Love Unbound

by Cassandra Dee

  “Goodbye, thank you for flying with Elite Air!” was her dulcet farewell. “Come fly with us again.”

  Gregory literally purred at her, his eyes suggestive.

  “I hope you’re on our flight to Ibiza, sweetheart. We’ll party hardy then, baby.”

  And Daniel was even more shameless, handing her his business card.

  “Call me,” he directed. “I have money.”

  Holly accepted the business card politely, but her fingers trembled.

  “Thank you sir,” was her quiet reply. “Come again.”

  But the girl did something brave then. She took a deep breath, as if mentally fortifying herself, and squared those narrow shoulders. Then the professional smile slid in place again as she turned my way.

  “It’s been a pleasure Mr. Evans. I hope you enjoyed your trip.”

  I gave her credit for that. This poor thing had been harassed up, down and all the way around for forty-five minutes straight. Fat, paunchy guys had grabbed her breasts, squeezing them painfully.

  And yet she was professional still. The brunette knew how to make the best of a bad situation, and I respected her for that.

  This girl deserved a raise.

  A bonus at the very least.

  Something very special … straight from me.

  So I shot her a cool look.

  “Meet me at Elite Air offices tomorrow, five sharp in the evening,” was my harsh command.

  She gasped slightly, eyes wide, but then smiled politely.

  “Of course, Mr. Evans. Have a great day.”

  And that was that. I pulled myself away and stepped out into the fresh air. Well, as fresh as a New York airport can be with the pollution and smog. But still, it felt nice to be outdoors once again, and immediately a small man scampered up.

  “Mr. Evans,” he bowed courteously. “Please, let me show you to the gate.”

  Ah, of course. Concierge service. A golf cart whizzed up, ready to take us to our destination because walking on the tarmac was too plebian for a bunch of rich guys like us.

  So quickly, we piled in and sped off, the gleaming plane growing small in the distance.

  But still, my mind wandered back to Holly.

  The curvy brunette was all mine.

  After all, I bought and paid for her, along with this fleet of aircraft.

  Sure, her employment contract didn’t get into personal services.

  But it was about to become real … and there were no two ways to it.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Holly

  Oh no. Mr. Evans ordered me to meet him at the office tomorrow. Was I already being fired? On my first flight with Elite Air?

  Oh god.

  No.

  What have I gotten myself into?

  Because I did my best given the situation yesterday. What else could I do? I was an eighteen year-old girl, outmanned and outflanked on every side. The guys were at least twenty years older than me, licking their chops like hungry wolves circling a vulnerable lamb.

  Plus, everything about this job has been strange from the get go. It all started with the interview that brought me into this mysterious world.

  Because I was a new flight attendant, fresh from a six-week training course. So no, I couldn’t exactly call myself a flight attendant yet. More like I was a flight attendant wannabe.

  But there’d been an ad in the paper, and I’d circled it excitedly with a red pen.

  Looking for Sensational Flight Attendants to Work For Private Carrier. $100k Annual Salary Plus Benefits.

  One hundred thousand dollars! That was double what the commercial airlines offered. So immediately, I dashed an email off to their listed contact, attaching a photo. It was weird that they required a recent photograph, but no big deal. I was using my student ID.

  And my inbox pinged not fifteen minutes later.

  We’re interested, the email read. Please arrive at our offices at 10 sharp tomorrow morning for an interview.

  What in the world?

  I had some errands to run, but no matter. This interview was way more important. My best friend Katrina came over that night, helping me prep for the interview by lobbing sample questions my way. Things like:

  “How do you trigger the emergency lights?”

  “Are there extra tankards of jet fuel on board the Airbus 242? If so, are they accessible to flight crew? What kinds of precautions must be taken when handling jet fuel?”

  So nervously, I stepped into the Midtown Manhattan office building the next day. Sure, I could spew answers like a Jeopardy contestant, but that didn’t mean the job was mine.

