CRAVING DADDY'S BEST FRIEND

Chapter six: The Twelve hour Horizon

Abigail Macron

The hum of the kitchen extractor fan was the only sound breaking the sudden silence after my father left the room. I stood frozen, my fingers still white where they gripped the edge of the quartz countertop. Tokyo. Caleb hadn't just left the house; he had fled the entire continent, putting a massive, twelve-hour flight between my skin and his guilty conscience.

"He thinks he can run," I whispered, the words tasting like copper on my tongue.

Jasmine’s smirk widened, her eyes flashing with a ruthless, brilliant light. "Then let him run. Tokyo is only a twelve-hour flight, Abby. And your father has a corporate jet. I think it’s time we planned a little vacation."

"A vacation?" I turned to her, my heart doing a strange, frantic flutter. "Jasmine, we can't just follow him to Japan. My dad will know. Caleb will know. It’s insane."

"It’s only insane if we get caught," Jasmine said, stepping closer and tapping her manicured nail against my glass of water. "Think about it. Your father has been nagging you for months to do something with your summer before your senior year of college starts. You’re an art history major, right? Tokyo has the teamLab borderless museums, the contemporary galleries in Roppongi, the traditional woodblock exhibits in Chiyoda. We don't tell your dad we're chasing Caleb. We tell him we're chasing culture."

You are right. My father had spent the last three family dinners lamenting that I was spending too much time locked up in my room, reading and moping. If I handed him a fully formed, intellectually stimulating itinerary, he wouldn't just approve it—he would be so glad to fund it.

"And Caleb?" I asked, my voice dropping to a conspiratorial hiss. "How do we find him? Tokyo is a city of fourteen million people."

"Please," Jasmine scoffed, rolling her eyes as she pulled out her phone. "Caleb is a creature of absolute habit. When he goes to Tokyo for the tech summit, he always stays at the Aman in Otemachi. The top-floor Imperial Suite. I know his executive assistant's login for the corporate travel portal—my dad uses the same system. I can pull up his entire schedule before we even pack a bag."

Within twenty minutes, Jasmine had transformed from my best friend into a tactical mastermind. Spread out on the kitchen island were digital mock-ups of museum tickets, a beautifully formatted PDF titled Abigail & Jasmine: Tokyo Gallery Research Tour, and a detailed, hour-by-hour breakdown of Caleb Macron’s international business trip.

The next morning, we executed the plan.

My father was sitting at the breakfast table, his reading glasses perched on his nose as he sipped his black coffee and scanned the morning market reports. The sun streamed through the high windows of the dining room, making everything look peaceful, orderly, and entirely unsuspecting.

"Morning, Daddy," I said smoothly, walking into the room with a bright, manufactured smile. I leaned down and pressed a kiss to his cheek, smelling the familiar scent of his aftershave.

"Morning, sweetheart," he murmured, not looking up from his tablet. "You look bright-eyed today. Headache completely gone?"

"Completely," I said, sliding into the seat next to him while Jasmine slid into the chair across from us, looking like the picture of innocence in a sundress. "Actually, Jasmine and I were talking last night. I took your advice. I want to do something meaningful with my break before the semester starts."

That caught his attention. My father lowered his tablet, his eyes shining with immediate pride. "Really? What do you have in mind?"

Jasmine seized the opening perfectly. "Well, Mr. Macron, Abby has been talking about doing her senior thesis on modern Asian art structures, and Tokyo is having its huge contemporary biennale this weekend. I told her we should just go. It’s short notice, but it’s a massive networking opportunity for her."

I handed him my phone, which was currently displaying the meticulously crafted itinerary Jasmine had put together. "We’ve already looked into the galleries, Dad. I really think seeing these exhibits in person will give my thesis the edge it needs for graduation."

My father looked at the screen, a massive smile spreading across his face. He was a billionaire, a man who moved pieces on a global financial board, but when it came to his daughter, he was remarkably easy to read. He wanted me to be successful. He wanted me to be the "good, obedient, ambitious girl" he thought he raised.

"Tokyo," he mused, tapping his chin. "It’s a fantastic city. Heavy security, very safe for you two girls. And it just so happens that Caleb flew out there last night for the Chiyoda tech acquisitions."

My breath hitched in my throat, but I kept my face entirely expressionless. "Oh? I didn't know that."

"Yes, he’s staying at Aman," my father said, already pulling out his own phone. "In fact, let me call the hangar. The corporate Gulfstream is just sitting there. No need for you girls to fly commercials. I’ll have them prepare the jet for a 6:00 PM departure tonight."

"Dad, you don't have to do that—" I feigned reluctance, playing the part of the modest daughter to perfection.

"Nonsense," he insisted, already typing out a message to his chief pilot. "If my girl wants to study, she’s definitely going to do it in comfort. And I’ll text Caleb right now. I’ll tell him you two are landing tomorrow morning. He can communicate with his security personnel to pick you up from Haneda Airport and keep an eye on you while you're in the city."

"No!" I said, a little too quickly.

My father blinked, looking up at me in surprise.

