Sky High (Three Contemporary Novella's)

by Amanda Weaver

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Acknowledgments

  The Friendly Skies

  Blame It On the Rum

  Take the Money and Run

  About the Author

  Sky High

  by

  Amanda Weaver

  Copyright @2015 by Amanda Weaver

  Cover design by T.M. Franklin

  Editing by Lisa A. Hollett of Silently Correcting Your Grammar

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be produced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means without permission in writing from the author. Short excerpts for review purposes are excluded.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to persons living or dead, places or events is purely coincidental.

  www.amandaweavernovels.com

  I’m indebted to Angel Lawson, Beth Bolden, TM Franklin, Bev Elle, and Kira Gold, who invited me to be a part of the Frequent Flyers Collection with them. The Friendly Skies, my contribution, is the first short story in this collection.

  Many thanks to Anne Forlines for pre-reading and advice. And thanks to John Forlines for assistance with particulars about the financial industry. Thank you to Sara Mizzen and Niva Telerant-Faith for early pre-reading and feedback.

  And I suppose I should thank Popocatépetl, the volcano just outside Mexico City. In the summer of 2013, I was on my way to Mexico City for business when the volcano began erupting, closing airspace, and causing my flight to be rerouted back to JFK. That doomed trip was the seed for The Friendly Skies, and from there, Blame it on the Rum and Take the Money and Run were born. Popocatépetl, you ruined my business trip, but you gave me fodder for three stories, so we’re even!

  The Friendly Skies

  #

  When Cassie Sinclair was twelve years old, growing up and growing restless in her small, utterly unremarkable hometown, she stood in her front yard and turned her face to the sky, watching a plane track overhead. She wished with everything in her heart that she was on that plane at that moment. She didn’t care where it was going. Anyplace had to be more interesting than the Pittsburgh suburbs. Every single time she saw a plane fly overhead, she made the same wish. I want to be on that plane, going anywhere but here.

  As Cassie sipped her Starbucks Venti latte and watched planes execute their intricate ballet out on the tarmac at JFK, she remembered that moment, that wish, and thought “Be careful what you wish for.”

  She loved her job—she truly did. But most days it felt like she was spending her life in airports and on planes, measuring time in flight delays. No matter how efficient she’d gotten at flying—all the tricks and strategies she employed to make her trips run smoothly—there was no way to eradicate stress and drudgery from business travel. It always sucked.

  Today, the stress had started and she wasn’t even on the plane yet. The boarding area was a cacophony of noise. A frazzled mother fruitlessly tried to settle her fussing baby while her toddler son ran in circles around her pretending he was a flying plane. Two young guys—obviously drunk at 9 a.m.—were arguing loudly with each other. And in the corner, a bunch of teenage girls on some sort of school trip shouted and laughed boisterously. She could only pray that none of them were sitting near her.

  She checked her watch. Ten minutes until boarding. If there were no delays, an hour until liftoff. Five hours in the air. Forty-five minutes to get to her connection. Another hour to get to Acapulco and then the drive to the resort. Two hours of meetings and tours. Drinks and dinner with the resort execs afterward. Then a couple of hours to catch up on email she missed while in the air and in meetings, and another hour to write up her report. She might get to bed before midnight tonight. Midnight in a time zone three hours behind New York. And then she’d turn around and fly back home tomorrow morning. All she’d see of her destination was the airport, the hotel, and the highway between them. She wouldn’t step foot on the beach.

  She took another sip of her coffee and felt a trickle of it leak out from under the lid and hit her thumb. Cursing, she held the cup at arms’ length in an attempt to keep anything from hitting her blouse. Her copy of the New York Times, wedged under elbow, fluttered to the floor. She started to crouch to get it when a voice, low and masculine, with a smooth English accent, stopped her cold.

  “I’ve got it.”

