Delay them.

Another message appeared immediately.

THEY WON’T LIKE THAT.

Rayan looked at Chloe sleeping against him.

Then he typed:

They don’t have to.

For almost forty minutes, he didn’t move.

His shoulder began to ache.

He remained perfectly still.

And eventually Chloe woke.

Her eyes opened slowly.

For three peaceful seconds, she did not understand what had happened.

Then she realized her cheek was resting on a stranger.

She shot upright.

“Oh my God.”

The blanket slipped.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry.”

Rayan said nothing.

“I fell asleep on you.”

“So it appears.”

“I am so sorry.”

“You’ve already said that.”

Chloe stared at him properly for the first time.

She saw the charcoal suit.

The watch.

The two bodyguards.

The unmistakable face she had seen on magazine covers at supermarket checkout counters.

Her expression changed.

“You’re—”

“Yes.”

Her face went crimson.

“Oh no.”

That almost made him smile.

Almost.

“I drooled on a billionaire.”

Rayan looked at his shoulder.

“You did not.”

“Are you sure?”

“Completely.”

“Thank God.”

Faris turned toward the window to hide something suspiciously resembling amusement.

Chloe rubbed both hands over her face.

“This is humiliating.”

“Why?”

“Because normal people don’t use strangers as pillows.”

“You were tired.”

“That isn’t exactly a legal defense.”

“Fortunately, I’m not pressing charges.”

She stared at him.

Then, despite herself, she laughed.

It was quiet.

Warm.

Real.

Something Rayan heard surprisingly little of.

He picked up the glass of water waiting on her tray.

“You asked for this before takeoff.”

Chloe accepted it.

“Thank you.”

She drank half of it in several desperate swallows.

“How long was I asleep?”

“Fifty-three minutes.”

“You counted?”

“I notice time.”

Chloe groaned.

“I haven’t slept properly since Monday.”

“It is Thursday.”

“I know.”

Rayan’s expression hardened slightly.

“Why?”

She hesitated.

“Work.”

“At Harbor Street?”

Her eyes dropped toward her identification badge.

“Right.”

“We’ve been short-staffed for months. Two nurses are out sick, one quit, and children don’t conveniently stop needing treatment because management can’t afford enough people.”

There was no accusation in her tone.

That made it worse.

Rayan remembered the spreadsheet again.

HARBOR STREET CLINIC.

REQUESTED SUPPORT: $680,000.

RECOMMENDATION: DENY.

Projected return too low.

He had initialed it.

“What are you doing on this flight?”

Chloe’s fingers tightened around the cup.

“My mother.”

The answer came differently.

Quieter.

Rayan waited.

“She has advanced heart failure. We’ve been waiting nearly eleven months. Yesterday they found a donor heart compatible enough for transplantation.”

For the first time, Chloe smiled.

It was a tired, frightened smile.

“She’s at Saint Catherine’s Medical Center now. They’re preparing her.”

Rayan knew that hospital too.

He owned sixty-one percent of its parent company.

“She must be terrified,” he said.