The lady in Red (REWRITTEN!)

Chapter 7

I sit back on the seat and buckle myself up again. Reece is watching me again as I lay my head back against the seat and close my eyes. This is so embarrassing. The embarrassment slithers inside of me and the feeling is so remarkable and insane that a laugh spills out of my mouth before I can stop myself. My eyes open and I look at him.

"What's so amusing, Ms. White?" He asks, stroking his chin. I shift against the seat and rotate my neck once to release some tension.

"My state of health right now," I answer, "Motion sickness." I look pitiful, I know that much. Reece leans against his seat but turns his head towards a woman who strolls by within a second with a trolley of drinks for us.

"What would you like, sir?" she asks, cheerfully. Her smile is contagious but it doesn't reach me. I hold on to my stomach in hopes of keeping vomit from erupting out of my mouth. I'd just jump off this plane without a parachute if that happened.

"Ginger Ale," he says, looking back at me. His eyes zero in on me and it felt as if he could sense my discomfort. I heard of this remedy before, ginger meaning to help with motion sickness. How was this supposed to help me, though? I was a ticking bomb of a disaster happening.  The woman quickly retrieves ginger ale can for me and hands it to me. I take it but drinking it is far from my mind.

"Mr. Dean—" I start off, wanting to protest but I'm cut off short when his eyes sharpen.

"Drink." One word, one sharp command. My fingers automatically pull the tab back and it hisses at me. I look down at it.

"Mr. Dean, I can't," I whisper. My stomach churns and gurgles. Drinking this might be OK for normal people but I was nowhere near normal. My body rejected normal things and only pushed out abnormal things out in return.

"Ginger Ale will help you, Catherine," he explains, leaning forward. He pushes my hand, where I hold the Can, towards my mouth, urging me to drink. I do so, taking the first sip and force it down my throat. I really don't want to drink but when he sits back and kicks one leg over the other, I take another sip. Within seconds, I'm chugging the whole drink down despite my discomfort. I push the empty can away and unbuckle myself.

"Should I be worried?" he speaks, breaking the ice, amusement dancing in his eyes.

"For the next twenty hours...yes, sir. I'd worry if I were you. I did try to warn you but—"

"Ms. White, think of this as your first challenge. If you can't overcome this then how will you overcome anything when it comes to me?" Reece interjects, motioning the woman to come forward again. Silently, as if she knew already, she hands over a glass of whiskey to him, and nervously walks away. I watch him take the first sip effortlessly. It must be nice to do that without feeling like dying. 

"I like to walk before I crawl."

"Then crawl," he proposes, twirling this drink in slow motion. The air suddenly changes, the temperature rises, and cool air instantly turns into scorching heat that slithers up from my toes to my throat.

"I'm trying," I whisper. Just then the plane dips and I gasp. My hands automatically grip the rails again and I squeeze. Instinctly, I look out the window.

"Breathe, Catherine. And don't look out the window." My hands release the rails despite my discomfort and despite the plane dipping again. I do as he says and what I should have done a long time ago.

I breathe—one deep inhale to one long exhale. I start to sway in my seat but I continue to breathe in and out in a timely manner to calm my nerves. Perspiration clings to my skin. When I can longer focus on breathing, my head falls back against the seat.

"Look at me," he says, sternly, bringing my attention back to him.

"I'm so sorry," I whisper.

"You're thinking too much. There is nothing you can't overcome. Put your mind into something positive. Focus on something else."

"Something else...okay. I can do that. What should I focus on?" I swipe my hand across my forehead and push my hair back that has clung to my wet forehead.

"Anything your heart desires." Anything my heart desires? My body visibly relaxes and my body slumps against the seat. My heart desires to be touched.

"Tell me...about this business trip that I know nothing of," I smile. Reece finishes his drink before bringing his attention back to me.

"Ouishi Project." He leans back and watches the expression on my face change drastically.

"Ouishi Project? The one your father has been fighting for all these years?" I squeal, almost too loudly. I cough nervously, recovering. He chuckles at my reaction.

"It's finalized." And that's why we're going to Japan. It makes sense now. I'm more confused and baffled as to why I didn't do my homework to know about this in the first place. Some secretary I am, I swear. I'm not prepared but it's not too late. I'm at ease now but not completely. I have a lot of questions to ask that suddenly bubbles inside of me but I catch it before it all starts to slip out. Too many questions but I don't think my brain is ready to digest anything just yet. Not now at least. So, I wait and keep the questions to myself.

Nausea is still not under control and the more I sit upright I more my body feels the assault from the pain. I open my mouth to say something at least three times but nothing comes out. I opt on looking out the window at practically nothing but the drumming of fingers on the rails brings my attention back to him.