  Looking down, she registered several things at once. Broad shoulders, blond hair, handsome face, impeccably tailored navy pinstripe suit. He retrieved her paper from the floor and slowly stood up. His eyes tracked up her body as he rose, starting at her black patent pumps, tracing up her calves and over her black pencil skirt, up her cream silk blouse, taking in her long dark hair and finally, her face. She felt his eyes everywhere, an unabashed examination that should have made her feel uneasy but didn’t. At least, not when his startlingly bright, ice blue eyes met hers and his appreciation was evident.

  He smiled, a flash of white teeth and lovely lips. His eyes crinkled slightly at the corners. “Here you go.”

  That accent… She reached out and took her paper.

  “Have a nice flight,” he said, then turned and walked away.

  She hadn’t moved. Not a muscle through the entire brief encounter. She hadn’t said anything either, not even ‘thank you’. Within seconds, the crowds had closed around him and he vanished from view, off to find his own gate, his own flight, probably taking his lovely English accent back where it came from.

  Damn. Something pretty to look at would have made this whole trip less tedious.

  By the time business class began boarding a few minutes later, she’d forgotten all about Tall, Blond, and British as she made her way down the aisle to row 6, seat B. One of the two arguing drunk guys was in 6A, the window seat. The second arguing drunk guy was directly behind him in 7A. They were still arguing.

  “Dude, Krystal is going to kick your ass if you show up in Acapulco hung over,” 7A said.

  “Well, I got the perfect solution, bro,” 6A shouted over his shoulder at his buddy. He was slurring his words and his eyes were at half mast. “I’ll just stay fucking wasted. Can’t get hungover if you’re still drunk.”

  Hilarious. At least the two of them thought so as they busted up laughing at their own joke. Cassie hoisted her carry-on into the overhead bin and reluctantly sank into 6B, leaning as far away from 6A as she could manage. Thank God this was business class and not coach. If she was lucky, she might be able to keep from touching him for the entire flight. She’d still smell him, though, and the guy reeked of sweat and stale beer.

  6A swiveled in his seat. “Hey, there.” She thought he might be leering at her, but it was hard to tell with someone so drunk.

  “Hi.” She kept her eyes averted, going through her pre-flight routine, tucking her magazine in the seat pocket, retrieving her iPad and earphones and setting her phone to airplane mode before putting it away in her bag.

  “I’m getting married,” 6A announced.

  “Um…congratulations?”

  “Krystal wants to do it on the beach.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Get married,” he clarified. “She wants to get married on the beach. So we’re goin’ to Aca—Acapulco. So this is like my bachelor party.” He belched, unleashing a pungent waft of alcohol in her face.

  “Seems like you’ve already had quite the party.”

  “Me and my buddy had one or two before we left,” he shrugged. She suspected it was closer to a dozen.

  “Hey, would you like to sit with your friend?” she aske
d. Please, God, say yes. “I’m happy to switch seats.”

  “Nah, we both hate the aisle.”

  Damn.

  “Hey, is that the stewardess? Tell her to bring me a beer. Hey, stewardess!” he shouted, waving an arm right in front of Cassie’s face. She had to press herself back into her seat to avoid being clipped by him. “I need a Corona!”

  The frazzled flight attendant scowled at him but must have decided it was easier not to argue because she got him a beer.

  “Keep ‘em coming, babe.”

  The flight attendant, a no-nonsense woman in her mid-forties, rolled her eyes and set the beer down with a snap. “It’s Marianne. And I’m a flight attendant.”

  “Right. Got it, babe.” Marianne gave Cassie a sympathetic smile before moving on. 6A shifted and stretched, leaning his seat back and elbowing her twice. So much for not touching—or smelling. The cabin doors had just closed. She had nearly five hours of this Neanderthal’s presence to endure.

  “Excuse me?”

  Turning away from her reeking seat mate, she found herself staring across the aisle into a familiar face. It was Tall, Blond, and British, smiling politely at her across an empty seat.

  “There’s six cee, if you’d rather,” he said.

  Was he speaking in code? “Pardon?”

