Emily had never been on a private jet before.
She tried not to let it show—how her eyes lingered on the sleek leather seats, the soft hum of the engines, the subtle scent of expensive cologne and polished wood. Everything was cream and gold, understated but impossible to ignore.
Like everything Damian Walker touched.
He was already seated when she boarded, dressed in a crisp black suit, a navy shirt beneath, collar unbuttoned but still looking too sharp to be casual. His eyes flicked up as she stepped into the cabin—but only for a moment.
"Morning," he said.
She returned it with a polite nod. "Morning, Mr. Walker."
He said nothing else.
No mention of the night she'd spent at his house. No small talk. Not even the slightest twitch of expression.
Just… cold professionalism.
Her stomach dipped.
She took the seat across from him, adjusting the hem of her blazer as she sat. Before the silence could stretch too long, another voice broke through the cabin.
"Now this is a view I didn't expect."
She turned to see a man stepping aboard, all easy charm and tousled brown hair. He was dressed more relaxed—dark jeans, blazer open, a sleek watch peeking from under his cuff. Handsome in that movie-star-who-refuses-press kind of way.
"Alex Cooper," he said with a grin, extending a hand to her. "You must be Emily. The assistant who keeps Mr. Walker from turning into a complete machine."
She laughed softly and shook his hand. "I try."
"Try? I heard you practically run the company behind the curtain."
"I just run the calendar."
"Even worse. That makes you terrifying."
Damian didn't say a word.
Alex dropped into the seat beside her, clearly unconcerned. "Hope you don't mind my tagging along. Damian's dragging me to those Valmere meetings too. Apparently, billion-dollar deals are more palatable when your charming friend is there to translate his icy stares."
Emily smiled, despite herself. "Well, I'm happy for the company."
"Oh, good. I've already decided you're my in-flight entertainment."
"I'm flattered. I think."
He winked. "Don't worry. You'll earn it."
Damian cleared his throat.
The quiet shift in air pressure made Emily glance across at him. He hadn't moved, but there was something colder in the set of his jaw. Something sharp in the way he looked at Alex now.
But Alex, clearly unbothered, leaned back in his seat and started talking about Miami, about all the terrible coffee he'd endured on previous business trips, and how this time, he was determined to find a decent cup before Damian could pull him into back-to-back meetings.
Emily laughed more than once.
And each time she did, she felt the shift from across the aisle. Damian's posture stiffened. His gaze flicked their way. But he never said a word. Just sat there, quiet and unreadable, eyes dark and still like deep water.
At one point, when Alex leaned a little closer to show her something on his phone—some ridiculous meme about executive burnout—she laughed harder than she meant to. It felt good, easy, normal.
And when she glanced up…
Damian was watching her.
Not smiling.
Not blinking.
Just watching.
A silent stare that made the heat crawl up the back of her neck.
Alex leaned back again and grinned. "I think your boss is wondering if I'm trying to steal his assistant."
Emily didn't know how to respond.
Because suddenly… she didn't know if he was wrong.
---
The rest of the flight was a strange mix of comfort and tension. She and Alex fell into casual conversation, and he was kind—funny, light, never inappropriate. But every moment of ease between them only seemed to tighten the air around Damian.
He remained polite. Controlled.
But he didn't speak to her again.
Not once.
And as the jet began its descent into Jacksonville, Emily sat in silence, heart fluttering for reasons she didn't fully understand.
Not because of the flight.
Not because of the business.
But because she wasn't sure how much longer she could pretend Damian Walker's silence didn't mean everything.