Billionaire Boss: The Billion Dollar Deal

Eight

For the entire next week, Sean felt that itch between his shoulder blades. And every day, it got a little sharper. A little harder to ignore. Everywhere he went, people in the village were talking about the upcoming wedding. It shouldn’t have bothered him, as he’d known full well what would happen the moment he began this scheme. But knowing it and living it were two different things.

The pool in the pub was more popular than ever—with odds changing almost daily as people from outlying farms came in to make their bets on the date of the wedding. Even the Galway paper had carried an engagement announcement, he thought grimly, courtesy of Ailish.

From her sickbed, his mother had leaped into the planning of this not-to-be wedding with such enthusiasm, he shuddered to think what she might do once she was cleared by her doctor.

When the article in the paper had come out, it had taken Sean more than an hour of fast talking with Georgia to smooth that particular bump in the road. She was less and less inclined to keep up the pretense as time went by, and even Sean was beginning to doubt the wisdom of the whole thing.

But then, he would see his mother moving slowly through the house and tell himself that he’d done the right thing. The only thing. Until Ailish was well and fit again, he was going to do whatever he had to.

Though to accomplish it, the annoying itch would become his constant companion.

Even Ronan and Laura had been acting strangely the past few days, Laura especially. She had practically sequestered herself in the manor, telling Georgia she was simply too exhausted with caring for the baby to be good company.

Frowning, Sean told himself there was definitely something going on there, but he hadn’t a clue what it was. Which made this trip with Georgia to the States seem all the more attractive.

At the moment, getting away from everyone in Ireland for a week or so sounded like a bloody vacation. Going to California to close out Georgia’s house and then on to Ohio, of all places, for the wedding, would give both of them a chance to relax away from the stress of the lies swarming around them like angry bees.

Or maybe it was the muted roar of the plane’s engines making him think of swarming bees. He and Georgia had the jet to themselves for this trip, but for the pilots and Kelly, the flight attendant who had already brought them coffee right after takeoff and then disappeared into the front of the jet, giving them privacy.

He looked at Georgia, sitting across from him, and Sean felt that quick sizzle of heat and need that he’d become accustomed to feeling whenever he was close to her. Oh, since the moment he first met her at Ronan’s wedding, he had felt the zing of attraction and interest any man would feel for a woman like Georgia.

But in the past few weeks, that zing had become something else entirely. He spent far too much time thinking about her. And when he was with her, he kept expecting to feel the edge of his need slackening off as it always had before with the women he was involved with. It hadn’t happened, of course. Instead, that need only became sharper every time he was with her. As if feeding his hunger for her only defined his appetite, not quenched it.

It wasn’t just the sex, either, he mused, studying her profile in the clear morning light. He liked the way her short, honey-blond hair swung at her chin. He liked the deep twilight of her eyes and how they darkened when he was inside her. He liked her sense of style—the black skirt, scooped-neck red blouse and the high heels that made her legs look bloody amazing. And he liked her mind. She had a quick wit, a sharp temper and a low tolerance for bullshit—all of which appealed to him.

She was on his mind all the bloody time and he couldn’t say he minded it overmuch. The only thing that did bother him was the nagging sensation that he was coming to care for her more than he’d intended. Sean knew all too well that a man in love lost all control over a situation with his woman, and he wasn’t a man who enjoyed that. He’d seen enough of his friends become fools over women. Even Ronan had lost a part of himself when he first tumbled for Laura.

No, Sean preferred knowing exactly what was happening and when, rather than being tossed about on a tide of emotion you couldn’t really count on anyway.

And still …

There was a voice inside him whispering that perhaps real love was worth the risk. He argued that point silently as he’d no wish to find out.

A knot of something worrisome settled into the pit of his stomach and he determinedly chose to ignore it. No point in examining feelings at the moment anyway, was there? Right now, he was just going to enjoy watching her settle into the plush interior of one of his jets.

Her gaze didn’t settle, but moved over the inside of the plane, checking out everything, missing nothing. Another thing to admire about her. She wasn’t a woman to simply accept her surroundings. Georgia had enough curiosity to explore them. And Sean could admit that he wanted her opinion of his jets.

He was proud of what he’d built with Irish Air and had a million ideas for how to grow and expand the company. By the time he was finished, when someone thought luxury travel, he wanted Irish Air to be the name that came to mind.

“What do you think?” Sean had noticed how she had tensed up during takeoff, but now that they were at a cruising altitude, she was relaxed enough to ease her white-knuckled grip on the arms of the seat.

“Of the jet? It’s great,” she said. “Really beats flying coach.”

