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Authors: Evie Claire
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“Miss Klein, you made it.” An elegant hand removes frameless reading glasses. The lenses glint in the glow of his overhead light like the patches of salt in his graying hair. On the table before him, a dark brown liquor drink sweats onto a neat marble coaster. The hot, earthy scent of scotch hangs heavy in the air. God, I love that smell! But I hate the smug smile smeared on his face.
Removing the scripts from his lap, he stands and the smile fades. With the easy, self-assured gait of a man with too much confidence he covers the few feet of carpeted aisle between us, appraising me with every step. His gaze lingers on my freshly painted black nail polish and row of golden nose rings.
“I see we’re back in character.” He raises an amused eyebrow as he reaches for my bag. I instinctively pull away from him, finding the collar button of his perfectly pressed light blue shirt an easier focal point than his smirky eyes. The fact that his shirt is probably the same color as his eyes is not lost on me, but I refuse to confirm this fleeting thought.
Ignoring my obvious discomfort, he takes a rolling step forward and closes the distance I created. His gaze is heavy. I freeze under its weight, still focused on the button. Slowly, steadily, he reaches for the worn straps of my bag, no doubt daring me to recoil again like some masterful lion tamer. Damned mannered men and their chivalrous need to make females feel helpless. Not every girl needs, or wants, a white knight.
But I let him take the bag. He tucks it neatly into the mahogany overhead bin opposite him and returns to his seat. Looking back to the cold black night whistling outside the open door, I wonder if it’s too late to change my mind. Aside from an overzealous anchorwoman on a TV mounted by Devon’s seat, we’re alone. When I agreed to this trip I thought it was going to be an epic party.
“Where’s everyone else?”
“Ernest is in the galley. Tiny is parking the car. The rest should be on their way.”
“Smartwater, Miss Klein?” I’m startled by a voice coming from behind me, and turn to see the same small Asian man that accompanied Devon into my trailer. I can only assume this is Ernest. But how in the hell does he know I like Smartwater?
“Do you have lime?” I accept the water and sigh with boredom, not wanting anyone to notice how out of place I feel in such swanky surroundings.
“It’s a little intimidating, isn’t it?” Devon whispers behind me. I spin on my heel and fix him in a cold glare. He doesn’t even bother to look at me.
“I don’t know what you mean,” I answer defiantly.
“Oh, do you usually fly private?” He finally looks up, holding his place on the page with a perfectly manicured nail. If my eyes were daggers, he would be dead. But they aren’t, and his look is so unaffected it unnerves me further. Oh, I’ll show him.
“No, I don’t. My ego fits just fine in coach.”
He clenches his jaw but says nothing more. He doesn’t have to. His gaze is so hot and intense it all but dares me to try to play whatever little game he thinks we’re playing. But I know a thing or two about games. I keep my eyes locked on his, refusing to be the first to look away. Refusing to show any weakness to him.
“If you’ll have a seat, Miss Klein, I’ll bring you some lime.” Ernest places his hand in the small of my back, ending our staring. I slink to the side so Ernest can pass. “I always like to sit in the last row,” he says with a conspiratorial nod. “The seats recline further.” He steps behind the last seat on the left and waves me in with a helpful smile. Ernest, I like. His asshole boss, I want to punch in the teeth.
But I don’t have time to plan a mysterious death at forty thousand feet. Staring down at the buttery leather makes me go all hot and squirmy inside. I swallow hard, pushing the old demons down.
“Is something wrong, Miss Klein?” Ernest places his hand gently on my shoulder, snatching
“Miss Klein, you made it.” An elegant hand removes frameless reading glasses. The lenses glint in the glow of his overhead light like the patches of salt in his graying hair. On the table before him, a dark brown liquor drink sweats onto a neat marble coaster. The hot, earthy scent of scotch hangs heavy in the air. God, I love that smell! But I hate the smug smile smeared on his face.
Removing the scripts from his lap, he stands and the smile fades. With the easy, self-assured gait of a man with too much confidence he covers the few feet of carpeted aisle between us, appraising me with every step. His gaze lingers on my freshly painted black nail polish and row of golden nose rings.
“I see we’re back in character.” He raises an amused eyebrow as he reaches for my bag. I instinctively pull away from him, finding the collar button of his perfectly pressed light blue shirt an easier focal point than his smirky eyes. The fact that his shirt is probably the same color as his eyes is not lost on me, but I refuse to confirm this fleeting thought.
Ignoring my obvious discomfort, he takes a rolling step forward and closes the distance I created. His gaze is heavy. I freeze under its weight, still focused on the button. Slowly, steadily, he reaches for the worn straps of my bag, no doubt daring me to recoil again like some masterful lion tamer. Damned mannered men and their chivalrous need to make females feel helpless. Not every girl needs, or wants, a white knight.
But I let him take the bag. He tucks it neatly into the mahogany overhead bin opposite him and returns to his seat. Looking back to the cold black night whistling outside the open door, I wonder if it’s too late to change my mind. Aside from an overzealous anchorwoman on a TV mounted by Devon’s seat, we’re alone. When I agreed to this trip I thought it was going to be an epic party.
“Where’s everyone else?”
“Ernest is in the galley. Tiny is parking the car. The rest should be on their way.”
“Smartwater, Miss Klein?” I’m startled by a voice coming from behind me, and turn to see the same small Asian man that accompanied Devon into my trailer. I can only assume this is Ernest. But how in the hell does he know I like Smartwater?
“Do you have lime?” I accept the water and sigh with boredom, not wanting anyone to notice how out of place I feel in such swanky surroundings.
“It’s a little intimidating, isn’t it?” Devon whispers behind me. I spin on my heel and fix him in a cold glare. He doesn’t even bother to look at me.
“I don’t know what you mean,” I answer defiantly.
“Oh, do you usually fly private?” He finally looks up, holding his place on the page with a perfectly manicured nail. If my eyes were daggers, he would be dead. But they aren’t, and his look is so unaffected it unnerves me further. Oh, I’ll show him.
“No, I don’t. My ego fits just fine in coach.”
He clenches his jaw but says nothing more. He doesn’t have to. His gaze is so hot and intense it all but dares me to try to play whatever little game he thinks we’re playing. But I know a thing or two about games. I keep my eyes locked on his, refusing to be the first to look away. Refusing to show any weakness to him.
“If you’ll have a seat, Miss Klein, I’ll bring you some lime.” Ernest places his hand in the small of my back, ending our staring. I slink to the side so Ernest can pass. “I always like to sit in the last row,” he says with a conspiratorial nod. “The seats recline further.” He steps behind the last seat on the left and waves me in with a helpful smile. Ernest, I like. His asshole boss, I want to punch in the teeth.
But I don’t have time to plan a mysterious death at forty thousand feet. Staring down at the buttery leather makes me go all hot and squirmy inside. I swallow hard, pushing the old demons down.
“Is something wrong, Miss Klein?” Ernest places his hand gently on my shoulder, snatching
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