“I appreciate that you’re loyal to Sophie. I admire friends that look out for each other. But in this instance, you took the wrong side, Poppy. Sophie was engaged to me. Sophie had promised to marry me. If you knew she was having a relationship with another man, you should have come to me. You should have warned me instead of leaving me out there, stupid and exposed.” And then he swung open his door and stepped out, walking from her in long, fast strides as if he couldn’t wait to get away from her.

Poppy exhaled in a slow, shuddering breath. He was beyond livid with her. He was also hurt. She’d never meant to wound him. She’d wanted the best for him, too. And beautiful Sophie would have been the best if she’d loved him, but Sophie didn’t love him. There had been no love between them, just agreements and money and mergers.

Shaken, Poppy opened her door and stepped out. She needed to fix this, but how? What could she possibly do now to make it better?

She wouldn’t argue with him, that was for sure. And she’d let him be angry, because he had a right to be angry, and she’d be even more agreeable and amenable than usual so that he’d know she was sorry, and determined to make amends.

Poppy went around to the back of the car to retrieve her bag, but a young uniformed man approached and said he would be taking care of the luggage and she was to go on board where a flight attendant would help her get settled.

Poppy wasn’t surprised by the brisk efficiency. Randall’s helicopter was always available and his staff was always the epitome of professional but it still boggled her mind that he had a helicopter and a private plane. It had to be a terrible expense maintaining both of these, as well as his fleet of cars. Randall loved cars. It was one of his passions, collecting vintage models as if they were refrigerator magnets.

“What about the car?” she asked him.

“I’m driving it back to Langston House,” the young man answered with a quick smile. “Do you have everything?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Enjoy your flight.”

Poppy boarded the plane self-consciously, pushing back dark tendrils of hair that had come loose from the pins. She felt wildly overdressed and yet exposed at the same time. She wanted a shawl for her bare shoulders and comfy slippers for her feet. But at least she wasn’t the only one in formal dress. Randall still wore his morning suit, although he’d loosened his tie and unbuttoned the top button on his crisp, white dress shirt.

A flight attendant emerged from the jet’s compact kitchen galley and greeted Poppy with a smile. “Welcome on board,” she said. “Any seat.”

The flight attendant followed Poppy down the narrow aisle, past a small conference table to a group of four leather armchairs. The seats were wide and they appeared to be the reclining kind with solid armrests and luxuriously soft leather.

She gingerly sat down in the nearest chair and it was very comfortable indeed.

“Something to drink?” the pretty, blonde flight attendant asked. “A glass of champagne? We have a lovely bottle on ice.”

“I’m not the bride,” Poppy said quickly.

“I know. But the wedding is off so why not enjoy the bubbles?”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.