  He pointed to the empty aisle seat next to his window seat. “Six C. No one’s sitting here, if you’d like to move.”

  Oh God, he was speaking to her. And the accent was deadly. Along with the cheekbones, nicely squared chin, and gorgeous lips. His ice blue eyes crinkled with barely suppressed humor, as if he knew how lust struck he’d just made her.

  When she didn’t immediately respond, his smile faded slightly and his eyebrows furrowed. “Sorry, I thought you might prefer—”

  “I do!” she said quickly, a bit too loud for comfort. “That’s… Thanks. That’s very nice of you.”

  Before she could embarrass herself further by gawking at him or—heaven forbid, babbling—she scooped up her belongings and shifted across the aisle. 6A didn’t even notice her departure. In fact, it looked as if he’d passed out. His head was tipped back, his mouth was gaping open, and he was beginning to snore. Timely escape. A timely escape that had deposited her next to an incredibly handsome man. Her day was looking up.

  “Thanks again,” she said as she stowed her things.

  “You looked in need of a rescue.”

  When she glanced back at 6A, a trickle of saliva was sliding down his chin.

  “I did. You’re a lifesaver.”

  “Not a lifesaver. Just Simon, I’m afraid.”

  This was where she was expected to provide her name. He’d left it wide open. But she hesitated a moment, her usual caution holding her back. Judging from the suit, the expensive leather briefcase and the laptop, this guy was a frequent business traveler. Hard won personal experience had taught her that guys like him, chatting her up on a plane, in an airport, or in a hotel bar were generally ones she wanted nothing to do with. Without a doubt, there would be the telltale tan line on his ring finger, or the photo of his kids in his wallet that he conveniently “forgot” to mention. Simon’s left hand was in his lap, so she couldn’t make a call on the spot. Still, she supposed she could handle herself if he turned out to be a creep. He couldn’t be worse than 6A.

  “Cassandra.”

  “Nice to meet you, Cassandra.”

  Marianne appeared at her side, looking relieved that 6A had passed out. “Can I get you a drink before we take off?”

  Cassie slid a glance at Simon. If he was another horny businessman looking to pick her up, this would be where he’d order a cocktail, and one for her, too.

  “Just water for me,” he said. She raised her eyebrows in surprise. Okay, so he wasn’t going for the quick and obvious.

  “Water for me, too.”

  Simon leaned back in his seat and smiled at her, a slow, unfurling curl of his lips that she felt in the pit of her stomach. Her hair trigger instincts told her this was trouble. He didn’t order drinks, but he looked ready to chat her up and draw her in just the same. She didn’t do this—flirt with men on the road. She knew better. Despite his gorgeous face and easy friendliness, there was nothing good that could come from engaging with him.

  So before he could pull her any further into conversation, she retrieved her iPad from the seat pocket. “I have so much email to catch up on,” she said with an apologetic shrug. “I’d better get started.”

  Simon was silent for a moment. “Of course. Don’t let me keep you from your work.” He pulled out his own laptop and settled in to work. If she felt a twinge of disappointment about that, it was nobody’s fault but her own.

  More than two hours later, she glanced up from her iPad and stretched the stiffness out of her neck. Simon was still bent over his laptop, scowling, and typing lengthy missives every minute or two. He’d paused long enough to ask for a cup of coffee an hour ago and that was it. He was driven, that was for sure. Just like her.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” the intercom buzzed overhead. “They’ve had some volcanic eruptions this month, and it appears the one just outside the city is kicking up a fuss today. At present, Mexico City has closed their airspace to all air traffic.”

  A collective groan went up from everyone on board.

  “We’ve been rerouted back to JFK. We should have you back on the ground around three p.m. local time. We’re sorry for this inconvenience, but sometimes Mother Nature just doesn’t want to cooperate with our plans.”

  “Are you kidding me? They’re re-routing us all the way back to JFK?” Pulling out her credit card, she purchased the airline’s overpriced in-flight Wi-Fi and logged into her company’s server.

