All of Your Business, page 2
“It’s a fifty-fifty split, of course.”
“Good. Most people hog mine because I’m smaller than them.” She gestured in the direction of the floor. “Shoes. On or off?”
Ben examined Didi’s face in case she might be joking. Apparently not.
“I didn’t realize that was an option,” he said. “But if you do remove your shoes, I recommend waiting until we’re fully airborne. Most plane emergencies occur during takeoff and landing.”
“That’s a fun fact they don’t mention in the safety video.” She rapped a knuckle against the window. “Shade up or down?”
“Up until they dim the lights. Down until they serve breakfast.”
Didi nodded approvingly. “Agreed.”
Ben traded his hot towel for a glass of sparkling wine. “And if I’d answered differently?”
Accepting her drink, Didi thanked the flight attendant. “I would have convinced you to change your mind.”
“Not likely,” he scoffed. “According to my brother, I’m quite set in my ways.”
Didi squinted like she saw right through him. “Which means you’re very married or extremely single.”
Ben bristled at the speculation. “How do you know that?”
“Guys who are dating have to stay flexible. It’s part of the game. But married men settle into routines. So do bachelors if they remain single too long.”
There was that word again. Bachelor. It had never affected Ben before. Suddenly, it felt like an unfavorable critique of the sum of his adult choices.
“What makes you an expert on male behavior?” he asked.
She took a lengthy sip before she answered. “I have four brothers – two older, two younger. And I don’t see a ring on your finger. That means you’re probably a bachelor.”
“Or I just don’t care for jewelry,” Ben countered. “The Duke of Cambridge doesn’t wear a wedding band.”
“Who?” she asked before sipping again.
“Prince William,” Ben clarified. “The future king of England. Which is the country you’re preparing to visit.”
“Princes are exempt. They get to make their own rules.”
Ben tisked at the suggestion. “That sounds like a double standard.”
“Life is nothing but double standards.” Didi eyed him playfully. “Does this mean we’re allowed to talk now?”
Before answering, Ben tasted his sparkling wine. It was sweet to the point of cloying and fruitier than his family’s orchard. His right eye spasmed at its pungent finish.
Didi’s lips pursed as she watched him react. “Not your beverage?”
He coughed into his fist. “Not anyone’s beverage.”
“Agree to disagree.” Didi held out her hand, fingers wiggling. As Ben surrendered his glass, she finished her first one like it was little more than tepid tea. “Why were you in the U.S.?”
Ben matched her gaze like she’d upped the stakes. How much should he share? Details beget questions, and questions beget details. “Should we negotiate some conversational parameters first?”
“Sure. Let’s talk terms.” Didi’s eyes – a depthless brown – narrowed like he had issued a challenge. “How ’bout we use a safe word? Let’s say...champagne.” She hoisted the full glass in a solo toast.
“That’s not champagne,” Ben told her. “It’s sparkling wine’s countryfied cousin. And what are we saving ourselves from, exactly?”
“Me? Nothing. You? Unwanted chitchat. You can use our safe word whenever you’re ready to stop talking.” Her smugness gave Ben’s a run for its money.
He shifted to face her straight on. “Why does it fall to me to be the spoil-sport?”
“It doesn’t,” she clarified matter-of-factly. “I’m allowed to use our safe word, too.”
Ben paused as if he contemplated her statement. Truthfully, he was having fun. Their faux negotiation regarding airline protocol was as entertaining as it was unexpected. He wished every traveler could be so diplomatic.
“Very well,” he conceded in a tone that could only be called priggish. “‘Champagne’ is our conversational safe word – which could make dining out somewhat confusing, especially when it’s time to order.”
“Will we be dining out?” Didi shot him a lopsided smirk, her left lip and eyebrow lifting in tandem.
Ben’s attempt to be sanctimonious dissolved to self-conscious stuttering. “I don’t recall that offer being on the table. And to answer your question, now that parameters are in place, I was visiting the States because my brother was married last Saturday in New Orleans.”
