Taking Flight

by Windsor, Michelle

  “That’s your compromise?” I challenge, my mind running with various scenarios of the next five hours; more drinks, more flirting, movie snuggling, intense questioning, no questioning, more flirting.

  “Do you have a better idea?” he quips, his dimple appearing again.

  Mile high club? I shake that thought away but feel my cheeks heating anyway. “You promise you’ll help me prep?”

  “Scout’s honor.” He lifts his hand in a three-finger salute, his expression one of complete seriousness.

  I laugh, throwing my hands up in defeat. “Okay, you win.”

  “Yes!” he exclaims, his face lighting up. He lifts a hand to wave to the first-class attendant, requests another round, then turns back to me. “So, what kind of movies do you like?”

  We spend the next hour talking, eating, drinking, talking some more, and then finally decide on a movie. We pick a comedy, staying away from romance and my request for nothing scary. My head is light and fuzzy from all the bubbly I’ve been drinking, and about halfway through the movie, I feel myself doze off. I’m not certain how long I’ve been asleep when I feel something warm brush against my cheek, my eyes springing to life.

  “Wake-up, sleeping beauty.” Sparkling green irises stare into my bleary ones, and I blink, making sure I’m not in a dream as my gaze drifts down to his perfectly puffy lips. I swipe my tongue over my own, the urge to kiss him overwhelming. I lean forward just as he begins to speak, snapping me to my senses. “You fell asleep.”

  I bolt upright, wiping a hand over my hair, then my face, hoping I don’t look like a complete mess. “I guess I’m a bit of a lightweight,” I joke, trying to cover up my mortification, swiping my fingers under my lashes, hoping to remove any stray mascara that may have wept as I slept. “Do I look awful?”

  “You look like an angel.” My heart stutters as I absorb the way the edges of his eyes crinkle when he smiles. He extends a crystal tumbler in my direction. “Here, drink this. It’s just some seltzer. It will refresh you.”

  “Thank you.” I take the glass from him and sip from the edge, bubbles popping under my nose as cool liquid slides down my throat. Before I can come up with another blubbering response, he speaks.

  “We’ve got about ninety minutes left until we land. Did you still want me to drill you with questions for your interview?”

  Did he say ‘drill’ me? Because my answer is whole-heartedly, YES. I cover my mouth as a giggle escapes and bob my head.

  His brow creases. “Is that a yes?”

  “Yes,” I state, much louder than is required. “Let me just get my laptop.” I stand and wait for him to rise, then move into the aisle. He opens the compartment he helped me place my bag into earlier and motions at the contents.

  “It’s this one, correct?” He places his hand on a large, black, leather computer bag with small LV initials embossed throughout the material.

  “Yes,” I acknowledge, accepting it as he passes it to me. “Thank you.” I move to squeeze past him to take my seat when a sudden jolt sends me careening into him, a yelp of fear leaving me as my bag drops to the floor between us.

  “I’ve got you.” His arms capture me with little effort, steadying my body against his, my heart punching against my ribs as I draw in a deep breath. “It’s just a little turbulence.”

  The plane continues to bounce, my panic increasing as I clench my hands around his biceps to anchor myself. “A little?”

  His hands slide down my arms, his grip tightening as he guides me back to my seat, giving me a soft push into it when we reach it. He bends and retrieves my bag, setting it in my lap as he stands tall. A ragged breath leaves my lips as I heave a sigh of relief. “Thank you.” I turn to look at him. “Again.” Then I giggle, my nerves getting the best of me.

  “It’s nothing,” he concludes, waving off my behavior as he lowers into his seat with ease. “Put your seatbelt on.”

  I struggle to find my straps, then click them into place as I watch him do the same. The plane continues to bounce through the air, my nerves matching the frenetic tempo. Sensing my terror, his hand grabs mine and closes around it securely. “We’re going to be fine. Think of it like driving down a bumpy, country dirt road.”

  I nod, my palm sweating against his. “If you say so. I think I much rather prefer nice, smooth cement.”

