laugh a lot.”
“Oh.”
Kyle sat on the bench at the foot of her bed, tapped the face of the tablet and restarted a numbers game. “I like Mr. Drake.”
“Why?”
He shrugged. “Because he is cool.”
Great. Even her son was smitten. Well, Mr. Cool made Mommy hot, and glad that Luther Adams was Kyle’s main teacher. Not good for her son to get too attached to a man in their lives only temporarily. She walked over to the closet and stood in front of a row of shoes, deciding. She was in no way trying to impress Mr. Drake, but still bypassed the comfy flats and chose a pair of strappy crystal-covered stilettos to pair with her black skinny jeans and off-the-shoulder cream-colored top. “Go get your Power Ranger backpack. It’s packed with clothes for you.”
Kyle looked up. “Where am I going?”
“Oh. I didn’t tell you? You’ve been invited to Conner’s house for an overnight playdate.”
“Awesome!”
She laughed as he ran from the room, his interest in Mommy’s date, who just happened to be with Mr. Cool, totally forgotten. It had been Lauren’s idea to have Kyle spend the night. They were good friends who shared almost everything. Lauren was probably just as excited that Aliyah might get some as she was.
A few minutes later and they were in the car and headed to the Hensleys, whose house was mere blocks away. She only had a few minutes once they arrived, but she still got out of the car to greet her mentor and best friend.
“Hey, girl.”
“Hey yourself. Don’t you look snazzy!” Leaning in, Lauren whispered, “I especially love those F-me pumps.”
Rather than disagree, Aliyah cosigned. “If I’m lucky!”
They laughed and high-fived.
Aliyah had met Lauren during her sophomore year in high school. At that time, Lauren worked as a counselor at the academy Aliyah attended. A raven-haired, free-spirited thirtysomething cutie from California, Lauren quickly picked up on some of Aliyah’s classmates’ antics. She paid special attention to Aliyah, not only for that reason, but also because she was so smart. And driven, too. When Aliyah announced her plans to become a doctor, Lauren was her biggest cheerleader, helping Aliyah choose appropriate classes and complete scholarship applications. Once Aliyah graduated high school, the two kept in touch and when she got pregnant, it was Lauren that Aliyah went to first with the news, ashamed to tell her mother for fear of being a disappointment. Somewhere between then and the time Kyle was born, mentor and mentee became best friends. A short time later Lauren’s husband, a professor, landed a job at the University of California at Davis, a college located close to where Lauren had grown up. She jumped at the chance to move back west and once she found out about the college’s residency program, lobbied for Aliyah to finish there.
After pulling out money for Kyle’s entertainment, a move that Lauren summarily rebuffed, Aliyah waved goodbye. Before leaving Lauren’s driveway, she typed the address Terrell had texted her into the GPS. He hadn’t told her the name of where they were meeting. Not that it mattered. Since arriving a month ago, Aliyah’s world had basically been work, home and Kyle’s school. Wherever they were meeting was likely someplace she’d not been before.
Fifteen minutes later and not only was she somewhere she’d never been before, but it was also some place she never would have guessed he’d ask her to meet.
Terrell exited his car as she pulled up, his eyes sparkling, smile wide. “Hello, beautiful.”
“Hey.” She stepped into his open arms for a hug. “What is this place?”
“An airport, Aliyah. Small, I know, but all that we need.”
She gave him a look. “Thanks for stating the obvious. Where are we going?”
“San Francisco.”
“Are you serious?”
“You said we couldn’t meet in Paradise Cove. I couldn’t think of an appropriate place for this night in Davis. So we’re going to San Francisco.”
“And we’re flying? I heard it’s only an hour’s drive away.”
“More like ninety minutes, depending on traffic. Why get stuck in traffic when you can fly over it?”
The logic of the rich, much like Kyle’s father, except without a snobbish tone. Still, every similarity to Ernest Westcott was a strike against Terrell Drake. But given the emotional distance she planned to maintain, that was probably a good thing.
They entered the regional airport hangar and walked over to a sleek private jet where two men, one casually dressed in button-down and slacks, the other wearing a stained gray uniform, stood talking. Mr. Casual saw them approaching and broke away from the worker, who turned and walked into an office.
“Mr. Drake!”
“Stan, my man!” The two men shook hands. Terrell turned to Aliyah. “Stan, I’d like you to meet Aliyah Robinson, an east coast transplant suffering from a case of small-townitis.”
Stan smiled as he held out his hand. “San Francisco is a great remedy for that disease. A pleasure to meet you.”
Aliyah greeted him. “Likewise.”
“Are we ready to go? I saw you in discussion with the mechanic.”
“We were just shooting the breeze. We’re all set. Inspection completed. Gauges checked. Bar is stocked. Just waiting on you.”
“After you.” Terrell stepped aside so that Aliyah could precede him up the steps. Midway, she turned quickly. As expected, his eyes were squarely on her assets.
“Hey, it’s directly in my line of vision!”
“You’re obsessed,” she said with a chuckle, and continued up the steps. Ernest’s family had chartered private jets on occasion, for events to which she’d not been invited. This was her first time inside one. If its interior was any indication of how the Drakes lived, theirs was a lavish, luxurious lifestyle. She took it all in: buttery leather seats, mahogany trim, crystal this, platinum that. All the discomfort from earlier returned.
Terrell motioned for Aliyah to sit in one of two front seats, watching her as she did so. “You all right?”
She nodded.
“You’re not afraid of flying are you?”
“No, but I’m usually on a bigger plane.”
“Don’t worry,” Terrell said, continuing to the bar that was midway back. “This is one of the safest planes out there and when it comes to pilots, Stan is top-notch. He flew fighter jets in the air force. He can do this hop to San Fran in his sleep. What can I get you to drink?”
“What are you having?”
“Let’s pop a bottle—make it a celebration.”
“What are we celebrating?”
