Hudson pored over the dossier, trying to find something, anything, that might explain what the hell was going on. Had the past few days been an act, waiting for the perfect out? Or had it been a final good-bye, fucking each other senseless just to purge it out of her system? Had Allie realized that no matter what his zip code, he still wasn’t good enough? He gripped the document in his hand to avoid punching his fist through the tinted glass. He hadn’t even had a fighting fucking chance to talk her out of it.

“Mr. Chase.” Max’s voice cut through the rhetoricals and Hudson’s laser-sharp eyes darted to the rearview mirror. “The plane is on standby and the crew is ready to depart as soon as we arrive. ETA, eight minutes.”

Hudson checked his watch. “Thank you.” He took a deep breath in an attempt to downshift his nervous energy into focused calm, but his need to find Allie overrode all logic. If she thought she was walking without hearing him out. . . . Well, news flash, she was wrong. So fucking wrong.

After going through the airport’s private security entrance, the Mercedes shot down the tarmac and around the fat turn that lead to the hanger housing the Chase Industries plane. The car came to an abrupt stop inside, its tires squeaking against the highly polished concrete floor. Hudson exploded out of the vehicle. He didn’t give a shit if he had to fly halfway around the world to do it; he was going after her. Winning Allie back was a necessity, and if this was the way she wanted to play it, he was all fucking in.