“Should be our new slogan,” Sean said, with a chuckle. “I’m glad you like it. Irish Air is a luxury airline. There are no coach seats. Everyone is a first-class passenger.”

“A great idea, but I’m sure most of us couldn’t afford to travel like this.”

“It’s not so dear as you’d think,” Sean said. In fact, he’d made a point of doing as much as he could to keep the price down.

He was proud of what he’d built, but curious what Georgia thought of his flagship. This plane was the one he used most often himself. But all of the others in his fleet were much like it.

Sean’s idea had been to outfit a smaller plane with luxury accommodations. To give people who wouldn’t ordinarily fly first class a chance to treat themselves. And yes, the price was a bit higher than coach, but still substantially less than that of a first-class ticket on an ordinary airline.

“It’s cheaper than chartering a jet.”

“Yeah,” she said, flicking a curtain aside to take a look out the window at the clouds beneath them. “But coach is still way cheaper.”

“You get what you pay for, don’t you?” he asked, leaning back in his own seat to sip at his coffee. “When you fly Irish Air, your vacation begins the moment you board. You’re treated like royalty. You arrive at your destination rested instead of wild-eyed and desperate for sleep.”

“Oh, I get it,” she said. “Believe me. And it’s a great idea …”

He frowned as she left that thought hanging. “But?”

Georgia shot him a half grin. “But, okay.” She set her coffee on the table. “You say your airline’s different. Set apart.”

“I do.”

“But, inside, it’s set up just like every other plane. A center aisle, seats on either side.”

There was a shine in her eyes and Sean was paying more attention to that, than he was to her words. When what she’d said at last computed, he asked, “And how else should we have it arranged?”

“Well, that’s the beauty of it, isn’t it?” she countered. “It’s your plane, Sean. You want to make Irish Air different from the crowd, so why even have them furnished like everyone else?”

She ran the flat of her hand across the leather arm rest and for a second, he allowed himself to picture that hand stroking him, instead. As his body tightened, he reminded himself they had a six-hour flight to New York and then another five to L.A. Plenty of time to show Georgia the owner’s bedroom suite at the back of the jet. That brought a smile to his face, until he realized that Georgia was frowning thoughtfully.

“What is it you’re thinking? Besides the fact that the seats are arranged wrong?”

“Hmm? Oh, nothing.”

“It’s something,” he said, following her gaze as she studied the furnishings of the plane with a clearly critical eye. “Let’s have it.”

“I was just thinking … you say you started Irish Air as a way of giving people a real choice in flying.”

“That’s right,” he said, leaning forward, bracing his elbows on his knees. “As I said, most can’t afford first-class tickets on commercial airlines, and chartering a jet is well beyond them, as well. Irish Air,” he said with a proud smile, “is in the buffer zone. I offer luxury travel for just a bit more than coach.”

“How much is a bit?”

“More than a little,” he hedged, “less than a lot. The theory being, if people save for an important vacation, then they might be willing to save a bit more to start their vacation the moment they board the plane.” Warming to his theme, he continued. “You see, you fly coach, say from L.A. to Ireland. By the time you’ve arrived, you feel as though you’ve been dragged across a choppy sea. You’re tired, you’re angry, you’re hungry. Then you’ve to rent a car and drive on a different side of the road when you’re already on the ragged edge …”

“All true. I’ve done it,” she said.

He nodded. “But, on Irish Air, you step aboard and you relax. There are fewer seats. The seats are wider, fold out into beds and there’s a TV at every one of them. We offer WiFi on board and we serve real meals with actual knives and forks. When you arrive at your destination, you’re rested, refreshed and feel as though your worries are behind you.”

“You should do commercials,” Georgia said with a smile. “With the way you look, that accent of yours and the way your eyes shine when you talk about Irish Air, you’d have women by the thousands lined up for tickets.”

“That’s the idea.” He sat back, rested one foot on his opposite knee and glanced around. “By this time next year, Irish Air will be the most talked-about airline in the world. We’ll be ordering a dozen new planes soon and—” He broke off when he saw her shift her gaze to one side and chew at her bottom lip. A sure sign that she had something to say and wasn’t sure how to do it. “What is it?”

“You want the truth?”

“Absolutely,” he told her.

“Okay, you want Irish Air to stand out from the crowd, right?”

“I do.”

“So why are you creating such boring interiors?”

“What? Boring, did you say?” He glanced around the main cabin, saw nothing out of line and looked back at her for an explanation.

She half turned in her seat to face him, then slapped one hand against the armrest. “First, I already told you, the arrangement of the seats. There are only ten of them on this plane, but you’ve got them lined up in standard formation, with the aisle up the middle.”

