by Lucy Bexley
Contents
Synopsis
Title Page
Copyright
A Note About the Content
Acknowledgments
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
About The Author
Synopsis
Chloe is down on her luck when she takes an assistant job for Monroe. She’s been dreaming of her new boss for months but only getting icy stares in return. When tensions rise, Chloe is ready to walk out, but Monroe pulls her back in with a promised work trip to India for the two of them. When things go horribly wrong somewhere over the Atlantic will their attraction get the better of them or will the stress finally tear them apart?
Flying First
A Lesbian Romance Novelette
Lucy Bexley
Copyright © 2020 Lucy Bexley
All rights reserved
This is a work of fiction. The characters and events portrayed in this book are works of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, businesses, events, or locales is coincidental and not intended by the author.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission. For permissions contact:
[email protected]
eBooks are not transferable. They cannot be sold, shared, or given away as it is an infringement of the copyright of this work.
Please respect the rights of the author and do not file share.
Credits
Cover design by Lucy Bexley
Cover image credit: Tim Gouw
A Note About the Content
I wrote this story in January of 2020 as I was preparing to go on a work trip to India. It includes a virus that grounds an international flight. Due to the recent COVID-19 pandemic I wanted to include this content warning to those who may wish to avoid such stories right now. The virus in this story is far less serious and is not meant to be COVID-19.
Acknowledgments
I wrote this story for a contest Erica Lee was running and I'm grateful for the push it gave me to see my idea through. So, thanks, Erica for running the contest and for your kind words about this story. I was a late comer to lesbian romance—I started reading it in 2019 after a particularly brutal year and I'm so thankful for the joy and hope these stories have brought me and for the wonderful online lesfic community they've brought into my life.
Thank you to my twitter friends—you all make my days a lot brighter and crack me up on a regular basis. If we’re not friends yet, find me @bexley_lucy. Thanks to Robyn; your encouragement, feedback, pep talks, funny gifs, and character torturing insights were a saving grace. Thank you to my friend Rebecca, my partner in puns. Here’s to all the Sunday morning dad jokes and late night heist planning ahead of us.
I owe a debt of gratitude to my friend Anna. First, for putting up with me for over a decade. Second, for encouraging me to write this story and helping me when I struggled. I couldn’t have done it without you and I wouldn’t want to.
Thanks to G, my first reader and biggest cheerleader. Thanks for laughing at my bad jokes and for formatting this book. There are too many things I’m grateful to you for to list here so I’ll just say, without exaggeration, that I couldn’t do any of it without you.
To everyone who’s funnier on the internet than they are in real life.
Chapter One
I stumbled into the office balancing a tray of coffees, a bag of pastries and my giant purse with two full minutes to spare. 6:58 AM, the sun rising over Copley Square, and there I was, getting bumped in the ass by a heavy glass door. Some of the venti oat milk vanilla latte with an extra shot and light foam spilled onto me. Ouch. Why in the hell were office doors made out glass as thick as a brick that you needed cross-fit arms to open? I’d carried those coffees eight city blocks and made it all the way up to the 37th floor without incident, but somehow coming into Monroe’s lair had bested me.
And that—that was not me. I wasn’t the kind of woman to let a door get the better of me.
My boss, on the other hand?
She’d been begging for a door to the ass—and probably more—since the first day I met her.
This fucking day. I set the coffee on her desk. Ninety seconds left to her arrival. Every morning she worked out at the gym on the first floor starting at exactly 5:30 and arrived at the office at exactly 7, hair still damp and smelling like lavender, looking incredible in one of her tight pencil skirts. She looked more model wandered off from Paris fashion week than tech executive, all high cheekbones and long legs that I wanted wrapped around me. But crushes didn’t pay the bills like shitty assistant jobs.
I wiped the back of my hand along my own tight but decidedly less-elegant skirt. More of my dry-cleaning budget, wasted. Monroe had no limit to her dry-cleaning budget. Naturally. I had just picked up her drink to position it on the upper-left corner of her leather desk blotter when the chair moved.
It was like something out of a horror movie—the desk chair facing the window, making a slow turn toward me. I’m not too proud to admit that I let out a sound somewhere between a scream and a yelp as I startled. Heat trickled down my chest as the rest of her latte soaked into my white blouse, which now had the transparency of a slightly muddy river. Oat milk and espresso dripped onto the expensive silk Persian rug Monroe had beneath the desk.
But nothing made my heart pound more than my boss in all her icy glory, her jet black hair coiffed to perfection, glaring at me with her arresting green eyes.
“God, Monroe, what are you doing here?” The words slipped out before I could stop them. The last few years had been too much. Losing my job. Going back to work for Monroe. Trying to make myself into something I wasn’t—a timid assistant, shaking in her high-heels.
“I’m trying to think while you lurk around my office.” She drew her mouth into a tight line, her tone cutting. “Are you almost done?”
