The Billionaire and the Runaway Bride by Nadia Lee

Chapter Four

Yuna

I walk rapidly down the corridor to my gate, even though I don’t have to hurry to make my flight. The call was for pre-boarding, to help anyone who needs special assistance, as well as premium cabin flyers. They’ll be loading passengers for at least the next fifteen minutes.

But the need to put some distance between me and that man is so overwhelming that I’m acting like the airline just announced, “If you aren’t on the plane in the next two seconds, you aren’t going anywhere. Buh-bye!”

And no, I’m not reacting like this because he acted creepily. The problem is actually—

He looked at me with the most mesmerizing eyes I’ve ever seen. It isn’t that I’ve never seen gray eyes. Americans occasionally have them, and I’ve spent a lot of time in America. But I’ve never seen such a gorgeous shade. It reminds me of the full moon reflected on a deep, dark pool. His lashes are thicker and longer than mine. And upswept, like he used a curler and mascara in the morning, although I know he didn’t.

The sunlight pouring through the glass panels encasing the concourse accentuated his high cheekbones and the bold slant of his inky eyebrows. His lips were almost too full for a man. If it weren’t for the firm line his mouth was set in, I might even say it looked slightly vulnerable—the kind of mouth you want to kiss so he knows he’s not alone.

I couldn’t seem to break eye contact. It was as though his gaze was commanding my attention. All my nerve endings prickled like a current was running through me. My fingertips tingled against the piano keys, and I wished I had some water to wet my mouth.

How embarrassing.

Now I feel hot. I’ve been acting ridiculous because I saw a truly panty-melting face for the first time in my life, in person. Shallow, maybe, but I appreciate gorgeous men, and that one tops my list. I wonder if I’ve seen him before, though. Something felt vaguely familiar…

He’s not a classically trained musician—he didn’t give off the vibe. Not one of the diplomats or businessmen I’ve run into at some high-society function. And he definitely isn’t one of my parents’ hundred dossiers. I would have remembered that face.

What are the odds that he has the right family connections, stock portfolio and real estate holdings to pass my parents’ inspection…?

No, no. Don’t even think about it!That’s like giving in. Admitting defeat to Eugene. I said I was going to get a job, so get a job I will. If I change my mind and go pursue some hottie, Eugene’s going to call me fickle and unable to follow through on anything. Another reason I should marry one of the dossier men my family picked out.

I’d rather eat fast food burgers for the rest of my life.

On second thought, no. I don’t want to gain too much weight and have crappy cholesterol and high blood pressure. Okay, compromise: I’ll just starve for the rest of my life.

Or maybe if that stranger likes to hear me play Schubert, I’ll charge him money, even though I’ve never charged for a performance. Dad doesn’t like the idea of me performing for a crowd. He says it’s like begging for crumbs of love from people who don’t deserve any piece of me, and he warned me repeatedly he wouldn’t pay for a conservatory education. I only got to attend the Curtis Institute of Music because you get a free ride if you’re good enough to be admitted.

But I’m going to ignore Dad on this point because he’s siding with Eugene. There’s no way my brother froze all my assets without our parents’ consent. A small ember of anger lights in my heart over the betrayal. They say I’m important, but not when it’s what I want versus what they want.

So if that man asks again, I’ll do it. I do have his card, after all. I’ll call him and…

My step falters as I recall the second Impromptu. I could sense the weight of his gaze. It slid over my face, then lingered on my fingers as they moved across the keys. I never realized that someone’s scrutiny could have a texture and feel all its own. His focused attention made me hyperaware of everything—every hammer action and vibration of string, the cool air filling and leaving my lungs, the warmth where his eyes touched my skin, the odd flutter in my belly like it was the first time I was playing in front of people.

No, not people. Just him. I’m never that aware of my surroundings when I play. Usually it’s the opposite. I lose myself in the music and the world shrinks down to the piano in front of me. But it was that mesmerizing stranger. His presence refused to let me fully immerse and escape into the piece. It pulled my attention to him, an irresistible magnetic attraction.

I stop for a moment to catch my breath and pull myself together. I’m being stupid. So what if he has a perfectly sculpted face? It’s not going to solve my problem. Thinking about him isn’t going to get me a job, and I won’t have time to call him to hang out once I’m in L.A. He can’t help me with my situation, and I have no time to waste, now or in the future.

I reach into my purse, pull out the card from Mr. Hottie and toss it into a trash bin without bothering to read it.

Part of me rebels, telling me to go pull it out. But no. No way.

I put in my EarPods and turn on some music. The third movement from Rachmaninoff’s second piano concerto comes up, booming in my ears.

There. I can’t hear you, silly impulse!

I inhale, bolster my determination to stick to the plan and walk the rest of the distance to my gate. One of the ground crew ladies smiles as she checks my passport and boarding pass. I lip-read, “Welcome aboard, Ms. Hae,” through the Rach.

The walk down the bridgeway is overly warm in the early summer heat. But then I step through the door to the first-class cabin, find my seat and sit down in air-conditioned comfort. A smiling cabin attendant offers me a glass of welcome champagne, and I take it.

Making it this far is an accomplishment, although Eugene could technically still stop the plane. My family’s impossibly well connected, too much so for my own good. But with just a little more luck…

I down my champagne and fan myself, hoping to calm my nerves. Then it suddenly strikes me why I thought Mr. Hottie looked familiar.

He’s the underwear model outside Eugene’s office window! The guy with the bulge! I didn’t recognize him at first because even though he looks amazing, just like the giant billboard, there’s a sizzling vitality to him in person that was missing in the 2D black-and-white image.

I almost snort and laugh. Wouldn’t it be hilarious if I told Eugene I met and fell in love with the underwear dude outside his window? Not that I’d do that—Eugene might kill the poor guy. Eugene can be entirely too serious when he’s set his mind on something, and he’s dead set on having me marry one of the dossiers, in the dress Ms. Hong picked out, at the venue she reserved.

After two more champagnes, the cabin crew finally shuts the door, and I take a quick selfie with my bubbly to mark the occasion.

Independence, here I come!