  He lets out a guff of laughter, which is drowned out in the next second by an announcement from the flight staff, asking us to please buckle up and raise our tray tables for the remainder of what is expected to be a bumpy ride as we travel around a storm.

  “I thought he said it was going to be a smooth flight?” I lament to no one in particular, my voice full of fear and just short of trill.

  “Chloe, tell me about the job you’re interviewing for so I know what kind of questions to ask.” Fin’s deep voice, smooth and calm, reaches and pulls me out of my turbulence-infused meltdown.

  “What?” I stare back at him, my mind a total blank.

  “What’s the position? For your interview?” he repeats, his hand still around mine.

  I look down at our entwined fingers, his warm skin a comfort against mine, finally bringing me to my senses. I blow a long breath out of my nose, then meet his gaze with a forced smile. “It’s a vice president position for media relations.”

  His brows rise, his head tilting a smidge. “Impressive.” He gives me a quick smile, releasing my hand to cross his arms over his chest. “Tell me why the job should be yours.”

  I begin my rehearsed response with enthusiasm, continuing to answer each question he throws my way, absorbing any advice he offers as we go.

  “Okay, last question.” He looks me straight in the eyes. “You ready?”

  “Give it to me.” I nod.

  “Dinner with me.” His gaze remains locked on mine. “Tomorrow after the interview. Say yes.”

  I reel back in surprise. “That’s not a question.”

  “You’ll be great at your job.” He chuckles. “There’s no question about that.”

  “You’re asking me to dinner?” I repeat his request, disbelief the only thing I’m certain of at the moment.

  “We can celebrate you getting the job.” A confident grin slides into place.

  “I haven’t got it yet.”

  “You will.” There’s not an ounce of doubt in his voice. “I can guarantee it.” His grin turns cockier, if that is even possible. “If I’m wrong, I’ll spring for a bottle of Dom Perignon for you to drown your sorrows in.”

  “And if you’re right?” I try to contain the smile on my face and end up smirking instead.

  “I’ll spring for a bottle of Dom Perignon to celebrate.”

  I laugh out loud. “You’re quite the negotiator, I see?”

  He leans in closer to me, his voice lowering again. “I really don’t see how I lose if I have you sitting across from me.”

  My breath catches in my throat as my heart misses at least one beat, maybe two, before I gather my wits and respond. “How can I say no to that?”

  Chapter Three

  Lost Luggage

  “What do you mean, my luggage is lost?” I stare wide-eyed at the customer service agent. “It was a direct flight! How is that even possible?” My hand makes a loud slapping sound as it lands hard and flat on the counter between us.

  She clears her throat, her eyes darting everywhere except on me. “It seems it was never loaded on the plane in LAX. Some sort of mix-up with the cart it was placed on.”

  “Some kind of mix-up?” I repeat, not even sure why, because I know it’s not going to change the predicament I’m in. “Well, how long is it going to take to fix it? I need my luggage.”

  “Of course, ma’am.” She nods, her bobbed haircut swishing around her chin from the motion, as she reads the computer screen in front of her. “It was placed on another flight to New York City just three hours after yours and is expected to be here at eight-thirty this evening.”

  Well, that’s not so bad, I
suppose. At least I’ll have my clothes for my interview tomorrow. Before I can respond, she continues in a rush. “We will, of course, have it delivered wherever you’re staying, ma’am. Free of charge, of course.”

  I scoff and shake my head in frustration. “Well, I guess it is what it is.”

  “Can you give me an address where we can have it delivered, and a phone number where we can reach you?”

  I sigh, closing my eyes in an attempt to calm my temper. I’ll have my clothes by this evening. Everything is going to be fine. I just need to breathe. I blink my lids open and award her with the most gracious smile I can muster. “Of course. I’m staying at The Sapphire Resorts on Wall Street. My cell number is 213-774-8448.”

  “Thank you, Ms. Adams.” She slides a card across the counter to me. “Please, feel free to call me if you have any other issues at all. I sincerely apologize for the inconvenience.”

