by Gina Drayer
Beth picked up her carry-on and made her way to the ticket counter. On her way, she scanned the passengers waiting for their section to be called, noting a few good-looking guys in the mix.
The last few months she'd thrown herself into her work, and Beth hadn't even considered dating. Maybe a hot Spanish fling needed to go on that To Do list, too.
After boarding, Beth found her aisle, but it wasn't until after the doors had closed that she realized she’d have the whole row to herself. Both large, leather seats were all hers to spread out and relax for the three-hour flight. This trip was starting out perfect.
For the next few hours, there'd be no calls and no drama. She wasn't even going to bother with the Dramamine.
Unfortunately, she was a bit too optimistic on that point. A stress-free getaway wasn't in the cards today. After the plane had taxied onto the runway, the flight was delayed due to weather for almost an hour. And when they were finally in the air, Beth wished they'd just stayed on the ground.
With her head between her knees, Beth gripped an airsick bag, and mentally kicked herself for not driving to Florida, or even maybe taking a train, a bus, hitchhiking… Anything else but this.
As the plane plunged another hundred feet, and the rain pounded the window beside her, the oddest thing ran through Beth's mind. While she fought back the nausea and prayed for death, all she could think was, Thank God I have on my fancy vacation underwear.
Honestly, if she were going to die, at least she'd indulged and purchased Agent Provocateur's new summer line. The thought made her laugh. She could see it now. Her mother would come to collect her body, and she'd approve of Beth's gorgeous underwear. It might be the only decision Beth had ever made that her mother would approve of.
The lights in the cabin flickered, and Beth could feel the nausea returning. The plane dipped again before making a steep climb, and the captain's voice filled the cabin.
"Sorry about the turbulence, folks. It looks like we'll be in this storm front for the next twenty minutes, so please remain seated. After we're clear of the front, it should be a smooth ride for the rest of the flight."
Beth gripped the armrest so hard her fingers ached. Smooth ride her ass. A smooth ride would have been doing sixty down the freeway in her Mustang with the windows down and the radio blaring. Or even watching the trees fly by as she stared out the window of a train. Heck, she'd prefer a pack mule right now. It might have taken her three times as long, but at least there was less chance of falling out of the sky.
One of the first-class flight attendants leaned down, startling Beth out of her current panic. "Can I get you something to drink, Ms. Riley?"
The older woman did an assessing glance down at her. Beth still held the armrest in white-knuckled terror, with the airsick bag crushed in her lap, and the flight attendant smiled knowingly.
"I can get you some ginger ale. Maybe a glass of wine or something a little stronger might help you relax? We'll be out of this rough patch before you know it. This time of year the Midwest can be brutal."
"Just some water, please," Beth said, but even the thought of that made her stomach turn.
She didn't need a drink. What she needed was something to take her mind off the anxiety. If she had someone to talk to it would help. A quick glance around the cabin offered no solution, but there weren't many options. Most of the seats were filled with pairs: two couples deep in conversation, some businessmen chatting while checking their phones. There was only one other lone traveler.
Beth wasn't a shy person. She would have hopped over to the seat beside the other single, but he had headphones on, engrossed in a book—the universal signal for "leave me alone."
So much for that idea. Beth closed her eyes and suppressed the urge to go screaming down the aisle, reenacting Shatner's scene from “The Twilight Zone.” Thank God the flight was almost over.
Matt hated flying. Well, mostly he hated sitting next to strangers. Most of the time he tried to get an empty row. But the flight, even in first class, was almost full. However, after he boarded and saw the pretty blond sitting in the seat next to his, Matt didn't think the flight would be too bad.
Poppy was going to Florida for a conference. She was excited and filled their long delay with pleasant conversation.
She came off as poised and charming, and Matt liked her right away. It turned out they had a lot of things in common. Poppy's grandmother died last year and left her with a sizable inheritance. She was planning on starting her own business with the money.
Matt had similarly taken most of the money from his trust fund and invested it in a startup with two of his close friends. It was refreshing to meet a kindred soul. So many of the socialites he'd met just relied on their family's wealth, instead of working or doing something with their lives. It was nice to meet a woman who wanted to make her own way in the world.
But first impressions weren't always what they seemed. A few minutes after the plane took off, Poppy started talking about her new business venture.
"You see, microlending really took off overseas. I got this email a few months ago from a company looking for investors. The CEO, Andrew Bennet, thinks there's a market for microlending in the United States. With the size of my investment, I'll be able to open four microlending banks in Chicago," she had explained.
Microlending in Africa had merit, and he was curious how they were planning on transferring that concept to the U.S. But after he asked a few more questions, Matt realized Poppy was investing in a chain of payday loan shops. His family had made their money in banking and Matt could smell a scam a mile away. He tried to point out the legal and ethical issues involved in the scheme, but she got defensive.
"This isn't anything like payday loans. The economy is bad right now. Poor people need a place to turn to for help. Actually, it's more like charity than a business."
Matt almost laughed out loud when she said that. But she steadfastly continued on with the sales pitch she'd been fed. She wasn't long into her spiel before she got tripped up over the more complex banking ideas, like daily periodic interest and APR.
