EMILY
We flew to Idaho on, of course, Nicholas’s ridiculously expensive, obnoxiously private jet. Leather seats that reclined like beds, champagne that kept appearing out of nowhere, and hostesses who seemed determined to feed us every hour on the hour. The rich really did live on another planet.
I scooted closer to him on the plush seat, kicking off my shoes. “You know… I’ve been thinking.”
Nicholas turned to me slowly, suspicious already. “That sounds dangerous.”
I rolled my eyes. “I’ve been wasting away in your fancy mansion for months. Don’t get me wrong, it’s… splendid,” I drawled, gesturing vaguely, “but I need to do something. Something real. Maybe go back to school, start a business plan or something.”
He muttered something that sounded suspiciously like a prayer. “What do you