  “Thank you, I appreciate your help,” I reply, about to walk away, but then step back to the counter. “Can you tell me which direction I can find a taxi?”

  She smiles, then points to my left. “Just go up those stairs and straight through the sliding doors. The taxi station will be on your right.”

  “Thanks again.” Less than five minutes later, I’m up the stairs and about to walk through the sliding doors when a hand latches onto arm, stopping me in my tracks. I spin around, then freeze, the corners of my mouth lifting in recognition. “Fin.”

  “Chloe.” He draws me from of the doorway, out of the way of foot traffic, then releases his hold. “I thought that was you.”

  “You’re still here?” I ask, finding it curious that he is.

  “So are you, it seems.” He chuckles, his fingers brushing over the stubble lining his face. “I ran into a colleague. We had a quick drink before his flight.” He lifts his chin toward me. “What’s your excuse?”

  I frown, lifting my shoulders in an exaggerated shrug. “Lost luggage. It seems it never made it onto our plane in Los Angeles.”

  “Well, shit. That’s not good news for the snappy outfit you planned on wearing to your interview tomorrow,” he teases, a smile tugging on his lips.

  “Yes, well, don’t you fret.” My tone snarky. “I’m told it’s on the next flight in and will be delivered to my hotel this evening.”

  “Phew.” He chuckles again. “Not that I don’t think you look exceptional in that outfit.” His eyes trail over my bare legs for at least the third time today. “But, I don’t believe it meets the dress code for the restaurant I’m planning on taking you to tomorrow evening.”

  “We could always grab a hot dog and take a walk through Central Park instead,” I suggest. “I am a simple girl, truth be told.”

  He shakes his head back and forth, the dimple in his cheek appearing as he gives me a wide smile. “Chloe, there isn’t anything simple about you.”

  I feel my traitorous cheeks heat, belying the confidence I want to portray, but give it my best shot anyway. “Fin, the same could be said about you.”

  He lets out a huff of laughter, his eyes twinkling as they stay locked on me. “You need a ride? I’ve got a car. I can drop you at your hotel if you like? Especially now that I know you’re traveling light.”

  “I was just headed to grab a taxi, as a matter of fact.” I look behind me through the doors, noting the long line of people waiting. “Are you sure it’s not an imposition?”

  “Not even a little.” His large, warm hand presses flat against my back before I can blink, leading me outside, across one lane of traffic and to a waiting town car. A middle-aged man in a dark suit leaning against the car jumps to attention, moving to open the back door for us. “Good evening, sir.”

  “Hey, Jimmy.” Fin’s hand slides from my waist down the length of my arm to grasp my knuckles as I lower myself into the car. “We’ll have an extra stop tonight.”

  “No problem. You just tell me where to go.” The door shuts hard and firm, both men suddenly gone, the door on the other side of the car opening a second later, Fin sliding in beside me with ease.

  It’s then that I notice he doesn’t have any luggage with him either, and I comment on it. “You don’t have any bags?”

  “I have a place here. A place in Los Angeles. There’s usually no need,” he explains before changing the topic. “Are you going to the hotel?”

  I nod. He knows where I’m staying because I gave him my information earlier so he can pick me up tomorrow evening. He instructs the driver where to drop me, then turns his attention back to me. “Sure you don’t want to do dinner tonight?”

  One corner of my mouth lifts, but I shake my head. “No. I need a good night’s sleep for tomorrow.” I point my finger at him. “And don’t try to change the subject,” I scoff. “Mister I have a place in NY and LA and I don’t need luggage, but I’m going to try to pretend I’m not rich.’”

  “I never said I wasn’t rich,” he states. “You made the assumption I was, and I didn’t dispute it.” He squints as he continues to assess me, scooting a little closer, his voice low when he continues. “Why, does it bother you that I am?”

  “No.” I purse my lips, my perusal of him blatant. “It’s just not fair that you’re this damn good looking and rich.”

  His head falls back as laughter erupts from deep in his chest, amusement lighting up his eyes as they find their way back to mine. “Some guys get all the luck, I guess.”

