After multiple attempts to reach Kara failed, Kemper was frantic and Carly was at her wit’s end. Thanks to the mounting stress and the paparazzi following them from their hotel to the airport, they’d been snappy with one another. By all accounts, they were approaching a real knock-down-drag-out, spare no punches kind of argument. “This is your fault,” Carly bit out, yanking at her seatbelt and growing more and more frustrated as she fought to free the strap caught between the seat and leather back sofa. “And why in the bloody hell do we have to use these damn things during takeoff when we both know they’ll come off as soon as we’re in the air?” “Let me help you,” Kemper said gently. Smacking his hands away, she shook her head and defied those tears already pooling in the corners of her eyes. “I don’t need your help right now, Kemper. Kara knows. I feel it in my gut. She knows or she would’ve responded to your texts. If not yours, she would’ve at least sent me one of her notorious “Fuck off”