Jasmine instantly covered for me, letting out a soft, melodic laugh. "What Abby means, Mr. Macron, is that we don't want to bother Caleb. He’s there for a massive multi-billion-dollar deal. The last thing he needs is two girls dragging him to art museums. We want this trip to be an independent research trip. We can handle our own hotel and transport."

My father chuckled, waving his hand dismissively. "Spoken like true independent women. Fine, fine. I won't force him to be your babysitter. But I am telling him you're in the city. It makes me feel better knowing he’s only a phone call away if you need anything."

"Deal," I whispered, forcing a smile that felt like cracking glass.

By 6:00 PM that evening, the reality of what we were doing fully set in. The hum of the corporate jet’s engines was a low, hypnotic purr that vibrated through the plush leather of my seat as we took off into the sunset. Outside the oval window, the California coastline began to shrink, replaced by an endless expanse of bruised midnight blue and a blanket of silver clouds miles below. We were cutting through time zones at five hundred miles an hour, chasing a man who thought an ocean was wide enough to keep him safe.

I stared at the itinerary on my lap, my eyes tracing the address of the Aman Hotel in Otemachi. He thought he was hiding behind a wall of corporate security and international business. He didn't realize I held the keys to the castle, and that his best friend had just cleared my path straight to him.

"You're doing that thing again," Jasmine said from across the aisle, swirling a glass of white wine. "The thing where you look like you're trying to set the upholstery on fire with your eyes."

"I'm just thinking," I murmured, looking out into the dark horizon.

"Well, stop thinking and start visualizing," Jasmine smirked, her eyes gleaming with genuine appreciation for the chaos we were about to cause. "We landed at Haneda at 4:00 AM local time. According to his schedule, Caleb's first breakfast meeting isn't until ten. That gives us a six-hour window of total vulnerability."

"He won't know what hit him," I whispered, leaning my head back against the leather headrest.

The remaining hours of the flight passed in a blur of restless anticipation. When the captain finally announced our descent, the sky outside was beginning to bleed a pale, watery gold over the Tokyo skyline. The city looked massive, waking up under a morning shroud of mist.

By the time our black sedan slipped through the quiet, pristine streets of Otemachi, the adrenaline in my veins had completely erased any trace of jet lag. The Aman Tokyo loomed above us, a monolithic tower of dark stone and glass that pierced the morning sky.

"I’ll handle the lobby desk," Jasmine said as the valet opened the car doors. She flashed the corporate black card my father had given us, the one that gave us unrestricted VIP access. "Go up. I’ll make sure the personnel assistant doesn't call his room to warn him that David Macron's daughter is on her way up."

"Thanks, Jas," I said, my voice steady, hardened by a reckless, white- tote-hot spark of defiance.

I changed in the luxury restroom of the lobby, shedding my travel clothes for a form-fitting knitted dress that hugged every curve, the hemline stopping dangerously mid-thigh. I brushed my blonde hair until it fell in soft, deliberate waves over my bare shoulders, and used the exact same dark red lipstick across my lips. I didn't look like a student on a research trip. I seemed like a reckoning.

The elevator ride to the penthouse suites was entirely silent, the digital floor indicator climbing with agonizing speed. When the doors slid open into the minimalist, wood-paneled corridor, the air felt heavy, thick with the quiet luxury of the hotel. My heels made no sound against the thick custom runner as I walked down the hall, tracking the room numbers until I stood before the double doors of the Imperial Suite.

I didn't knock. I took a deep breath, slipped the secondary keycard Jasmine had secured into the electronic slot, and waited for the faint green flash of the lock mechanism.

Click.

The door swung open with a soft hiss, revealing a massive, glass-walled living space that overlooked the waking city below. The room was bathed in the gray-gold light of dawn, the minimalist Japanese architecture creating long, sharp shadows across the floor. It was entirely quiet, save for the distinct, low hum of a shower running in the master bathroom to the right.

I stepped inside, closing the heavy door behind me with a deliberate thud that felt terrifyingly final. I walked over to the floor-to-ceiling windows, looking out at the Tokyo tower in the distance, waiting.

A few minutes later, the sound of the running water stopped.

The silence that followed was heavy, expectant. I heard the door to the bathroom open, followed by the soft padding of bare feet against the heated wooden floors. I didn't turn around immediately. I wanted him to see me first.

"I told you to leave the breakfast cart in the hallway—" Caleb’s voice cut through the room, sharp, authoritative, and heavy with sleep.

He stopped mid-sentence.

I turned around slowly, leaning my hips back against the glass window, crossing my legs as I looked at him straight into his face.

Caleb was standing in the archway of the bedroom, entirely frozen. He was wearing nothing but a dark gray towel slung low around his hips, his massive 6'4" frame still glistening with water droplets. His broad shoulders and heavily muscled chest were on full display, the dark hair on his torso trailing down into the tuck of the towel.

His silver-flecked hair was damp, brushed back from his face, and his dark eyes were wide, staring at me as if his worst, most beautiful nightmare had just come to life. He was dazed.

"Hello, Caleb," I breathed, a slow, predatory smile spreading across my lips. "Did you really think an ocean was going to save you from me?”