Jordyn's Army, page 38
“Absolutely not.” His empty tumbler comes to rest next to my champagne flute before his fingers start drumming against the arm rest. “I don’t give a fuck what they want. The decision has already been made,” he growls, low and gruff. “Is that so?” There is a slight pause before he speaks again, determination loud and clear. “I’d love to have them even try. It would make my Goddamn day.” Another pause, which lasts for less than three seconds, his patience at an obvious end. “Dean, I’m done with this discussion. They can take the deal or find someone else. I really don’t give a shit, and the plane’s getting ready to take-off. I’ll see you in the office tomorrow.”
His thumb hits the end button, and in one swift swipe, he powers his phone down, his head turning toward mine. “I think that’s enough business for today.”
“Bad news?” I inquire, my curiosity getting the better of me as I ponder what he might do for a living. The conversation indicating something involving power and control, and that made my insides swoon.
“Somebody just wants something they can’t have.” He drops the phone into the wall pocket in front of him then focuses his attention back to me. His eyes shift to our empty glasses. “Do you need another drink?”
“Sure.” I shrug, impressed when the attendant is at his side with a flick of the wrist. When she steps away with our empties, I attempt to continue our conversation. “You’re from New York then, or just travelling there as well for work?”
He stares at me, his eyes slanting in his obvious analysis of me, the intensity of the moment causing me to squirm further back in my seat. He clears his throat before responding, his reluctance to speak about work evident. “I keep an apartment in the city, but let’s not talk shop.” He waves a hand in the air, effectively dismissing the topic. “I’d rather discuss anything but.” He flashes me an easy smile, one that I’m guessing has dropped many pairs of panties. And, if I’m honest, a pile I’d drop mine in with little hesitation.
“All right.” I cross my legs, noticing when his eyes drift to trail slowly up the bare length of my calves and thighs, over the frilled edges of my faded jean shorts, up the length of my white V-neck t-shirt, until finally locking onto my gaze again. Goosebumps break out across my flesh, though it’s not from any chill in the air.
“Your drink, miss.” The attendant bends between us, severing the moment as she delivers our cocktails. “And yours, sir.” She leans in further, arching her shoulder into my demi-god’s personal space, the move an obvious attempt to show him more of her cleavage. “You just let me know if I can get you anything else.”
Oh. My. God. Are you kidding me? One side of my lip twitches up in disbelief, morphing into a shocked smile when I hear his response. “Just a little space, please.” I have to stifle a giggle when she jerks into an upright position, a stiff nod her only reply as she moves away.
Fin trains his gaze on me, his brow cocked. “What’s so funny?”
I roll my eyes, unable to mask my disdain. “That was such a cliché moment.” His return stare vacant as I elaborate. “You know,” I wrinkle my nose, “the sexy stewardess trying to hit on the hot, rich guy in first class.” I laugh in an attempt to hide my nerves, but knowing my inflamed cheeks are giving me away, I keep babbling like an idiot. “But I’m sure that happens to you so much that you don’t even realize it.”
His index finger strokes back and forth across his lips, his eyes roaming over my face, the low tone of his response delivering a tingle up my spine. “You’re blushing again.”
“Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. Welcome aboard Patriotic Airways flight 3583 to New York City. In preparation for departure—” Saved by the bell? Okay, announcement in this case, but the perfect opportunity to turn my reddened cheeks away from Fin to pull my safety information card out of the wall pocket in front of me and pretend I’m as engrossed as a first-time flier. It doesn’t work.
“You think I’m hot?” His breath is warm, smelling sweet from the tomato juice in his drink as it wafts over me. He’s leaning on the table between us, his head just inches from mine.
I twist my head until our eyes latch. “That was your take-away from that?” I scoff, giving him a playful nudge with my elbow. “You don’t need my justification to know you’re a good-looking man.”
“And don’t forget rich.” One brow arches as he counters, sarcasm obvious as he shifts back. “Because you can tell that just by looking at me, right?”