“Younger brother or older?” Didi sampled her second round of champagne.
“Younger brother, and only. His wife grew up in this part of the world. They’ll honeymoon in Louisiana for a fortnight before returning to England.”
Didi’s lip quirked again. “A fortnight?”
“Two weeks.”
“I know what it is.” Her voice was wry with amusement. “I took Brit Lit in high school. I thought only Shakespeare used that word.”
“We still use it frequently in England. Is this your first trip to the U.K.?”
“First, and completely unanticipated.” Didi eased deeper into her seat. “It’s purely for business. I work in the energy sector, and I’m flying back on Friday. What do you do?”
Before Ben could respond, his phone buzzed an S-O-S pattern in his pocket. It was his mother’s unique ringtone. Apologizing, he located his glasses so he could read the text.
Are you in the air?
Not yet. he replied. Problem?
We meet with Mr Akamba tomorrow at 2.
Ben switched to all caps. TOMORROW?
Your presentation is first. You can prepare in the morning. I have Li and Patel on it already. Get as much rest as you can on the plane.
For several seconds, Ben glared at the screen. When did this all come about?
Details tomorrow. Come straight to the office.
Without responding, Ben closed the messaging app. He had placed that bid on GhanaGold only last week, and suddenly both parties were meeting? Why hadn’t he been informed sooner? And when had his mother arranged it? She’d spent the weekend in New Orleans as well, although she was on the road to the airport with Yannick as soon as the bouquet was thrown.
Perhaps he should have gone with her. It seemed the sensible move. Sensible but insensitive. It was Kip’s wedding, after all. His brother and Lou had been chuffed to spend Sunday with their guests at Mardi Gras.
Ben hadn’t the heart to disappoint them. And he was able to catch up with Harry, his cousin, who also lived in London. Like Ben, Harry spent most of his waking hours slogging away at the office.
At least now he had solved the dilemma of whether to work or sleep for the next eight hours. In the meeting, he could extemporize if required to do so. He would rather not attempt it while exhausted.
Ben looked over at Didi. “Sorry. Message from work. I ought to rest. Big day tomorrow.”
She smiled. “Champagne already?”
“What? Oh, yes. Champagne.” He had neglected to use their safe word.
“I get it,” Didi assured him. “Work comes first.”
He switched his phone to airplane mode. “Thank you for understanding.”
She raised her almost-empty glass. “Thanks for the extra bubbly.”
Hardly a sacrifice, Ben wanted to reply, but Didi seemed to be enjoying the drink. He needn’t rain on her first-class parade. Perhaps someday she would experience the real thing.
How many hours until they landed at Heathrow? Ben checked the time on his mobile. Eight and a quarter.
He looked forward to doing something familiar.
Chapter Two
Didi stared at the romance novel in her hand without absorbing its words. She knew what was happening, more or less, and she knew how it was going to end. Happily ever after was the only option. A guaranteed return on her investment.
During her layover in Atlanta, she had purchased the book because it was thicker than a brick. She hadn’t expected to finish it, but she was on track to be done before landing. She could leave it on the plane for someone else to enjoy. It was too big to lug around London.
For what felt like the millionth time, she checked the clock on her phone. There were still a little over three hours to go. They’d been in the air since God was a boy.
On the flight from Lafayette to Atlanta, Didi had distracted herself with work. She reviewed her presentation until she could recite every word on every slide by heart. She didn’t want to seem robotic, but she needed to nail each point. Her boss had given her just one week to assemble what usually required a month.
Everything hinged on the next ninety-six hours – her company’s fate and her fate at the company.
At twenty-nine, Didi could be a vice president. A title like that equaled clout. Clout created options. Options led to better offers. And better offers resulted in advancements.
Those advancements didn’t have to be at Dynamic Energy International where she’d gone about as far as she could go. Vice president was her endgame at DEI, and her boss knew she wanted a promotion. Lately, he dangled that carrot way too often.
