on my legal pad. "How does one company have such wildly different aesthetics?"
My stomach growled loudly, reminding me that a protein bar didn't constitute dinner.
I closed my laptop with more force than necessary, the sharp click echoing in the quiet study. The house had that late-evening stillness, where even the usual creaks and sighs seemed muted.
In the kitchen, I stared at the massive refrigerator, its contents organized with professional precision. The chef had left containers with neat labels: grilled chicken, roasted vegetables, quinoa salad, and fresh fruit.
"Thank god for Chef," I said to the empty kitchen, pulling out containers.
I dumped chicken and vegetables onto a plate, not bothering with presentation. The microwave hummed while I leaned against the counter, scrolling through my phone.
The microwave beeped. I grabbed my plate and fork, eating standing up like some kind of savage. The chicken was perfectly seasoned, and the vegetables still had a pleasant crunch. I shoveled food into my mouth mechanically, my brain still churning through Cornerstone problems.
"You can do this," I told myself between bites. "You handled Thompson. This is just bigger."
Much bigger. Terrifyingly bigger.
I finished eating and rinsed my plate, leaving it in the sink for the morning. The exhaustion hit me all at once, making my limbs feel heavy.
Upstairs, the bedroom was dark and cool. I flipped on the bathroom light, squinting against the brightness. My reflection looked tired.
"Attractive," I commented to my reflection while brushing my teeth.
I changed into an oversized t-shirt and sleep shorts. The bed looked inviting, with the sheets turned down and the pillows fluffed by the cleaning staff. Yet, Alexander's empty side of the bed made me feel unaccountably empty and alone in the spacious room.
I crawled under the covers, my body immediately relaxing into the expensive mattress. My phone lit up with one last email notification, but I ignored it.
Sleep pulled at me, dragging my eyelids down. The last coherent thought I had was about brand cohesion strategies before unconsciousness claimed me entirely.