“Not always.” I glance down between us. “But when you have a twenty-thousand-dollar Omega strapped on your wrist, it’s a pretty good indicator.”
He chuckles, nodding in defeat, but continues to argue with me. “And yet, generally, only someone else with money would know the value of a watch like this.” His lips purse as his eyes scan my form once again in scrutiny. “But you’re definitely not typical. Not in your cut-off denim shorts, gap t-shirt, and chucks.”
“Are you asking me if I’m rich, Fin?” I flash a smug smile, enjoying this little guessing game we’re playing.
“Now what kind of gentleman would I be if I did that?” He finishes the rest of his drink in two long gulps, handing his glass and then mine to the attendant collecting them for take-off, then swings his attention back to me. “Besides, it doesn’t matter one way or the other to me.” He finds the straps to his seatbelt and clicks it into place around his lean waist, his gaze sweeping up to mine when he’s done. “Friends don’t care about those kinds of things.”
“Oh yes, that’s right. I forgot.” I grin back at him. “We’re friends now.”
“Yes, friends.” One side of his mouth lifts, a dimple amplifying the simple grin into something so much sexier. Or maybe it’s the way his gaze seems to sear into mine, stirring something inside of me that I have left untended for far too long. Whatever it is, there is no doubt that it wants to be much more than friends with the demi-god.
2
Turbulence
The plane engines roar loudly as we barrel down the runway, my fingernails sinking into the material of the armrest as I clutch on for dear life. Closing my eyes, I lean my head back and say a silent prayer as I feel us leave the ground. The heat of his hand splaying over mine registers before his words do.
“Not a good flier?” His fingers squeeze in comfort as I nod, my eyes still shut. “Want me to keep talking, or should I just shut up?”
“Keep talking,” I urge, trying to concentrate on the warmth of his skin instead of the knot in my stomach. “It’s just the take-off and landing parts that I hate.”
His hand relaxes over mine as his thumb begins to slide in a gentle circular motion over and over against my skin. “I know I said I didn’t want to talk about work, but I hope this isn’t how you’re planning on showing up to your interview.” My face scrunches in contempt as he chuckles. “Not that I’m sure they wouldn’t appreciate your gorgeous legs.”
My eyes fly open as they whip in his direction. “Of course I’m not showing up to my interview like this! Do you think I have no common sense?”
He shrugs, his expression one of mischief, his hand lifting off mine as he splays them out in front of me in defense. “Okay, okay. Don’t get all huffy. I was just asking. Wanted to make sure you have all the bases covered.”
“My interview isn’t until tomorrow. We don’t even land until five o’clock. How would I ever squeeze that in this afternoon?” I throw back at him.
“Oh, yes, that’s right.” He nods. “I forgot about the time difference. The loss of three hours flying west to east.”
“If you must know, I have a fabulous Dolce & Gabbana suit for my interview,” I huff out, sitting up straighter.
“Ah, so you do have money.” He leans in, a satisfied look on his face because he believes he’s solved some deep dark secret of mine.
“Because I own a nice suit?” I lift my chin in contempt. “I bought it at a second-hand consignment store if you must know.”
“I bet you look like a million bucks in it.” There’s a gleam in his eyes as they traverse over my frame once again.
Is he flirting with me or trying to infuriate me? I’m about to respond, but he interjects, pointing a finger toward my window. “Look, you can see the entire coast line. Isn’t it beautiful?” I turn and look at the view, gratitude warming my insides as I realize everything he just did was a distraction from the take-off. And it worked. Like a charm. I nod then look back at him. “Thank you.”
He shrugs then glances up the aisle as the pilot sounds overhead with an announcement. “Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. I’m Captain Hanson, manning the controls up here in the cockpit as we wing our way to the Big Apple. We’re currently at eleven thousand feet, but I’ll be bringing us up to a cruising altitude of thirty-three. Smooth skies are expected for the entire flight, so sit back, enjoy yourselves, and let your flight attendants know if you need anything. I’ll see you on the ground in a few hours.”