Usually, it was when he screwed up. Didi knew the invitation to bid for GhanaGold had been sitting on his office desk for weeks. He showed zero interest in the Ashanti mine until he was invited to make the pitch in England.
Since Monte was more into schmoozing and boozing, he tapped Didi to assist – which meant she would do everything that wasn’t in his spinmeister wheelhouse. After six years, she had learned to play Monte’s game.
If it got her to VP, it was worth it. The late nights. The sacrifices. The family events she had missed. She could justify the last six years. Her brothers might not like what her job demanded of her, but they understood why she needed it.
After tossing the paperback to the floor by her feet, Didi sat up and stretched. She tilted forward to touch her toes. She arched her back like a cat. Gripping the upper edge of her seat, she twisted until her spine cracked.
Okay, that was fifteen more seconds. How else could she distract herself?
Didi considered her options. Movies. Music. E-books on her phone. Social media. But her eyes were already tired from reading, and the light from a screen might not help. Too much tech gave her a tension headache even with its brightness on the lowest setting.
She’d love a cup of coffee, but the flight attendants were nowhere in sight. She didn’t want to push the call button and risk waking another passenger. The cabin was eerily silent, absent of voices and the rustle of limbs. Most of her first-class co-travelers used their complimentary sleep masks and earplugs.
Unlike her straightlaced seatmate. The guy was all business, Didi could tell, by his appearance and demeanor. Crisp button-down shirt. Tailored sports coat. Polished shoes and no jewelry. He wore his business-casual uniform like some guys wore sweatpants and hoodies.
He also slept like there was no other option. During takeoff, his eyes were already closed. As the plane leveled out, his body relaxed. By the time the captain turned off the fasten-seatbelt sign, he breathed steady, even breaths.
Didi shot him an envious side-eye. Oh, to have that mad skill. She slept great at home but not when she was in motion, even as a little kid. Whenever the family piled into the car for a road trip to Corpus Christi, she remained wide awake until they reached their destination. All four of her brothers sacked out within minutes.
Maybe sleeping like that was a guy thing.
Or maybe it was the pressure of the next twelve hours that kept her from shutting her eyes. She couldn’t determine why Monte wanted her to stay in London until Friday. This was essentially a one-day task. If there were additional meetings on the agenda, her boss hadn’t bothered to mention them. He preferred to fly solo at the social stuff anyway.
So why make her wait around until the weekend? Was he thinking she might be his professional arm candy?
Not going to happen. Didi had already established that she wouldn’t play that role. She hoped Monte didn’t intend to test her limits. The scenario would not go his way.
To relieve the tension building in her shoulders, Didi rolled her head from side to side. The last three hours would go faster if she had someone to talk to, but Simply-Ben was her only option – which meant her options were zero. Even if her seatmate did wake up, and she tried to tempt him to talk, all he had to say was “champagne.”
Who needed a conversational safe word in the first place? Was it a British thing?
Rolling her head to the right one final time, Didi examined Ben more thoroughly. He was dressed for success and looked old enough to be in mid-management. He was territorial, neat as a pin, and frustratingly tight-lipped. He made stone-cold sober seem sloppy.
But in her seatmate’s defense, Simply-Ben had perked up when she requested that they set some ground rules. At one point, he almost cracked a smile. And when she teased him about his dining-out comment, it threw him off his game entirely.
Which meant he wasn’t a flirt. Lots of guys weren’t. In Didi’s book, that was a plus. And Simply-Ben was good looking enough to catch someone’s attention without a pick-up line. He had all the requisite qualities for a cast member of “The Bachelorette.” Chiseled jaw. Strong cheekbones. Symmetrical features. His blondish hair looked like it might curl at the ends if he let it get too long.
Maybe that was Simply-Ben’s problem. Too much ego, not enough humility.
As if to disagree, he grunted. His eyes danced beneath his eyelids. As his breathing lost its rhythm, a sheen of sweat glistened on his forehead.
Simply-Ben was having a nightmare.