Was I almost done? Catering to her every selfish need? Thinking about her at night, only to have her treat me like I was worthless every day? Being an assistant? No. No, I wasn’t done. Because I had bills to pay and damn it, I wanted to see her. Rage welled up like a tidal wave about to drown me. Something snapped.
“You know what, I am done.” Oh, shit. “Enjoy what’s left of your coffee and the rest of your life.”
“What did you just say to me?” I’d never seen her look so stunned. Pink rose to Monroe’s flawless cheeks, and her lips parted in surprise.
“I said, I’m done.” Once I’d started, I couldn’t stop. “I’m done with this job, and I’m done with you.”
Monroe half-rose out of her seat, fingertips braced on the surface of the desk. “Fine. Throw away your job and your career. And everything else I’m offering you.”
“Everything else?” She hadn’t offered me a thing since I’d started working. Not a smile. Not a kindness. And definitely not career advancement. “I’m good, thanks. I don’t need any more chances to deliver your coffee. I’ve had enough of you.”
I headed for the door, face flaming. This had gone so well.
“A trip to India,” Monroe called.
That got my attention. I turned back around. She stood tall, arms crossed over her chest. Was that fear in her face? It was gone before I could tell for sure.
“You think you can bribe me with a cheap plane ticket and a pile of extra work? Forget it.”
She raised her chin. “With me.”
A hundred protests clamored in my mind. I’d already quit. Monroe drove m
e wild on a daily basis. I needed a real job, not an assistant gig.
But a trip to India?
Fifteen hours on a flight with her?
Yes.
“I’m not flying coach.”
Was she...panting? Her breasts rose with short, shallow breaths, almost like she liked this. Which was impossible. Monroe, the ice queen of the office? Monroe, who hated everyone, including me? I wanted to push her father, and harder. I had nothing else to lose.
“Business class,” she countered.
I took a deep breath. “First.”
Silence glittered in the air between us, thick with tension. Monroe’s green eyes bored into mine. She poked her tongue out to wet her bottom lip. I thought I might die.
Then she looked back down at her desk, seeming to steady herself. When she looked back up at me, her usual cold expression was firmly back in place.
“We leave in a week.”
I tried to leave again.
“Chloe, wait.”
“What?” Was this lightheaded swell of power what victory felt like?
Monroe tossed me something, slim and shiny. I caught it out of the air.
Her credit card.
“You can’t wear my coffee in the office.” Her eyes trailed down my body. I was painfully aware of my lacy black bra all but flashing like a neon light beneath the wet fabric and my new status as the winner of the world’s worst wet t-shirt contest. “Go buy yourself a new shirt.”
I walked out with my head held high, keeping it together until I’d escaped to the women’s bathroom on the floor below. Then I collapsed against the stall door, hand to my chest, my heart racing.
For the first time, I’d gotten the better of Monroe.
But somehow, she still had the upper hand.
Chapter Two
I still felt obnoxiously alive a week later as I shivered in the airport bathroom. Ten minutes to boarding, and once again I was down to my undies. Is it a Tuesday if you haven’t stripped down to your bra in a public restroom? I wouldn’t know.
I cursed continuously under my breath while I tugged the brand-new Dior sweater out of the bag. Who had I become? Normally, my flying clothes consisted of yoga pants and an ancient Harvard hoodie. Not this time. It wasn’t that I wanted to impress Monroe.
I needed to impress her.
Not that I would tell her that.
Monroe paced in the executive lounge when I got there, even though there were entire leather couches available. I walked into her path and blocked it with the help of my suitcase. She looked me up and down, pursing her lips. Thinking about leveling me like a linebacker to get by, maybe. Who’s to say?
It was pitch black outside but Monroe looked like she’d just woken up, her skin dewy and her green eyes bright. Even her low-cut camisole looked like something out of her bedroom. Great. Thoughts about Monroe in bed came fast and hard, that camisole riding up—god, it was dangerous. I had no business getting on that plane. Did I honestly believe I could get through 15-hours next to her with those thoughts running through my head? I already felt ready to combust.
I’d almost lost my job, but what the hell. Trips were supposed to be fun. So I’d just...make it fun.
Monroe cleared her throat, and I realized that she’d stopped in front of me with only a few inches separating us. Probably when I was thinking about her in bed.
“Is that what you’re wearing?”
I liked her so much better when she was silently glaring at me like a beautiful pissed-off statue. Now instead of picturing her beneath a bedsheet, I wanted to strangle her with one.
“You’re right. You don’t need me on this flight. Bye, Monroe.”
Monroe grabbed my hand, her fingers searing against my palm. “I already paid for the tickets.”
“I already paid for the sweater.”
“The team in India is expecting to meet you.”
I shook off Monroe’s hand, the heat still pulsing where she touched me. “Too bad for them.”
“Chloe, don’t—” Monroe bit her lower lip, eyes traveling around the lounge at the gaggle of retired Wall Street Journal readers. “It’s a fine sweater.” She lowered her voice, her eyes homing in on the v of the neckline settled between my breasts.