His head turns back to me. “Want another drink?”
“I better not.” I tilt my head toward the overhead compartment. “I should grab my laptop and do a little more research for my interview tomorrow.”
“I thought we agreed not to talk about work?” he rebuts, his smile evaporating.
Groaning through a gritted smile, I counter, “I know, I know, but I need to make sure I’m prepared for every scenario. This is a really big deal for me.”
“Okay, how about a compromise then?” He darts a glance to the front of the plane then back at me. “They’re going to serve us our breakfast within the next couple minutes, so trying to work will be impossible anyway. Have another drink, some breakfast, maybe watch a movie, and I promise, the last two hours of the flight, I’ll help you prepare.”
“And how exactly are you going to do that?”
He chuckles in that low, sexy way that makes my insides stir. “I’m not just a handsome face. I’m a pretty savvy businessman as well. I’ll drill you with every question they could throw your way, and when you answer, I’ll tell you how to answer even better.”
“That’s your compromise?” I challenge, my mind running with various scenarios of the next five hours; more drinks, more flirting, movie snuggling, intense questioning, no questioning, more flirting.
“Do you have a better idea?” he quips, his dimple appearing again.
Mile high club? I shake that thought away but feel my cheeks heating anyway. “You promise you’ll help me prep?”
“Scout’s honor.” He lifts his hand in a three-finger salute, his expression one of complete seriousness.
I laugh, throwing my hands up in defeat. “Okay, you win.”
“Yes!” he exclaims, his face lighting up. He lifts a hand to wave to the first-class attendant, requests another round, then turns back to me. “So, what kind of movies do you like?”
We spend the next hour talking, eating, drinking, talking some more, and then finally decide on a movie. We pick a comedy, staying away from romance and my request for nothing scary. My head is light and fuzzy from all the bubbly I’ve been drinking, and about halfway through the movie, I feel myself doze off. I’m not certain how long I’ve been asleep when I feel something warm brush against my cheek, my eyes springing to life.
“Wake-up, sleeping beauty.” Sparkling green irises stare into my bleary ones, and I blink, making sure I’m not in a dream as my gaze drifts down to his perfectly puffy lips. I swipe my tongue over my own, the urge to kiss him overwhelming. I lean forward just as he begins to speak, snapping me to my senses. “You fell asleep.”
I bolt upright, wiping a hand over my hair, then my face, hoping I don’t look like a complete mess. “I guess I’m a bit of a lightweight,” I joke, trying to cover up my mortification, swiping my fingers under my lashes, hoping to remove any stray mascara that may have wept as I slept. “Do I look awful?”
“You look like an angel.” My heart stutters as I absorb the way the edges of his eyes crinkle when he smiles. He extends a crystal tumbler in my direction. “Here, drink this. It’s just some seltzer. It will refresh you.”
“Thank you.” I take the glass from him and sip from the edge, bubbles popping under my nose as cool liquid slides down my throat. Before I can come up with another blubbering response, he speaks.
“We’ve got about ninety minutes left until we land. Did you still want me to drill you with questions for your interview?”
Did he say ‘drill’ me? Because my answer is whole-heartedly, YES. I cover my mouth as a giggle escapes and bob my head.
His brow creases. “Is that a yes?”
“Yes,” I state, much louder than is required. “Let me just get my laptop.” I stand and wait for him to rise, then move into the aisle. He opens the compartment he helped me place my bag into earlier and motions at the contents.
“It’s this one, correct?” He places his hand on a large, black, leather computer bag with small LV initials embossed throughout the material.
“Yes,” I acknowledge, accepting it as he passes it to me. “Thank you.” I move to squeeze past him to take my seat when a sudden jolt sends me careening into him, a yelp of fear leaving me as my bag drops to the floor between us.
“I’ve got you.” His arms capture me with little effort, steadying my body against his, my heart punching against my ribs as I draw in a deep breath. “It’s just a little turbulence.”