  Breathe, came my internal voice. Calm down. Relax. You got this.

  But my interviewer was scary. Really, really scary. She looked like a school teacher, graying-brown hair pulled up in a severe bun. Plus, there were lines around her mouth that came from frowning all the time.

  Oh god.

  She hated me on sight.

  I could feel it.

  “Good afternoon, Miss Nelson,” the woman said frigidly. “I trust you read the handbook I emailed you?”

  I nodded hesitantly.

  “Yes, thank you. I was able to read most of it last night.”

  Of course, that thing had been five hundred pages long. But there was no sense in getting into the details. This was an interview after all, and I had to present myself in a good light.

  The woman nodded frigidly.

  “Great. Then you understand that this is a private airline that requires a certain level of discretion?”

  I nodded again, trying not to fidget.

  “Of course, ma’am. I don’t want to make anyone uncomfortable. I’m sure it’s hard for famous people. They just want to have some peace and quiet.”

  Helena nodded, pleased.

  “Precisely. You will also need to exercise a certain amount of leniency with the clients as well. Typical rules do not apply to this airline.”

  I straightened up in my chair. What did that mean? But I’ve learned in my short life that it’s easier to give people what they want. Especially during an interview.

  “I understand,” was my quick nod. “It must be hard. Famous people play by different rules because they different restrictions. Of course.”

  Helena lifted an eyebrow and shot me another look up over her glasses.

  “Our clients may or may not be famous,” she said dismissively. “It makes no different to someone such as yourself. All we ask for are discretion and the ability to … ah, be flexible.”

  But the woman gave me no time to ask more. Instead, those piercing eyes flitted down as she scanned through her daily planner.

  “Miss Nelson, offhand, do you know what your measurements are?”

  Heat rose to my cheeks.

  “Oh, um, excuse me?” My eyes darted around over the desk, as if an answer waited there for me. What kind of job was I signing up for?

  “Your measurements,” she said crisply, looking down her nose. “For the uniforms, obviously.”

  A sigh of relief escaped my lips. Of course. Uniforms. I was so stupid for freaking out.

  “Oh right. I’m a forty, twenty-three, thirty-five.”

  Helena’s head jerked up, disbelief in those cold blue eyes.

  “You have a twenty-three-inch waist?”

  I bit my lip and nodded.

  “Yes, but I usually say twenty-five because it sounds more normal,” was my embarrassed murmur. “You can put twenty-five if you want,” I offered.

  Helena merely shook her head, scribbling something down.

  “No, that’s perfect actually. An hourglass figure is exactly what our clients prefer,” she nodded, scribbling more notes.

  What in the world? Why would my size matter to the clients? Isn’t it against some type of labor law to discriminate based on size?

  But there was no time to process the thought because Helena snapped her planner shut.

  “Okay, everything checks out. Miss Nelson, I’m happy to extend
you a full-time offer from Elite Air. We offer a generous compensation package which includes health and retirement, as well as bonuses for performance.”

  Excitement and shock flew through my spine, making me jerk up straight suddenly. Wait, did I hear right? Just like that? I was hired? Because it hadn’t been much of an interview at all, just a couple questions about my size. Didn’t they want to know about flotation devices, and my ability to juggle three meal trays at once?

  But never look a gift horse in the mouth because I wasn’t about to turn down a six figure salary. Plus, hadn’t she mentioned performance bonuses?

  Immediately, my mind was made up. I’d be the best stewardess Elite Air had. I was going to work my tail off and earn some good money, so long as they let me.

  “Thank you.” I held my hand out to shake. “Thank you, I look forward to starting.”

  The truth was, I needed this job so bad that it was ridiculous. There were bills to pay at home. Not just mine, but my mom’s medical debt from her car accident three years ago. Maybe this way, we wouldn’t have to file for bankruptcy. Maybe this way, we could stay off Medicaid.

  But my new employer didn’t have to know any of that because it was too much information, too soon. So instead, I smiled professionally.

