The VIP Doubles Down
Page 61
Gavin’s hand closed over hers where she gripped the armrest, his fingers warm and strong. “Morley Safer claimed that helicopters induce a view of the world that only God and CEOs share on a regular basis.”
“Which category do you put yourself in?” she asked.
He laughed and gave her hand a playful squeeze. “In my fictional world, I play God.”
“I figured CEO was too boring for you,” she said, tensing as the chopper dipped suddenly.
“It’s just a touch of turbulence over the river. Think of the air as a road with a few potholes in it,” Gavin said.
“Potholes, right. In New York, you can break an axle in one of those.”
The laughter left Gavin’s face. “I would never put you in danger.”
That reassured her more than his pothole analogy. She nodded.
With that, Gavin switched into tour-guide mode, pointing out landmarks and tossing out intriguing facts or funny stories about them. “How do you know all this stuff?” Allie asked.
“Research. No one understands how much of it goes into a work of fiction. They think I can make it all up because my characters aren’t real. But the settings are real, so the buildings and streets, the sounds and smells, even the quality of the light in any given season need to be accurate.” He tapped his temple. “Of course, the weird, useless factoids are what stick in my brain.”
As they flew over Queens and Long Island, Allie began to understand Morley Safer’s quotation. They were close enough to see details, like the color of the cars in parking lots, but high enough to grasp the larger picture of the geography spread out around them like a relief map.
As they flew farther east, the expanse of the Atlantic Ocean began to dominate the view. A few ships crawled over its corrugated gray surface, but mostly it was empty as it stretched to the horizon.
“Make sure your seat belts are snug. It’s windy, so we might hit a few bumps on the way down,” the pilot’s voice said.
Allie tightened her hold on the armrest again, but her nerves were only mildly frayed by the occasional jolting. Gavin’s fingers were wrapped around hers as though he would never let go. She gave him a grateful smile and found him watching her.
“Mark flew combat choppers in the Middle East,” he said. “He could land this craft in a hurricane under missile fire without breaking a sweat.”
“As long as you’re holding my hand, I’m fine.” She turned her hand under his so she could return his grasp.
He looked startled, his gaze jerking down to their intertwined grip. He flexed his fingers as though he was testing the strength of their connection. “I’m not sure I’m worthy of such trust.”
“Believe me, I trusted Ludmilla far more when I gave her Pie.”
He sat back, his dark hair disheveled against the red leather of the seat. “Ruth would like you.”
“Ruth?” Allie’s grip on his hand turned convulsive as the helicopter jinked sideways.
“My oldest stepsister. She never lets me get away with anything, either.”
Chapter 20
The helipad was just an asphalt-paved rectangle that faced Shinnecock Bay. As Gavin helped her out, Allie felt the chill of the sea air cutting through her clothes. It smelled of brine and foam and deep, rolling waves.
She started to look around, but her attention was drawn to the man beside her, his head thrown back as he faced into the wind, his black clothes plastered against his long, lean body, his hair combed away from his face by fingers of moving air, and his nostrils flaring as he inhaled. He looked as though he could wield the power of the elements with a gesture of his hand, and she remembered her impression of him as a dark wizard.
He turned to meet her gaze, his eyes lightened to almost silver by some emotion she couldn’t name. “Thank you for coming here.”
She surveyed the starkly beautiful salt marsh in front of them. “I’m glad I did.”
Gavin steered her toward a chain-link fence that separated the landing pad from Meadow Lane, the two-lane road Gavin’s house was located on. Gavin had given her all the local names as they flew in, but he hadn’t shown her his house from the air.
Across the road was another asphalt rectangle surrounded by dunes, the parking lot for cars meeting incoming passengers. A single car stood in it, the driver leaning against the front bumper.
“You rich guys are really into reverse psychology,” Allie said, pulling her jacket closer around her.
“What do you mean?”
“When you said we were landing at the Southampton heliport, I expected something more than two patches of asphalt. Can’t one of you billionaires at least spring for a trailer here?”
“We didn’t get to be billionaires by wasting money on a trailer when our drivers meet us right across the street.” He guided her over the roadway to the waiting Bentley. “You should see this parking lot in the summer. It’s wall-to-wall Bentleys, Maseratis, Ferraris, and Rolls-Royces.”
“If you drive a Lexus, are you allowed to park here?”
“Only in the very back of the lot,” Gavin said, before he nodded to his driver, who was holding the Bentley’s door open. “Afternoon, Linda.”
Allie had been eyeing the car, trying to decide if it was an exact twin of the one Pie was riding out in. When she heard the female name, her gaze went to the chauffeur, an attractive young woman with her hair tucked up under her cap. Allie smiled at Linda as she slid into the back of the car and gave Gavin a gold star for his lack of sexism.
As the car glided down Meadow Lane, Allie peered out the window, trying to catch glimpses of the beachfront mansions. Many were behind gates or dunes, but occasionally she got a sense of how large the houses were. “I guess you never pop over to the neighbors’ to borrow a cup of sugar.”
“Sugar? No, but I might beg a fifth of bourbon on a dreary Sunday.”
“Seriously, do you know any of your neighbors?”
“Yes, but we all pay a great deal for privacy, so I wouldn’t drop in for a visit unannounced.”
“That’s kind of sad. Anyone famous?”
“If you’re looking for actors or singers, no. They gravitate toward East Hampton. Southampton is a staid crowd of financiers and businessmen.”