One eyebrow winged up. “There’s a better way?”

“There’s a different way, and that is what you said you wanted.”

“True. All right then, tell me what you mean.”

A light burned in her eyes as she gave him a quick grin. Unbuckling her seat belt, she stood up, looked down the length of the plane, then back to him.

“Okay. It’s not just the seats,” she said, “the colors are all wrong.”

A bit insulted, as he’d paid a designer a huge sum to come up with a color palette that was both soothing and neutral, he asked, “What the bloody hell is wrong with beige?”

She shook her head sadly. “It’s beige, Sean. Could any color be more ordinary?”

“I’ve had it on good authority that beige is calming and instills a sense of trust in the passenger.”

“Who told you that?” she asked, tipping her head to one side as she studied him. “A man?”

He scowled. “I’m a man, if you’ve forgotten.”

She gave him a wicked smile. “That’s one thing I’m certain of.”

He stood up, too, but she skipped back a pace to keep some distance between them. “But you’re not a designer.”

“I’m not, no.” Considering, thinking, he watched her and said, “All right, then. Tell me what it is you’re thinking, Georgia.”

“Okay …” She took a breath and said, “First, the carpeting. It looks like the kind you see in a dentist’s office. Trust me when I say that is not soothing.”

He frowned thoughtfully at the serviceable, easy-to-clean carpet.

“It should be plush. Let a passenger’s feet sink into it when they step on board.” She wagged a finger at him. “Instant luxurious feel and people will notice.”

“Thick carpet.”

“Not beige,” she added quickly. “I think blue. Like the color of a summer sky.”

“Uh-huh.”

She ran one hand across the back of the leather seat again. “These are comfortable, but again. Beige. Really?”

“You recommend blue again?” he asked, enjoying the animation on her face.

“No, for the seats, gray leather.” She looked up at him. “The color of the fog that creeps in from the ocean at night. It’ll go great with the blue carpet and it’ll be different. Make Irish Air stand out from the crowd. And—” She paused as if she were wondering if she’d already gone too far.

He crossed his arms over his chest. “Go on, no reason to stop now.”

“Okay, don’t line the seats up like bored little soldiers. Clump them.”

“Clump?”

“Yeah,” she said. “In conversational groups. Like seats on a train. You said this is the midsize jet, right? So your others are even wider. Make use of that space. Make the interior welcoming. Two seats facing back, two forward. And stagger them slightly too, so the people sitting on the right side of the plane aren’t directly opposite those on the left. Not everyone wants strangers listening in to conversations.”

She walked down the aisle and pointed. “Have the last two back here, separate from the others. A romantic spot that seems cozy and set apart.”

He looked at the configuration of his jet and in his mind’s eye, pictured what she was describing. He liked it. More, he could see that she was right. He’d seen the same sort of design on private corporate jets, of course, but not on a passenger line. Offering that kind of difference would help set Irish Air apart. The congenial airline. The jets that made travel a treat. And gray seats on pale blue carpet would look more attractive than the beige. Why hadn’t he thought of that?

Better yet, why hadn’t the “expert” he’d hired to design the interiors thought of it?

“Oh, and I hate those nasty little overhead light beams on airplanes. It’s always so hard to arrow them down on what you want to read.” Georgia looked at the slope of the walls, then back to him. “You could have small lamps attached to the hull. Like sconces. Brass—no, pewter. To go with the gray seats and offset the blue.”

She reached down and lifted a table that was folded down into itself. Opening it, she pointed to the space on the wall just above. “And here, a bud vase, also affixed to the hull, with fresh flowers.”

Sean liked it. Liked all of it. And the excitement in her eyes fired his own.

“Oh, and instead of the standard, plastic, pull-down shades on the windows, have individual drapes.” She leaned over and put her hands to either side of one of the portholes. “Tiny, decorative curtain rods—also pewter—and a square of heavy, midnight-blue fabric …”

Before he could comment on that, she’d straightened up and walked past him to the small galley area. The flight attendant was sitting in the cockpit with the pilot and copilot, so there was no one in her way as she explored the functional kitchen setup.

She stepped out again and studied the wall with a flat-screen television attached to it. “The bathroom is right here, yes?”

“One of them,” he said. “There’s another in the back.”

“So, if you get rid of the big TV—and you should have individual screens at the seating clumps—and expand the bathroom wall another foot or so into the cabin,” she took another quick look around the corner at the galley. “That gives you a matching extra space in the kitchen. And that means you could expand your menu. Offer a variety of foods that people won’t get anywhere else.”

