Blurred Lines

Find Out For Yourself

I had never been a light traveler. Packing my necessities in two hours was a record-breaking success in my lifetime.

Throughout the drive to the airport, Georgia’s words played like a song out of tune in my head. I didn’t press on what she meant by it. She volunteered to cover for me in the office and why the sudden change of plans. I didn’t ask why she was so willing to help me. She had her reasons, and I had mine. As long as I get to get away from Kyle, I don’t mind what hidden agenda Georgia has.

My phone kept buzzing in my hand, Kyle’s face and name flashing on the screen.

The sun was already up when I reached the airport. Georgia promised our company driver, Efraim, would meet me there with my plane ticket and client files. I have no idea how she’ll get me a flight on short notice, but I have to trust her, ironically.

With his bald head and beer belly, Efraim wasn’t hard to spot in the crowd, even though he was three inches shorter than me. Holding a manila envelope in one hand, he waved and offered a huge grin.

“Ms. G said you’re leaving?” he asked, passing the envelope.

“For business,” I said, avoiding a longer conversation with Efraim. “Georgia got me a flight?” I asked, looking for a plane ticket inside the envelope, brows furrowing when I found none.

“She didn’t,” Efraim answered, chuckling.

“What?” panic rose from the pit of my belly.

Kyle had already figured out everything by now. The opened message on his phone, my engagement ring, and he’ll know I’d want to cool off before facing the situation. I was never good at confrontation, especially when I was too emotional to be rational. People might think this is a cowardly way to deal with situations, but I don’t want to say things I might regret out of anger.

“She didn’t book you a flight,” Efraim reiterated. “She got you a private jet.”

“What?” I repeated my question in a whisper.

~~

Bewildered, I sat on the flush gray leather seat, taking in the palatial interior of Mr. Montiero’s private jet. In front of me were a glass table and another set of 2 chairs. Wedge on the other side of the plane was a comfy-looking long couch. It appears to be softer than the bed I sleep on every night.

I stretched my legs, sighing. At LBPR, we travel in business class, but this experience would be one for the books. There was so much leg room, and the seat was so soft it felt like I was sitting on clouds. Maybe it was just the lack of sleep, but I was already half asleep when the crew offered me a drink.

“Miss Collins, would you like tea, coffee, water?” a very attractive, groomed, blond young woman smiled pleasantly. She wore the sharpest charcoal suit jacket and white shirt I had ever seen.

“A glass of water, thank you,” I said, suddenly feeling thirsty.

She looked thoughtful for a while, taking my appearance in. Thinking I’d be flying on an economy flight, I dressed in a t-shirt and jeans. I’m beginning to wish I didn’t wear my sneakers and put a little makeup on my puffy cheeks and eyes.

“May I also offer you breakfast, Miss Collins? It is a long flight to Rio,” she said, a gentle smile on her lips.

I considered her offer, glancing at the couch behind her. Eyes taking in the stunning white, gray, and black accentuated interior of the jet and the clear blue sky through the window as we flew above the clouds, I lowered my voice and asked, “would it be okay if I sleep on that couch?”

She glanced at the couch and back at me. “The cabin is much more comfortable for a rest,” she said.

My eyes probably lit up like a New Year's Eve at her words.

~~

If I’d described sleeping in Mr. Montiero’s cabin, it would be flabbergasting. I thought I already knew what sleeping like a queen felt on Kyle’s thousand-dollar memory foam mattress, but this was another level of comfort. I could say that I slept on clouds, literally and figuratively.

I was rejuvenated when we landed in Rio. The private jet had its own bathroom, complete with a shower and tub, which I wish to enjoy if there was a repeat of this experience.

A car was already waiting for me on the tarmac.

‘Just how rich is this Montiero guy I’d be working with?’ I haven’t opened the client folder since Efraim handed it to me. I don’t even know what job they’d require me to do.

“Where to Miss?” The driver in a black and white suit surprised me.

“Excuse me?” I asked, meeting his eyes through the rearview mirror.

His brown eyes watched me carefully before he said, “to the office or the penthouse.”

“Penthouse?” I parroted, baffled.

“Uh, yes?” he tilted his head to the side. “You’d be staying at one of Mr. Montiero’s penthouses.”

“Damn,” I murmured, catching myself too late.

The driver chuckled, his eyes crinkling on the side. “I gathered you haven’t read his file yet?”

I only noticed then that he had a perfect American accent even though he had those sexy Brazilian deep eyes and sharp jaws. His dark curly hair was neatly brushed back, yet a few strands mischievously fell on his forehead.

Cheeks reddening, I shook my head. “Let me give you a brief background about the boss.” Throwing an arm on the back of the passenger seat, he faced me with a dazzling smile on his lips. “The ones before you didn’t even last a week. They studied his behavior for months, pitched big plans, and promised the board they could change his image.” He chuckled, turning to start the car. The gentle hum of the engine brought me back to reality.

Since he already knew my secret of coming here unprepared, I dared ask. “What image do I need to change, exactly?”

The man chuckled. “Find out for yourself.”

Through the drive, I pulled out the client files from my bag. Reading from page after page, I saw nothing unusual. Chase Montiero, the thirty-two-year-old CEO of Montiero Holdings. The job requires LBPR to change his playboy image and turn him into a model citizen in six months. No picture was attached to the client file, so I searched for Chase Montiero online.

He had no social media account, but the internet provided me with endless pictures of a man with different girls wrapped around his body. There was no clear picture of him, though. Most of them were stolen shots and blurry in a club or party, or he’d be looking the other way from the camera. He was tall and had a body fitting a GQ model. His hair was dark. I couldn’t tell if it was brown or black, but what caught me was that familiarity when I zoomed in on one of his images.

His eyes, though, were so familiar, as if I had seen him before.

“We’re here,” the driver announced, pulling me from stalking my client online.

I glanced on the side, a huge twenty or so story building, curved glass and steel with MONTIERO HOLDINGS written discreetly over the glass front door.

“Thank you…” I echoed.

“It’s Rafael,” he said, sliding out of the car. He opened the door for me, tossing the keys to the man in a black and white suit who approached us.

Rafael talked to the guy in their native language, another proof of my rushed decisions. I don’t even know the basics of Portuguese.

“Come on.” Rafael led me inside the building.

Behind the sandstone desk, a woman in a blue suit jacket greeted Rafael. He only nodded at her and pressed a hand on my lower back, guiding me inside the elevator. I’m beginning to wonder if Rafael was more than a driver.

Clutching the strap of my bag, I bit my lip as the elevator car ascended. Maybe I should have headed to the penthouse first and called Georgia. The elevator stopped at the twenty-eight floor, slashing that option off the table.

Rafael waited for me to step out first. He once again led me through the hallway, nodding at the woman behind the desk who greeted him. We stopped in front of a wooden double door. My client’s name written in frosted glass concluded my journey with Rafael.

He knocked on the door and received no response. Rafael sighed and turned to me with an apologetic smile. “He’s probably on the rooftop.” He glanced at his wristwatch, shaking his head. “You can wait inside. I’ll just get him.”

He was gone before I could construct a response. I stood there and watched Rafael disappear through the door on the other end of the hallway, leaving me no choice but to do as he said.

I pushed the door open and instantly regretted it when I saw a man and a woman by the glass window in a rather scandalous position.