Matt knew there wasn't anything he could say to persuade her, so he tried to exit the conversation tactfully. At first he tried to change the subject, but she was determined to talk about her business.
"Mr. Bennet says if you don't talk about what you do, how will people know about this great business opportunity?"
Fine, if that wouldn't work, he would just stop responding and let the conversation die. He even pulled out his phone and tried to look occupied, but she ignored his subtle hint. It was becoming obvious she liked the sound of her own voice.
His mother had raised him to be polite, but this woman was testing his will. There was a point where Matt could have sworn she just started making up nonsense words just to fill the silence. Or he may have nodded off. Either way, he needed to escape.
He unbuckled his seatbelt and stood, hoping a trip to the bathroom would stop the conversation. He might have spent the rest of the flight there just for the silence, but as he stepped into the aisle, the flight attendant rushed over.
"I'm sorry, sir, but I need you to remain seated until the captain turns off the seatbelt sign."
"I was just headed to the bathroom," Matt said.
"Unless it's an emergency, I need to ask you to remain in your seat," she said firmly. "We should be through the weather in just a few more minutes."
"You'd better listen to her. After 9/11, stewardesses are like the police on a plane. I read this story on the internet about a man who argued with the stewardess. She tased him, then duct-taped him to the seat." Poppy gave the flight attendant a cautious glance and said in a loud whisper, "It's like the Wild West up here."
Matt couldn't resist the eye roll that time. "I'll be right back. I promise," he almost pleaded. Even a few seconds away would be reprieve from his annoying seatmate. But just as he was trying to step around the flight attendant, the plane dipped and pulled back up. Matt had to grab th
e seatback to keep from crashing into her.
"If you'll take your seat, sir," the woman said through a forced smile, "so I can get back to mine."
"Excuse me." The woman sitting two rows behind him spoke up. "The storm is really bothering me and I was wondering if my friend, Matt, could come sit with me until we get through the weather."
He had no idea who the woman was, but her pensive smile and huge doe eyes made her look small and frightened. Matt immediately sympathized with her. And besides that, stranger or no, he saw his chance to escape. Not waiting for the flight attendant's approval, Matt excused himself from Poppy and moved back two rows.
"That's fine," the flight attendant called after him, "as long as you stay seated."
Matt settled in the aisle seat beside the woman. He'd noticed her at the terminal, talking on the phone. She was tall and slender, but filled out the clingy sundress quite well. Her olive skin and dark hair made her look exotic, at least to him. Matt was so used to pale blonds and waiflike brunettes back home. This woman was a nice change.
She caught him staring and smiled. "I promise, I'm not going to bite."
"I'm sorry. Do I know you?"
"Nope," she said without further explanation.
"Then how did you know my name?"
"I was standing behind you when they called first-class boarding. Besides, that Poppy girl repeated it twenty times." She shrugged as if it should have been obvious. "When you stood up, I thought you might want to change seats. You looked desperate to get away. After the last hour of listening to your seatmate's incessant chatter, even I was hoping the plane would crash. You should have seen the look on your face when the flight attendant told you to sit down. I honestly thought you were going to push her down and make a break for the bathroom. Then she would have been forced to tase you."
She laughed, but he noticed the humor didn't reach her eyes. The plane did another couple of dips, and she reached out and grabbed the armrest until her knuckles were white.
"So you weren't lying about the storm bothering you."
"I get motion sick. I fly a lot, but I hate flying in bad weather. To be honest, I prefer driving. It's more interesting scenery, and it's on the ground," she said through clenched teeth.
"You know, statistically—"
"If you tell me flying is safer than driving, I'm going to make you go back and sit with Chatty Cathy."
"Okay, okay." Matt held up his hands in surrender. After a few seconds, the plane leveled off again, and the woman beside him relaxed, but only a bit. "I'm at a disadvantage here. I never got your name."
"Beth." She released her kung fu grip from the armrest to shake his hand. Her slender hand was icy cold and sweaty at the same time. She yanked back her hand and quickly wiped it on her jeans before returning to her death grip. "Sorry."
"Not a problem," he said and tried to tamp down the urge to grab her hand again. People didn't go around holding strangers' hands, no matter how cute or vulnerable they looked. "And thank you, Beth. You were right. I needed rescuing. Now you look like you could use some help. Is there anything I can do? Maybe the taser-wielding flight attendant can bring us some wine."
"Why, Matt, are you trying to get me drunk?"
"That's not what—"
The plane bounced up and down, like a car on uneven pavement, jostling him forward. Beth reached up and started rubbing the charm around her neck, clearly agitated. "Just talk," she said, then pressed her eyes shut and took long, slow breaths. "Talk about anything. I need something to keep my mind occupied, instead of thinking about Bernoulli's principle and whether the plane is going to fall out of the sky. Why don't you tell me about yourself?"
He wished she would have asked for a drink. Matt was terrible at small talk. He spent his days working with computers. Outside of his office, and the occasional function his mother begged him to attend, he didn't socialize. And to be honest, he preferred it that way. There wasn't anything worse than trying to entertain someone with mindless chatter.
