The Rivals - Vi Keeland Page 0,1

under the chair in front of me and buckled my belt.

The flight attendant immediately started her pre-flight safety announcements, and the plane began to back away from the gate.

My asshole seatmate leaned over to me. “You’re looking good, Feef. How long’s it been now?”

I sighed. “Obviously not long enough, since you’re sitting next to me at the moment.”

Weston grinned. “Still pretending you’re not interested, huh?”

I rolled my eyes. “Still delusional, I see.”

Unfortunately, when my eyes slid down from the back of my head, I got a close-up look at the man I’d spent my entire life despising. It figured the jerk only got better looking. Weston Lockwood had been a hot teenage boy. That was impossible to deny. But the man sitting next to me was downright gorgeous. Masculine square jaw, Romanesque blade of a nose, and big, blue bedroom eyes the color of an Alaskan glacier. His skin was a rugged tan, and the corner of his eyes had little crinkles that—Lord knows why—I found sexy as hell. His full lips were surrounded by what looked like day-old stubble, and his dark hair could probably use a cut. But instead of looking messy, Weston Lockwood’s style screamed fuck you to the corporate world of buzzer-tight, neat trims. Basically, he wasn’t my usual type. Yet looking at the jerk made me wonder what had ever attracted me to my usual type to begin with.

Too bad he was a jerk. And a Lockwood. Though those two statements were actually redundant, since just being a Lockwood automatically meant you were a jerk.

I forced my gaze to the seat in front of me, yet felt Weston’s eyes on my face. Eventually, it became impossible to ignore, so I huffed and turned back to him.

“Are you going to stare at me the entire flight?”

His lip twitched. “I might. It’s not a bad view.”

I shook my head. “Knock yourself out. I have work to do.” Reaching underneath the seat in front of me, I grabbed for my bag. My plan had been to read up on The Countess hotel during the flight. But I quickly realized my laptop wasn’t in my bag. I’d tucked it into the front compartment of my carry-on suitcase, because I’d assumed that bag would be in the overhead compartment. Great. Now my laptop was gate-checked. What were the chances it would be in one piece when I got it back—if it was even still in my bag at all when I retrieved it? And what the hell was I going to do to keep myself occupied on this flight? Not to mention, the meeting with The Countess lawyers was tomorrow morning, and I wasn’t the least bit prepared. Now I was going to have to stay up most of the night to study the materials when I finally got to the hotel.

Awesome.

Just freaking awesome.

Rather than freak out, which would be my typical M.O., I decided I might as well get some much-needed sleep since I wouldn’t be getting it tonight. So I closed my eyes and tried to rest as the plane took off. But thoughts of the man next to me kept me from relaxing.

God, I disliked him.

My entire family loathed his entire family.

As far back as I could remember, we’d been the Hatfields and McCoys. Our families’ feud dated back to our grandfathers. Though, for most of my childhood, we’d also traveled in the same social circles. Weston and I attended the same private schools, often saw each other at fundraisers and social events, and even had mutual friends. Our family’s homes on the Upper West Side were only a few blocks from each other. But just like our fathers and grandfathers, we kept as much distance as possible.

Well, except for that one time.

That one terrible, ginormous mistake of a night.

For the most part, I pretended it had never happened.

For the most part…

Except for every once in a while…

Every once in a blue moon…

When I thought about it.

It wasn’t often.

But when I did…

Forget it. I took a deep, cleansing breath, pushing those memories out of my head.

That was the absolute last thing I should be thinking of right now.

But why the hell was he sitting next to me, anyway?

Last I’d heard, Weston lived out in Vegas. He ran his family’s southwest-area hotels—not that I’d been keeping tabs on him or anything.

So what were the chances I’d run into him on my way to New York? I hadn’t been to the east coast in at least six years now.