The plane continues to bounce, my panic increasing as I clench my hands around his biceps to anchor myself. “A little?”
His hands slide down my arms, his grip tightening as he guides me back to my seat, giving me a soft push into it when we reach it. He bends and retrieves my bag, setting it in my lap as he stands tall. A ragged breath leaves my lips as I heave a sigh of relief. “Thank you.” I turn to look at him. “Again.” Then I giggle, my nerves getting the best of me.
“It’s nothing,” he concludes, waving off my behavior as he lowers into his seat with ease. “Put your seatbelt on.”
I struggle to find my straps, then click them into place as I watch him do the same. The plane continues to bounce through the air, my nerves matching the frenetic tempo. Sensing my terror, his hand grabs mine and closes around it securely. “We’re going to be fine. Think of it like driving down a bumpy, country dirt road.”
I nod, my palm sweating against his. “If you say so. I think I much rather prefer nice, smooth cement.”
He lets out a guff of laughter, which is drowned out in the next second by an announcement from the flight staff, asking us to please buckle up and raise our tray tables for the remainder of what is expected to be a bumpy ride as we travel around a storm.
“I thought he said it was going to be a smooth flight?” I lament to no one in particular, my voice full of fear and just short of trill.
“Chloe, tell me about the job you’re interviewing for so I know what kind of questions to ask.” Fin’s deep voice, smooth and calm, reaches and pulls me out of my turbulence-infused meltdown.
“What?” I stare back at him, my mind a total blank.
“What’s the position? For your interview?” he repeats, his hand still around mine.
I look down at our entwined fingers, his warm skin a comfort against mine, finally bringing me to my senses. I blow a long breath out of my nose, then meet his gaze with a forced smile. “It’s for the VP of Media Relations.”
His brows rise, his head tilting a smidge. “Impressive.” He gives me a quick smile, releasing my hand to cross his arms over his chest. “Tell me why the job should be yours.”
I begin my rehearsed response with enthusiasm, continuing to answer each question he throws my way, absorbing any advice he offers as we go.
“Okay, last question.” He looks me straight in the eyes. “You ready?”
“Give it to me.” I nod.
“Dinner with me.” His gaze remains locked on mine. “Tomorrow after the interview. Say yes.”
I reel back in surprise. “That’s not a question.”
“You’ll be great at your job.” He chuckles. “There’s no question about that.”
“You’re asking me to dinner?” I repeat his request, disbelief the only thing I’m certain of at the moment.
“We can celebrate you getting the job.” A confident grin slides into place.
“I haven’t got it yet.”
“You will.” There’s not an ounce of doubt in his voice. “I can guarantee it.” His grin turns cockier, if that is even possible. “If I’m wrong, I’ll spring for a bottle of Dom Perignon for you to drown your sorrows in.”
“And if you’re right?” I try to contain the smile on my face and end up smirking instead.
“I’ll spring for a bottle of Dom Perignon to celebrate.”
I laugh out loud. “You’re quite the negotiator, I see?”
He leans in closer to me, his voice lowering again. “I really don’t see how I lose if I have you sitting across from me.”
My breath catches in my throat as my heart misses at least one beat, maybe two, before I gather my wits and respond. “How can I say no to that?”
3
Lost Luggage
“What do you mean, my luggage is lost?” I stare wide-eyed at the customer service agent. “It was a direct flight! How is that even possible?” My hand makes a loud slapping sound as it lands hard and flat on the counter between us.
She clears her throat, her eyes darting everywhere except on me. “It seems it was never loaded on the plane in LAX. Some sort of mix-up with the cart it was placed on.”
“Some kind of mix-up?” I repeat, not even sure why, because I know it’s not going to change the predicament I’m in. “Well, how long is it going to take to fix it? I need my luggage.”
“Of course, ma’am.” She nods, her bobbed haircut swishing around her chin from the motion, as she reads the computer screen in front of her. “It was placed on another flight to New York City just three hours after yours and is expected to be here at eight-thirty this evening.”