If he was forced into social situations, he usually resorted to asking a few probing personal questions. After one or two, he was usually off the hook because people loved to talk about themselves. But she wanted him to do the talking.
After several seconds of silence, Beth opened her eyes to make sure he hadn't left. He was staring down at his hand, looking a little pale and sweaty himself. Maybe he was bothered by the turbulence, too.
"Are you from Chicago?" she prompted, trying to get the conversation moving.
"Yes."
"Have you always lived there?" she asked, coaxing him a little more.
"I was born there," he said. "But I left for a few years during college."
He wasn't making this easy, that was for sure. It was obvious he was uncomfortable carrying the conversation. No wonder the woman he was sitting with ran roughshod over him.
"But you live in Chicago now, right?"
As if a light bulb went off, Matt finally caught on and started filling in the gaps. "Yes, I came back after school. My whole family lives in Chicago. I thought about staying on the East Coast after college, but I had the opportunity to start a business with some friends. We—"
The plane did a quick drop, and Beth grabbed his hand. She didn't care that he was a stranger. She needed human contact. To her relief, Matt didn't pull away. Instead, he squeezed her hand gently and continued talking.
"We started a marketing company several years ago. We focus mainly on web design, social media marketing, and other online strategies. At the time we opened, there were only a few marketing agencies that offered anything like that, so it wasn't an easy sell. For the first few years, it was hard to convince large companies that they needed to have an integrated strategy that included an online and social media presence."
Matt continued to talk about his company with real passion, and Beth began to relax. She didn’t even notice the weather change until the captain's voice came over the intercom.
"Looks like we've finally cleared that storm. I'm going to turn off the seatbelt light, and your flight attendants will be by with beverage service in just a few minutes. The weather put us behind schedule, but I'm hoping to make up some of that time. It looks like we'll be landing at noon local time."
Reluctantly, Beth let go of Matt's hand. She rubbed her palm absently. The residual warmth from their joining was a lingering reminder of their physical contact.
She took some time to study the man while he was ordering his drink. She had noticed him at the terminal. It was hard to miss those broad shoulders and lean, athletic build. But she'd dismissed him out of hand. And he wasn't anything like the men she dated these days. Matt was handsome. He looked like he just stepped off a “GQ” or “Men's Fitness” cover. His dark shaggy hair was messy, but not in the forced way that was so popular these days. It came to him naturally. But what stood out most were his striking blue-green eyes that seemed to shift color in the light. She could get lost in those eyes.
But after Robert, Beth tried to avoid men like Matt: smart, sexy and driven. Men like that wanted something different than she could give. It was best to steer clear.
"And what about you?" he asked after a long period of silence. "Are you a native Chicagoan?"
She'd been staring so long she hadn't even noticed the flight attendant had moved on.
"I'm a transplant," she said. "My mom's from the area. She moved back after my parents divorced. But I spent most of my childhood in Africa."
"Africa?"
From the expression on Matt's face, you would have thought she said she grew up on Mars. "Yes, Africa. My father is a doctor and worked for an organization that helped train midwives in African villages."
"That's different. Is that where the necklace came from? Is it some kind of protective charm or something?"
She fingered the necklace again and smiled. "I doubt it. But my father had it made for me before we left Africa. He said since it was carved out of ebony, it was like carrying a little p
art of Africa back home with us. That was a long time ago."
"But you do live in Chicago now? What is it you do for a living?"
"Cause trouble," she said with a wicked grin.
"What?"
"Sorry, that's what my mother always says. She doesn't approve of my life choices. But that's a whole other conversation. I don't actually work in Chicago. It's just where I hang my hat. I'm with a nonprofit, and travel out of the country a lot."
Beth started to tell him about her work with the Clean Water Project. Now it was time to see where Matt fell on the patriarchal scale. The minute she brought up her job, most guys fell into one of two categories—and sometimes both. They either thought she was an environmental zealot and backed away very slowly, or they tried to tell her the places she traveled weren't safe for women. It was almost like a game with her. And it was an easy way to weed out the bad ones.
"So you've been living in the jungles of Brazil for the past year?" he asked with a bewildered look on his face. He shook his head slowly.
Beth sighed, disappointed. He fell into the "that's too dangerous for a woman" camp, and she couldn't help the pang of disappointment.
But then he surprised her. "What a fantastic job. I bet you have some great stories. Do you stay in the same place for long?"
"A month or two in each village. As a project manager, I travel between different teams. I had a base camp in a village outside Imperatriz."
"Just you? You didn't have any problems with armed militants or whatever?"
"I had Alejandro. He was my driver, but he also protected me."
"A driver? That's it?" Matt asked.
"He wasn't just a driver. I'm not completely stupid. I contracted him through a private security firm." Plus, it was the only way she could appease her mother. Beth may have stretched the truth a little and let her mother believe there was a whole security team traveling with her, and not just one guy in a beat-up pickup truck. But the less Mom knew, the better. "We play it safe, and for the most part they leave us alone. The locals are happy for the help. These well and sewer systems save lives."