“How’d you get in?” she teased.
“Money. The Hamptons are very democratic that way.”
“Which category do you put yourself in?” she asked.
He laughed and gave her hand a playful squeeze. “In my fictional world, I play God.”
“I figured CEO was too boring for you,” she said, tensing as the chopper dipped suddenly.
“It’s just a touch of turbulence over the river. Think of the air as a road with a few potholes in it,” Gavin said.
“Potholes, right. In New York, you can break an axle in one of those.”
The laughter left Gavin’s face. “I would never put you in danger.”
That reassured her more than his pothole analogy. She nodded.
With that, Gavin switched into tour-guide mode, pointing out landmarks and tossing out intriguing facts or funny stories about them. “How do you know all this stuff?” Allie asked.
“Research. No one understands how much of it goes into a work of fiction. They think I can make it all up because my characters aren’t real. But the settings are real, so the buildings and streets, the sounds and smells, even the quality of the light in any given season need to be accurate.” He tapped his temple. “Of course, the weird, useless factoids are what stick in my brain.”
As they flew over Queens and Long Island, Allie began to understand Morley Safer’s quotation. They were close enough to see details, like the color of the cars in parking lots, but high enough to grasp the larger picture of the geography spread out around them like a relief map.
As they flew farther east, the expanse of the Atlantic Ocean began to dominate the view. A few ships crawled over its corrugated gray surface, but mostly it was empty as it stretched to the horizon.
“Make sure your seat belts are snug. It’s windy, so we might hit a few bumps on the way down,” the pilot’s voice said.
Allie tightened her hold on the armrest again, but her nerves were only mildly frayed by the occasional jolting. Gavin’s fingers were wrapped around hers as though he would never let go. She gave him a grateful smile and found him watching her.
“Mark flew combat choppers in the Middle East,” he said. “He could land this craft in a hurricane under missile fire without breaking a sweat.”
“As long as you’re holding my hand, I’m fine.” She turned her hand under his so she could return his grasp.
He looked startled, his gaze jerking down to their intertwined grip. He flexed his fingers as though he was testing the strength of their connection. “I’m not sure I’m worthy of such trust.”
“Believe me, I trusted Ludmilla far more when I gave her Pie.”
He sat back, his dark hair disheveled against the red leather of the seat. “Ruth would like you.”
“Ruth?” Allie’s grip on his hand turned convulsive as the helicopter jinked sideways.
“My oldest stepsister. She never lets me get away with anything, either.”
Chapter 20
The helipad was just an asphalt-paved rectangle that faced Shinnecock Bay. As Gavin helped her out, Allie felt the chill of the sea air cutting through her clothes. It smelled of brine and foam and deep, rolling waves.
She started to look around, but her attention was drawn to the man beside her, his head thrown back as he faced into the wind, his black clothes plastered against his long, lean body, his hair combed away from his face by fingers of moving air, and his nostrils flaring as he inhaled. He looked as though he could wield the power of the elements with a gesture of his hand, and she remembered her impression of him as a dark wizard.
He turned to meet her gaze, his eyes lightened to almost silver by some emotion she couldn’t name. “Thank you for coming here.”
She surveyed the starkly beautiful salt marsh in front of them. “I’m glad I did.”
Gavin steered her toward a chain-link fence that separated the landing pad from Meadow Lane, the two-lane road Gavin’s house was located on. Gavin had given her all the local names as they flew in, but he hadn’t shown her his house from the air.
Across the road was another asphalt rectangle surrounded by dunes, the parking lot for cars meeting incoming passengers. A single car stood in it, the driver leaning against the front bumper.
“You rich guys are really into reverse psychology,” Allie said, pulling her jacket closer around her.
“What do you mean?”
“When you said we were landing at the Southampton heliport, I expected something more than two patches of asphalt. Can’t one of you billionaires at least spring for a trailer here?”
“We didn’t get to be billionaires by wasting money on a trailer when our drivers meet us right across the street.” He guided her over the roadway to the waiting Bentley. “You should see this parking lot in the summer. It’s wall-to-wall Bentleys, Maseratis, Ferraris, and Rolls-Royces.”
“If you drive a Lexus, are you allowed to park here?”
“Only in the very back of the lot,” Gavin said, before he nodded to his driver, who was holding the Bentley’s door open. “Afternoon, Linda.”
Allie had been eyeing the car, trying to decide if it was an exact twin of the one Pie was riding out in. When she heard the female name, her gaze went to the chauffeur, an attractive young woman with her hair tucked up under her cap. Allie smiled at Linda as she slid into the back of the car and gave Gavin a gold star for his lack of sexism.
As the car glided down Meadow Lane, Allie peered out the window, trying to catch glimpses of the beachfront mansions. Many were behind gates or dunes, but occasionally she got a sense of how large the houses were. “I guess you never pop over to the neighbors’ to borrow a cup of sugar.”
“Sugar? No, but I might beg a fifth of bourbon on a dreary Sunday.”
“Seriously, do you know any of your neighbors?”
“Yes, but we all pay a great deal for privacy, so I wouldn’t drop in for a visit unannounced.”
“That’s kind of sad. Anyone famous?”
“If you’re looking for actors or singers, no. They gravitate toward East Hampton. Southampton is a staid crowd of financiers and businessmen.”
“How’d you get in?” she teased.
“Money. The Hamptons are very democratic that way.”