  “I guess,” I muse, my gaze shifting to his full lips before tracking a slow trail up to his gorgeous green irises.

  “You really need to stop looking at me like that.” His voice grows even lower, a slight growl to its edge, as he leans closer.

  “Like what?” I whisper, his face a breath from mine.

  My eyes flutter shut as his whiskered cheek presses against my smooth one, his breath hot in my ear as he speaks. “Like you want me to kiss you.” His nose ruffles against my hair, loose strands drifting toward him as he inhales, humming when he exhales. “Roses.” His lips trail over my skin, up the edge of my face before leaving a soft kiss on my forehead. My eyes flicker as he pulls away, his gaze locking with mine. “If I kiss you now, I won’t stop.”

  “So?” I mutter, desperate to feel his lips on mine. “I’m not saying stop.”

  “And I don’t want you to.” He slides away from me but keeps a hand on my bare thigh. “Which is why I don’t mind waiting until tomorrow.”

  I can’t help the frown that I know mars my expression, but I just don’t care. I’ve spent over six hours next to this man, this demi-god, and Jesus, he has me hot and bothered. I’m not giving up without a little bit of a fight. “We don’t have to.”

  He answers on a low chuckle. “We do. For the sake of your interview.” He leans forward again, his hand sliding up my thigh until it stops just below the seam of my very short shorts. “Because, Chloe, once I start, it’s going to last a very, very long time, and I don’t want to be the blame for you not looking rested at your interview.”

  I shift my eyes to his, my tongue swiping across my lips, dry from the short, quick breaths leaving them, and nod. He responds by cocking one side of his tempting mouth into a devilish grin, his fingers drifting like a feather down the length of my leg before they lift off my skin. He shifts back just as the driver pulls up in front of my hotel.

  Sweet holy mother of God, I think I just came. Thank goodness my luggage is getting delivered tonight.

  Chapter Four

  Losing Altitude

  I take one last look in the mirror, adjust the cuff on my sleeve under my jacket, then stroll out of my room, through the hotel, and into a waiting car. This is it. The interview I’ve waited my entire career for. What I’ve been working toward for the last twelve years. Today, it either pays off, or I go back to Los Angeles with my tail between my legs and keep on fighting the fight.

  When the driver pulls up in front of the address, my eyes stare wide-eyed at the building towering over us. We have some tall buildings in Los Angeles,
but none compare to the structures lining the streets of this city. I step onto the sidewalk, thanking the driver who’s holding the door open for me. “Go in through those doors, miss, and tell the front desk who you’re here to see. They’ll take care of you from there.”

  I do as he instructs, taking a fortifying gulp of courage as I approach the man standing behind the large counter. “Good morning. Chloe Adams for an interview with Harrison, Harrison & Watkins.”

  “Of course, Ms. Adams.” The gentleman motions to a ledger. “If you can just sign here, and I’ll need to see a form of identification.”

  After the verification preliminaries, I’m given a temporary identification badge and escorted to an elevator that whisks me to the sixty-fifth floor. I know from researching the company that the law office occupies floors sixty to sixty-five. I also know that only the founding and senior partners occupy the top, makes things a whole lot scarier. “You got this. You got this,” I murmur to myself over and over, not stopping until the doors slide open.

  “Ms. Adams.” A sharp dressed woman is waiting in the wings as I step out of the elevator, surprising me when she speaks. She walks in my direction, her hand flying up to her mouth. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to startle you.”

  “Please, its fine.” I laugh, trying to dismiss the moment. “I just didn’t see you. Let’s try this again.” I extend my hand. “Chloe Adams. Nice to meet you.”

  “Gina Crosby.” She clutches my fingers for only a moment then releases them. “I’m the executive assistant to Mr. Harrison.” She pauses and looks my way as she leads me to an office. “Jefferson, not Griffin.” She shakes her head, waving a hand in the air. “It can be so confusing having father and son on the same floor.” She stops in front of a conference room then turns to me. “Your meeting will be held in here.”