Trent heard Jack over the line talking to Jessie.

“Jessie, darlin’, Trent’s on the phone asking for Monica’s address.”

Trent envisioned Jack holding the phone up making it clear that Jessie knew Trent was waiting on the phone.

“If you know what’s good for you, you’d hang up that phone and help me pack.”

“Did you hear that?” Jack asked when he got back on the phone. “You know what they say, happy wife, happy life.”

“I’m not leaving LA until I have a chance to talk to her.”

“Suit yourself. You staying at our hotel?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll make sure the girls know where to find you.”

“The girls?”

“Yeah, Jessie’s on her way there, and Katie, my sister, lives there.”

“Great!” Trent hissed between his teeth.

Jack chuckled. “Good luck.”

And he hung up, leaving Trent to stare at his phone.

“Wine is the answer to heartbreak. That and ice cream,” said Katie as she shoved a spoonful of mint chip between her lips and followed it with a swig of Chardonnay.

“I’m not heartbroken!”

Katie topped off Monica’s glass. “Bless your heart, why don’t you have another glass and tell me how unheartbroken you are.”

Monica sipped from her second glass and felt some of the tension in her shoulders dissipate. “He thought I was engaged. Me? Engaged! Stupid man.”

“Trent?”

Monica took another drink. “How could he think I was messing around with him and have someone back home? Who does that?”

Katie lifted a knowing brow. “Well, actually… a lot of—”

“But this is me we’re talking about! I don’t fly that way.” Monica thought about the lawyers, their accusations. “They treated me like I was a slut.”

Katie nearly spit out her wine. “Trent?”

“No, not Trent. The lawyers. Kept calling him my lover. Said I’d purposely agreed to go to Jamaica for a free plane ride to the island. Acted as if I needed a f**king booty call.”

Katie laughed.

Monica glared at her. “It’s not funny.”

“It will be when they find out who Trent Fairchild is.”

Monica dipped her spoon in the double Dutch chocolate and asked, “What do you mean who he is?”

“A Fairchild.”

Maybe it was the wine, but she wasn’t following Katie’s line of thought. “I don’t get it.”

“Fairchild Charters… Fairchild Vacations.” Katie dropped her spoon. “You don’t know who he is?”

“Well, of course I know who he is. He owns the helicopter tours on the island. But he’s not going to be booking tours there anytime soon.” She sipped more wine.

“Oh, bless your heart, you have no idea who he really is.”

“I do, and stop with that bless your heart crap. I may not be from the South but even I know that’s your way of calling me an idiot.”

“If the shoe fits.”

Monica tossed a pillow at her friend. “I liked it better when you were trying hard not to have an accent and southern roots.”

“I can’t help it. Dean’s family is so down home. When we all get to drinking and shooting the shit, the South in me just comes out. I’ll blame the wine.” Katie’s cheeks were rosy with wine and the twang in her voice became more apparent.

“Well, my southern belle, why don’t you tell me why I’m an idiot.”

Katie set her glass on the table, but only to add more liquid to the glass. “I think we need popcorn.”

“Katie!”

She stood and followed Katie into the kitchen as she pulled out the microwave variety of uncooked kernels, removed the plastic wrap, and tossed it in to cook. Where’s your tablet?”

“Charging on my desk.”

“Well go get it and look up Fairchild Charters.”

Monica grabbed her Kindle Fire and accessed the Internet. She typed in Fairchild Charters and the website popped up. At first glance, she thought she typed in the wrong IP address. Then she looked closer. The page was sleek and featured a rotating banner of jets available to charter. Monica dropped in the chair at the kitchen counter and clicked through a few pages. When she found the About Us page there was one group shot, and then three individual pictures of the co-owners. Jason Fairchild, Owner & CEO Fairchild Charters & Fairchild Vacation Tours, Glen Fairchild, Owner & CFO Fairchild Charters, and Trent Fairchild, Owner & CFO of Fairchild Vacation Tours.

She blinked. The picture of Trent and his brothers had been taken on a sunny tarmac in front of the largest private jet Monica had ever seen. The Fairchild men were all the same height, with bright smiles and sunglasses hiding what Monica knew were laughing eyes. What a hunk of trouble they must have been in school. She thought of the story Trent told her about hijacking his father’s chopper.

The individual pictures had the guys wearing those hats that pilots were fond of. Jason, the oldest brother according to the bio, lived close to their headquarters and ran the company. Glen, the middle son from what Monica could tell, looked like a player of the highest order. His smirk in the photo reminded her of Trent. He ran the financials and coordinated the jet charter end of the company. Monica found her mouth hanging open when she noticed the number of locations their planes flew out of. Then there was Trent. He had his jacket tossed over his shoulder as he posed for the picture in front of a huge helicopter. His smile played on her hot buttons and reminded her of his smooth voice and unforgettable kiss.