Poppy didn’t like seafood, or risotto.

She looked up at Randall to discover that he was watching her intently, his dark head tipped back against the pale leather seat, lids lowering, lashes dropping, concealing part of the golden glimmer. “If you valued your position with me, Poppy, you would be loyal to me. Yet, you’re not.”

For a second it seemed as if all the oxygen in the plane disappeared and she stared at him, lips parting, but no air moving in or out of her lungs. No air, and no words, either, because what could she say? How could she defend herself?

“Have you found a new position, Poppy?”

She shook her head, eyes stinging.

“Are you interviewing?”

She shook her head again.

“Résumés out...inquiries...networking?”

Poppy’s stomach twisted. “No. I am not job-hunting. I like my job.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes.”

“Then maybe it’s time you showed me some loyalty, Poppy Marr, and tell me what you know about Sophie and this Crisanti fellow.”

She deserved that. Because she had taken sides, hadn’t she? She’d taken Sophie’s. Sophie was her best friend. Her only friend. If Sophie was queen, Poppy would be her lady in waiting. “I would like to help you,” she said, stomach still churning, nerves and nausea. It didn’t help that the smell of the risotto was making her want to gag. She carefully pushed her bowl away. “But I don’t really know much of anything.”

His set expression indicated he didn’t believe her. “But you know something,” he said. “So let’s start with that. How long has Sophie known Crisanti? Where did she meet him?”

“I don’t want to do this, and it’s not fair of you to ask me when you know Sophie is the only one who has ever looked out for me—”

“Are you saying I haven’t?”

He’d spoken lowly and yet his words vibrated all the way through her. She clutched the edge of the table, panicked and overwhelmed, not simply by what he was asking, but by the unreality of their situation.

She’d harbored the crush for years, falling for him almost from the very start as he was handsome and intelligent and wildly successful and best of all, he was kind to her, and always so very thoughtful, mindful of her feelings even when things were stressful at work.

It was on one of those terribly stressful days that Poppy had overshared with him, blurting out her fears and insecurities that she’d always be single, because men wanted women like Sophie, women who were strong and confident, women that made men feel like men.

Randall had sputtered on muffled laughter and then he shook his head, eyes smiling. “You can’t compare yourself to Sophie. That’s not fair of you. Sophie is Sophie Carmichael-Jones for a reason. There’s only one of her, but also, there is only one of you. The key, Poppy Marr, is to be you.”

“I don’t think that’s enough,” she answered tearfully.

“Trust me, it’s more than enough.”

And as he’d looked at her, his gold eyes still smiling, she’d melted into a puddle of aching gratitude, want and wishful dreams. Imagine having Randall Grant as your champion. Imagine him in your corner, as your partner. Poppy had never been more envious of Sophie in all her life.

Poppy swallowed hard now, a lump in her throat. “You’ve always been very, very kind to me. Probably better than I deserve.”

“So why only protect Sophie? Why not try to protect me?”

“But I did!” she choked. “I wasn’t just trying to help Sophie.