  “What next? When will my first flight be? I’m ready to start immediately, if you’ll have me.”

  The older woman nodded, staring into her black book again.

  “Please come back tomorrow,” she said briskly. “You’ll be fitted for your uniform and then the next day, it’s straight onto your first flight, New York to Chicago.” The woman slid a few papers at me across the table.

  I goggled.

  “Um, would it be possible to start a week later?” I asked faintly. “I have to give notice at my current workplace? Is that okay?”

  Helena glanced at me over her glasses, and the look was enough to make me shrivel until I felt about two inches tall.

  “Is this going to be a problem?”

  There was only a moment of hesitation.

  “No ma’am,” were my low words. “I’ll be here tomorrow.”

  After all, this job was worth ten times more than my current gig at Burger Barista, where I both flipped burgers and pulled shots of espresso for customers. It’s a genius idea, if you ask me. People come in for their afternoon pick-me-up and end up ordering a giant, greasy burger to take back to their offices. Cha-ching! The owners of Burger Barista had to be making bank.

  But unfortunately, I was getting minimum wage. Even less than that because my uniform had to be dry cleaned constantly from all the grease.

  So taking a deep breath, I nodded.

  “Nine sharp,” were my words. “I’ll be here.”

  And just like that, it was done. After signing a few more forms, Helena escorted me to the elevators.

  “We look forward to working with you, Miss Nelson. Take care now,” she said, face impassive.

  I nodded, stepping into the lift.

  “Yes, thank you again,” was my slow reply. “I look forward to starting with Elite Air.”

  But things just kept taking me by surprise. For example, the uniform. Getting fitted was surprisingly simple. The fabric was better quality than most of my clothes, and none of the stitches popped unlike my Burger Barista uniform. Usually, I had to keep a tiny sewing kit handy for emergencies at the fast food restaurant, but that wouldn’t be necessary with Elite Air. Instead, the company had a tailor on site who looked me over carefully, and then stitched and pinned before presenting me with a navy blue dress.

  Wow.

  The outfit wasn’t your usual stewardess fare.

  Well, it was, but somehow it was much more flattering than the dowdy cardigans and knee-length skirt typical of the industry. Instead, the blue dress emphasized my bust with a modest v-neck, nipping in at the waist to show off my twenty-three inch span. Seriously cute.

  But it was the shoes that got me. When the seamstress pulled out four-inch stilettos, I almost fell through the floor.

  “I’m supposed to wear those while I work?” was my dumbfounded question.

  She nodded, a knowing smile on her face.

  “The men like it. You’ll like it too.”

  My eyes continued to bug, because how was I going to stand in those things during long cross-country flights? I’d get a crick in my back, my knees starting to ache. Was this really practical?

  But hey, I was getting paid the mad moolah. So when I got home, it was time to practice. I walked across my tiny apartment floors for hours, making like Miss America. Sometimes, I even air-kissed to an imaginary crowd, bowing and waving. It was fun, if a little unsteady.

  But the next morning, just as I was about to shower, my phone rang. Fumbling for the handheld, I looked at the screen.

  Helena’s number flashed.

  Oh no.

  Had she had second thoughts?

  Maybe I wasn’t hired after all?

  But there was no sense in putting it off.

  “H-hello?” was my stammer.

  Her businesslike voice filled my ear. But the words “we made a mistake” never came.

  “Hi Holly, Helena here. There’s been a change in plans. We’ve scratched your flight for Chicago. Instead, you’ll be on a special flight with some of our most important passengers.”

  The woman’s pen was audible, scribbling something or other.

  “Due to the last minute change, we’ve upped your salary to one hundred and fifty thousand. Is that acceptable?”

  I nearly dropped the phone.

  Was she serious?

  A hundred and fifty thousand for a newbie airline stewardess?

  But my mama taught me well because the words were immediate.

  “Yes, of course,” came my reply. “No problem.”

  Helena made a pleased noise.