“Eyes up here, Monroe.” I raised my voice enough for a presidential-looking man with a shock of gray hair to glance up over the business section.
“Not—not so loud.” She glanced around again, pink rising to her cheeks like she expected to get busted for talking in detention. “It’s really expensive to get in here and I don’t think people appreciate—”
“In case you haven’t noticed, I’m done with people not appreciating me.” My breath released in a shudder.
“That’s not what I meant.” She took the handle of my suitcase and her own and started pulling them toward the gate. I had no choice but to follow her. My entire life was in that bag.
I didn’t try very hard to catch up with her. Her ass was a revelation in her yoga pants. I’d never wanted yoga pants in a heap on the floor more in my life. I’d missed the opportunity to bring mine with me, but I wouldn’t miss out on watching her move in hers.
Monroe stopped out of nowhere, and I bumped into her. I dragged my eyes away from her ass to find her looking at me over her shoulder. Busted. But I rolled with it, placing a hand on her hip to steady myself before yanking it away.
“Good,” she said. “I just wanted to make sure you were coming.” She bit back a smile, her teeth digging into her bottom lip. “You take this now.” Monroe released my suitcase and let it wobble. “We’re boarding.”
I always knew I was built for luxury and first-class did not fucking disappoint. My seat hugged my body like one of those massage chairs at the mall and I was pretty sure they were handing out cashmere blankets. The jiggling, though—that wasn’t common for a plane, was it? I was halfway through my first glass of champagne when I realized what it was. Monroe. Fidgeting. Like there was no tomorrow.
I turned to face her, ready to ask her in my kindest voice to calm the hell down, but the look on her face stopped me short. Real panic. Her knuckles were porcelain white from gripping the armrest. They looked ready to shatter at the slightest touch, so I kept my hands on my tray table.
“What’s going on?”
“I’m getting ready for takeoff.” Monroe stared straight ahead, a determined set to her jaw.
“We’re not even taxiing yet.” God, she was gorgeous. It got harder to remember how miserable she’d made my life with every passing second. “I think we’ve got a few minutes. Maybe you should relax that death grip and have some champagne.”
She shook her head, her lips drawn so tight I could barely see them. The muppet look would be funnier if she didn’t seem so tense. Something inside me softened.
“I didn’t picture you as someone who turns down champagne, even if you didn’t have to pay $500 for the bottle.”
She grimaced. I wanted to watch stupid movies and pretend I wasn’t into her until I passed out somewhere over the Atlantic, happy and a little drunk. Instead, I can’t tear my eyes from her face. How am I going to survive the next fifteen hours? There’s not enough champagne on the plane.
Monroe said nothing.
“Fine, suit yourself. You can be the DD if anything happens to the pilot.” I slid my headphones back over my ears.
Monore’s face went sheet white, and again my heart leaped against the space between us in spite of itself. She was my boss. I should’ve been focused on the rewards of the work trip, not memorizing every expression on her face. But I couldn’t help it.
“It was a joke.” I kept my voice low. “Relax.”
For a minute it seemed like she might try. Then her hand crept over to my armrest and she tapped out a steady beat on my wrist with her index finger. It reminded me of an annoyingly irresistible Morse code. I tugged my headphones off with a sigh and stared her down while I covered her hand with mine to smother her S.O.S.
“You ra
ng?”
A small smile appeared on her face, then vanished. “I should be fine once we get in the air, but I was wondering if you could…” The rest of the sentence was drowned out in the hum of the accelerating engines.
“If I could what?”
Monroe cleared her throat, and when she spoke her voice sounded husky, and I half expected her to be exhaling a plume of smoke. “I was wondering if you would hold my hand during takeoff.”
Yes. “Isn’t there a pill you can take for that?”
Color flooded her cheeks and a strange desire wrapped up in panic washed through my gut. Had I gone too far? “I have a Xanax, but I’d rather not take it. What if something goes wrong with the flight? Who will fly the plane then? And who will carry me to safety, you?”
I quirked an eyebrow, trying to play it cool. Yes, I would carry her off the plane. There’s very little I wouldn’t do for her if it wouldn’t mean the end of my career. “The other option is for me to knock you out. Either way, I promise to help throw you off the plane if we need to make a quick escape.”
Monroe looked down at our hands. Mine still rested lightly on hers, ready for me to pull back at any moment. Then she lifted her chin and met my eyes as she flipped her palm over and wove our fingers together. “Look.” There was my boss. “I’m giving you a free trip to India. The least you can do is let me break your hand during takeoff.”
“Fine.” I gave her hand a quick squeeze. “But if you so much as chip my nail polish, I’m filing for workman’s comp.”
Monroe must have taken her Xanax after all because she was snoring lightly with her head slumped against my shoulder by the time my second movie ended. Outside, all was darkness. We must’ve been somewhere over the ocean.