Married To My Billionaire Rival

(Nathaniel's POV)

As I was walking towards the plane field with my personal assistant, I caught sight of a familiar lady I hadn't seen in years.

Laura Whitfield the lady I'd been dreaming about for two years now.

I can't quite remember when it started, but all I know is that I always found myself wanting to see her dismantle my pitch with nothing but a raised eyebrow and a sentence that landed harder than anything my own board had said to me in months. She had this way of tilting her head slightly when she was about to win an argument, like she already knew the outcome and was simply waiting for the rest of the room to catch up. Dark hair that she always kept pulled back in something severe and professional, though it never quite disguised how striking she was sharp cheekbones, warm brown eyes that missed nothing, a mouth that curved into something dangerously close to a smirk whenever she'd bested me on a deal. She dressed like she meant business and carried herself like she'd never once doubted she belonged in any room she walked into. I remember thinking, even then, that I'd never met anyone who could make losing feel almost worth it. Every quarter after that, I told myself the only reason I looked forward to seeing her name on a rival proposal was the competition. It was easier than admitting the truth that I looked forward to seeing her, regardless of what deal either of us was chasing.

And then, two years ago, she simply vanished.

No announcement, no farewell circuit through the industry events she used to dominate, no listing under her name anywhere I could find.

I never understood, back then, why her absence bothered me as much as it did. I understood it a great deal better standing across from her at that gate, watching her try to hold herself together over news I didn't yet have the full shape of, and feeling something in my chest tighten in a way two years hadn't managed to dull in the slightest.

She looked different than I remembered thinner, maybe, tired in a way that had nothing to do with the flight, her hair looser than she used to wear it, a few strands falling loose around her face like she hadn't had the energy that morning to care. And still, somehow, she was the most beautiful thing I'd seen in two years.

The walk to the plane was quiet. Once we'd boarded and taken our seats, the air hostess walked toward us.

"Good morning, sir, ma'am." The name tag on her dress read Elena.

I turned toward Laura to ask her what she wanted.

"Just water, please," Laura replied, looking out the window.

"Why don't you relax and let me help you with your bag," I said, standing up from my seat across from her and taking her bag. "Try to rest before we land."

"Okay," she said, sounding tired, her fingers working at the seatbelt buckle with more difficulty than the mechanism actually warranted.

"Here." I leaned forward, a jolt running through me the moment our hands touched. She pulled hers back immediately, clasping them in her lap.

My hands found the belt beside hers, guiding the clasp into place with a practiced click. As my gaze lingered on her, I could feel the warmth radiating off her skin, could see the fine tremor still lingering in her fingers from where we'd touched, could smell whatever she'd worn that morning something faint and fruity.

She looked up at me then, closer than either of us had been in two years, and for a second neither of us moved.

If I just moved a bit, I could kiss her right there. I remembered the breathless kiss we'd had at a charity event we'd both been invited to, the two of us standing too close in a hallway, mid-argument.

"It's not my fault you can't keep up," I'd said to her.

"You know I wanted that contract. You went behind my back to sabotage it," she'd screamed in my face, stepping closer.

"Can you prove that?"

Before she could reply, I'd decided to shut her up.

The moment my lips touched hers, I'd never felt so lightheaded in my life. The kiss started slowly as she parted her lips, and I groaned as our tongues intertwined. Her hand curled into the front of my shirt like she needed something to hold onto, and I cupped her jaw like I'd been waiting for this moment to happen. She tasted like strawberry.

When she pulled back, her eyes were wide, startled, like she'd surprised herself as much as she had me. "That shouldn't have happened," she'd whispered.

I nodded, still holding her close.

Neither of us moved to put the distance back between us.

If only she'd waited then, before walking away.