He could bloody well see it, Sean thought. Frowning, he studied the interior of the jet and saw it not as it was now, but as it could be. As it would be, he told himself, the moment they got back to Ireland and he could fire the designer who’d suggested ordinary for his extraordinary airline.

Following Georgia’s train of thought was dizzying, but the woman knew what she was talking about. She painted a picture a blind man could see and appreciate. Why she’d wasted her talent on selling houses, he couldn’t imagine.

“You could even offer cribs for families traveling with babies.” She was still talking. “If you bolt it down in the back there and have, I don’t know, a harness or something for the baby to wear while it sleeps, that gives the mom a little time to relax, too.”

He was nodding, making mental notes, astonished at the flow of brilliant ideas Georgia had. “You’ve a clever mind,” he said softly. “And an artist’s eye.”

She grinned at him and the pleasure in her eyes was something else a blind man could see.

“What’s in the back of the plane, through that door?” she asked, already headed toward it.

“Something I’d planned to show you later,” he told her with a wink. Then he took her hand and led her down the narrow, ordinary aisle between boring beige seats. Opening the door, he ushered her inside, then followed her and closed the door behind them.

“You have a bedroom on your jets?” she asked, clearly shocked at the sight of the double bed, bedecked with a dark blue duvet and a half-dozen pillows. The shades were drawn over the windows, filling the room with shadow. Georgia looked up at him, shaking her head.

“This plane is mine,” Sean told her. “I use it to fly all over the damn place for meetings and such, and so I want a place to sleep while I travel.”

“And the seats that fold into beds aren’t enough for you?”

“Call it owner’s privilege,” he said, walking closer, steadily urging her backward until the backs of her knees hit the edge of the mattress and she plopped down. Swinging her hair back from her face, she looked up at him.

“And do you need help designing this room, too?” she asked, tongue firmly in cheek.

“If I did, I now know who to call,” he assured her.

“Does that door have a lock on it?” she asked, sliding her gaze to the closed door and then back to him.

“It does.”

“Why don’t you give it a turn, then?”

“Another excellent idea,” Sean said, and moved to do just that.

Then he looked down at her and was caught by her eyes. The twilight shine of them. The clever mind behind them. Staring into her eyes was enough to mesmerize a man, Sean thought. He took a breath and dragged the scent of her into his lungs, knowing that air seemed empty without her scent flavoring it.

Slowly, she slipped her shoes off, then lay back on the mattress, spreading her arms wide, so that she looked like a sacrifice to one of the old gods. But the welcoming smile on her face told him that she wanted him as much as he did her.

In seconds, then, he was out of his clothes and helping her off with hers. The light was dim in the room, but he saw all he needed to see in her eyes. When he touched her, she arched into him and a sigh teased a smile onto her lips.

“Scáthanna bheith agat,” he whispered. Amazing how often he felt the old language well up inside him when he was with her. It seemed only Irish could help him say what he was feeling.

She swept her fingers through his hair and said, “I love when you speak Gaelic. What did you say that time?”

“I said, ‘Shadows become you,’” he told her, then dipped his head for a kiss.

“You make my heart melt sometimes, Sean,” she admitted, her voice little more than a hush of sound.

That knot in his guts tightened further as words he might have said, but wouldn’t, caught in his throat. Right now, more words were unnecessary anyway, he told himself.

Instead, he kissed her again, taking his time, tasting her, tangling his tongue with hers until neither of them were thinking. Until all either of them felt was the need for each other. He would take his time and savor every luscious inch of her. Indulge them both with a slow loving that would ease away the ragged edges they had been living with and remind them both how good they were together.

Well, Georgia told herself later that night, Sean was right about one thing. Flying Irish Air did deliver you to your destination feeling bright-eyed and alert. Of course, great sex followed by a nap on a real bed probably hadn’t hurt, either.

Now Sean was out picking up some dinner, and she was left staring into her closet trying to decide what to pack, what to give away and what to toss.

“Who’m I trying to kid?” she asked aloud. “I’m taking my clothes with me. All of ‘em.”

She glanced at the stack of packing boxes on the floor beside her and sighed. Then her gaze moved around her bedroom in the condo she and Laura used to share.

She’d had good times in this house. Sort of surprising, too, since when she’d arrived here to move in with her sister, she hadn’t really been in a good place mentally. Marriage dissolved, bank account stripped and ego crushed, she’d slowly, day by day, rebuilt a life for herself.

“And now,” she whispered, “I’m building another.”

“Talking to yourself? Not a good sign.”

She whirled around to find Sean standing in the open doorway, holding a pizza box that smelled like heaven while he watched her with amusement glittering in his eyes.

In self-defense, she said, “I have to talk to myself, since I’m the only one who really understands me.”