  “Good. This will be a scenic flight. The plane will take off from JFK, circle around for an hour or two, and then land back in JFK once more.”

  Really? Did people who own private jets do this often? Burn jet fuel just for the hell of it?

  But maybe it wasn’t so crazy. After all, New York City is astonishing from the air. The Statue of Liberty. The Empire State Building. The Freedom Tower. These were just a few of the things that made my hometown the place to be.

  So I nodded furiously.

  “Of course, sounds good. I’ll be there.”

  I could almost hear Helena’s perfunctory nod.

  “Good. This flight will be in the afternoon. Pack a bag, and we’ll put you in a nearby hotel afterwards. Please make sure you have office attire along with your uniform just in case.”

  I froze. Office attire? And just in case of what? Besides, I didn’t have any clothes that were “smart professional.” My stuff consisted of a Burger Bistro uniform plus some ragtag items from Target and Walmart. But this wasn’t the time for that conversation. Instead, I just nodded once more.

  “Sure, okay. Anything else?”

  Helena sounded tired now, as if speaking to a child. “We need you dressed and on the plane by noon. Don’t be late.”

  And just like that, there was a click.

  She was gone.

  The enormity of the situation hit me then. I had my first flight in two hours! I had to get my stuff together pronto! But there was nothing to get together, really. Again, my clothes consist of jeans and basics, plus one nice skirt that I keep around for parties. Definitely not professional.

  But it is what it is.

  Get with it, came the voice in my head. You can do it, Holly. To the tune of one hundred and fifty thousand dollars, you have to do it. Think of Mom.

  And so squaring my shoulders, I braced myself.

  I was going to make this happen.

  I’d landed a plum opportunity, one that could save us from bankruptcy.

  So yeah … I was going to be the best stewardess Elite Air ever had.

  ***

  Ten hours later …

 
; Oh god. It’d been the flight from hell. I dragged my little overnight suitcase behind me, letting it bump along the uneven ground. My flipflops slapped the concrete because I couldn’t take the stilettos anymore. No way, no how.

  In fact, bandages were sorely needed. I needed Band-Aids. Where was a convenience store? And since when is beauty worth this kind of pain?

  But at least, I was finally at the hotel. It was a five star place, with a gorgeous lobby. Chandeliers hung from the soaring ceilings, soft piano music in the background as important businesspeople walked to and fro, chatting and laughing.

  But unfortunately, no amount of training can stop guys from being guys. Because the clerk at the front desk smiled lecherously at me as I checked in. His lingering gaze made me wish I had thrown a sweatshirt on over my uniform.

  “Have a great stay, gorgeous.”

  What the?

  Can you refer to customers as “gorgeous”? Isn’t that sexual harassment?

  But I was too tired to protest, trudging my way to the hotel gift shop.

  My eyes searched the shelves. There were about a million kinds of travel-sized shampoos and soaps, and of course knick-knacks with “I heart New York City” emblazoned all over them.

  Band-Aids, Band-Aids, New York has to have Band-Aids!

  “Looking for something in particular?” a voice interrupted.

  I looked up. A friendly middle-aged woman stared at my ankles, the red, chafed skin smarting and painful.

  “Yes, I need bandages. For my feet.” I gestured downwards. “It’s been a long day.”

  She turned around and grabbed them out of a bin on the wall, and plunked them on the counter.

  “I hear ya, sweetie. That’ll be five-ninety-two.”

  Five ninety-two for a tiny box of bandages? This was highway robbery!

  But I was too tired to protest, instead fumbling in my wallet before mumbling, “Thank you.”

  “No problem,” she breezed. “Have a good night.”

  And with that, I stepped back into the lobby.

  More hotel guests had arrived, the circular rotunda thronging with people. My headache pounded. I sighed.

  If wearing stupid uncomfortable shoes would help me keep this job and live a better life, then so be it. Even if I twisted an ankle, it was still better than spilling coffee on myself and coming home smelling like a fryer.