Didi recognized the signs. Rapid eye movement. Twitching muscles. Uneven exhalations. Even though her youngest brother was a junior in high school, Diego still had terrible dreams. He screamed and flailed and woke the whole house.
Their family doctor had advised them to let Diego sleep no matter how agitated he became. But if waking was a necessity, then talking was better than touching. Comforting words in a soothing voice could calm the dreamer even if they kept sleeping.
When Ben grunted again, Didi made a snap decision. A shouting passenger might wake everyone else. It would be the topic of interest for the remainder of the flight. Her baby brother would revel in the attention. She figured Ben was the complete opposite.
Didi leaned sideways, placing her lips near Ben’s ear. She could feel the heat from his skin. She used the same basic words as she did with Diego. It was more about the mood than the message. Her voice needed to be the equivalent of soothing background music at a day spa.
“You’re safe,” she whispered. “You’re sleeping. You’re on an airplane. You’re flying to London.” She repeated the words like a meditative chant, never changing her volume or pace.
Ben’s eyelids flickered open. His muscles unclenched as his breathing steadied. His gaze skimmed the space in front of their seats before it settled on Didi.
She stared back with a benign expression. In the first few seconds after a nightmare, her brother took his cues from his environment. If the family seemed panicked, Diego panicked. If everyone remained calm, so did he.
“Where am I?” Ben asked.
Didi couldn’t help smiling. Her brother usually asked the same thing. Dreams launched people into false realities that felt inexplicably real. Understanding where they had woken up slotting everything else into place.
“You’re on a plane flying to London,” she repeated in her spa voice. “You were having a nightmare. You’re awake now.”
Instinctively, she touched Ben’s arm which consumed his armrest and part of hers. Ben kept his gaze locked on Didi’s while his brain readjusted to the truth. His eyes reminded her of Mexican turquoise, a churning fusion of green and blue. Gradually, they widened with worry.
“Did I disturb you?” he asked. “Did I wake anyone?”
“No one noticed.” She had assumed that would be his first concern. Private people would rather die before making a scene, voluntary or not. “Do you have nightmares a lot?”
“Not in public.” His deep voice sounded strained and thready. Clearing his throat, he pushed the call button.
Didi let go of his arm. Her work there was done. Ben had rejoined the land of the living.
When the flight attendant appeared, Ben ordered an ice-free Pellegrino. Didi asked for a cup of black coffee, making sure to smile and say thank you. Although the attendant didn’t look inconvenienced, she hightailed it back to the galley. Her thirsty front row might start an unwelcome trend. One request could lead to many.
Didi empathized completely. During her college years, she worked at a local coffeehouse on St. Mary’s Avenue. There was much more to do than just brew espressos, but some customers never understood that. Disappear for five minutes to fold napkins, and the one-star reviews piled up.
Didi pulled her tray table from its compartment in the armrest beneath the window. She’d kill for a concha blanca, but Mexican sweet breads weren’t on the menu. It seemed doubtful she’d find them in London, either. What did British people eat for breakfast? Scones? Crumpets? English muffins?
England wasn’t on her travel radar. Lisbon, not London, was the European city she most wanted to explore. Spain and Portugal ranked at the top of her list, followed by Italy and Greece. A Mediterranean cruise had been her dream honeymoon since she took World Geography in ninth grade.
After her coffee arrived, Didi picked up her novel. Maybe the last fifty pages would help her survive until breakfast was served. She inhaled the coffee’s aroma. It reminded her of her mama’s kitchen.
“How did you know I was having a nightmare?”
Ben asked the question as Didi was taking a drink, and she almost did a spit-take in surprise. She dabbed her lips with the napkin, then wiped the rim of her cup. It was porcelain, not paper, with a saucer to catch any drips.
“My baby brother has them. The doctor said Diego would grow out of them, but he’s sixteen now, and they’re still going strong.”
“Are they? I’m sorry to hear it.” Ben’s expression gave nothing away. His voice was monotone and mild. If he was rattled by his bad dream, he hid it well.