  “I suppose I’d better get in touch with my office and see when the next flight is,” Simon said, dragging a hand across his face.

  Cassie slumped back in her seat. “Not until tomorrow morning.”

  He glanced at her.

  “I work for a travel agency. Inside information. I just checked and the rest of today’s flights are already full.”

  “Bloody hell,” Simon sighed. “That’s today gone.”

  “Exactly.” She turned her attention back to her iPad, moving her flights and hotel to the next day and emailing everyone on both ends to let them know about her delay.

  Marianne was back, smiling apologetically. “Sorry about this, folks. Can I get you something to drink to ease the pain?”

  Simon closed his laptop with a decisive snap. “Absolutely. Gin and tonic, please.”

  Cassie decided to dismiss her rule against drinking with businessmen. Today required alcohol. “That sounds good. I’ll have the same.”

  Marianne started to turn away but Simon held up a hand to stop her. “Wait. Are you up for a little fun, Cassandra?”

  Those words shouldn’t have sent that frisson of electricity down her back the way they did. “What kind of fun?” she asked warily.

  “Do you have champagne?” he asked Marianne.

  “We do, but it’s extra.”

  He smiled and pulled out his credit card. “For the lady as well. Bring four, please. For later.”

  “All right, then,” Marianne said, throwing Cassie a conspiratorial smile.

  “What was that about?” she asked when Marianne had departed.

  He leaned back in his seat. The focused businessman of the past two hours was gone. Now he looked relaxed, inviting and stupidly attractive. “We’re going to end up spending over five hours in the air today only to end up back where we started, and we still have to do the whole business over again tomorrow. I just lost a day in meetings, and I’m sure you did, too. I say we’ve earned this. So…have a drink with me?”

  This guy was nothing but trouble. Even so, she felt herself returning his smile without really meaning to. “Okay.”

  “So…” Simon said, ruffling his carefully-groomed hair with one hand. It looked much better ruffled. It made her want to ruffle it for hi
m. It made her imagine him shirtless on a beach instead of buttoned up in a suit. “You’re headed to Mexico City—were headed to Mexico City—for work?”

  “Connecting in Mexico City,” she said. “Heading to the coast eventually. What a mess. I had to reschedule everything.”

  “Me as well. This puts me behind on a million other projects, too. Still, nothing to be done for it now.”

  “What are you doing in Mexico?”

  “I work for an investment firm. I’m sort of their ‘eyes on the ground.’ I visit the companies we hold shares in and see how they do business. One of our investments in Mexico is launching an expansion and I’m headed there to check it out.”

  “Wow, you must travel as much as I do.”

  “I log a lot of hours in airports,” he said grimly.

  The flight attendant deposited two flutes of champagne and two extra individual bottles along with a fruit plate in front of them. “On the house,” she said with a wink.

  Simon tugged his tie loose and popped the top button of his shirt, which made him immeasurably more attractive. Her vision zoomed in on the tiny V of pale gold skin at the base of his neck and it took effort to raise her eyes back to his when he spoke again. “Well, Cassandra, here’s to making the best of a bad situation.”

  “Cassie.”

  “Pardon?”

  “You can call me ‘Cassie.’”

  He smiled and it set fire to something low in her stomach. His eyes were such a clear, pale blue. They should have been cold, but as his gaze darted quickly down to her lips and back up, there was nothing cold about them. And nothing cold about the way that brief glance made her lick her lips. “Cassie, then.”

  She raised her champagne flute and touched it to his. “To making the best of a bad situation.”

  “From where I’m sitting,” he murmured. “The situation is definitely improving.”

  Holy hell, Cassie thought. This conversation just went from polite business chit-chat to full on flirtation in under thirty seconds. This guy was good. She took a long sip of her champagne to cool off her racing thoughts…and racing libido. She wasn’t sure if she was ready to start lobbing sexual innuendo back and forth with Simon for the next three hours so she steered the conversation back to more neutral waters. “Do you live in New York, then?”