The roar of jet engines whispered in the distance as the black SUV rolled toward the private hangar, headlights slicing through the early dusk. Damien sat in the backseat, eyes locked on the tarmac ahead, mind already halfway to Isabella. His pilot was prepping the Gulfstream. The crew was ready.
Everything was running smoothly and they were almost there, until—
Rrrrring. Rrrrring.
His phone vibrates violently in his coat pocket. Damien glanced at the caller ID.
Olivia.
He picked it up with a tight breath. “Not now, Liv.”
Her voice was sharper than usual. “Where are you?”
“I said not now. I have a jet to catch. I literally don’t have time for your micromanaging bullshit.”
“You don’t have time?” she cut in coldly. “You don’t have time for the disaster you just caused?”
Damien’s bro
