LEAH
The wind whipped around me, destroying the tight nape-bun I had wrapped my hair in this morning. I leaned into the invisible force and soaked up its coolness.
"Do you think we're moving to New York permanently?"
My eyes flashed open. James was marching towards me with his rolling carry-on. I glanced at my full-size luggage and shrugged.
"Never know what I'll need," I told him. "You're late, Mr. Muller."
In truth, I knew he wasn't. I had worked with this man for a week now and was now familiar with his particular ways.
He was always at least five minutes early. If he was late for anything, it was because he wanted to be. I also knew he liked his coffee with exactly one sugar, that he hated wearing anything but blue or gray, and he ate like a bird.
A year ago, I would've refused to eat in front of someone like James. He didn't necessarily judge me, but I didn't want him to know that I liked food and I liked a lot of it.
Now, I didn't care so much. I might have liked pigging out in front of him now just to annoy him.
James checked his fancy Garmin watch. "I'm two minutes early. Come on. Let's check-in."
We headed into the building. I had already checked us both in through the airline app, so I just dropped my suitcase off at the baggage drop.
James led the way toward security. The line, as usual, was a mile long. He seemed content to ignore me and answer any of my small talk with single-word responses.
I got the memo. He was ruining my pre-trip enthusiasm, though. I didn't travel often, but I always loved the airport atmosphere and the giddiness of seeing new places and things.
In spite of his sulking attitude, I spent the next forty minutes scrolling through Instagram and editing photos I had taken this week.
"Are you a food blogger?" asked James.
I lifted my head. His gaze bounced between my face and the image of gnocchi I was editing.
"For myself, maybe," I said. "I don't post them. I just like to log the foods I make. It's a hobby, I guess."
He nodded his head slowly, thoughtfully. "Where did you learn?"
"How to cook? I taught myself mostly." I chuckled once. "Does it look like I went to culinary school?"
"Those pictures seem to indicate some level of expertise."
I tucked my phone into my pocket and rocked on my heels. "Thank you. I do appreciate that. No one else really sees what I make."
"You should—" He stopped himself.
"I should . . . ?"
"Never mind. It's our turn, let's go."
He hurried off towards the ready TSA officer. I sighed. This guy.
After two hours and a venti iced coffee, we finally were boarding the plane. I stopped at our row in economy and looked back at James. He had the aisle seat, I had the middle, and an older heavy gentleman was currently seated at the window.
Mentally cursing him, I scooted to the middle seat and smiled over at the stranger. We would be nice and close for the next several hours.
He smiled back. There was spinach between his teeth and he reeked of sweat and body odor.
Good God.
I looked back at James but he was already setting up his laptop and plugging in his wireless earbuds.
My legs relaxed and my thigh incidentally rested against his. I didn't have enough room to relax without touching either his leg or the stranger beside me.
James gradually turned to me. I arched a brow.
"I like my personal space," he grumbled.
"So do I." I forced a sarcastic smile.
James shrugged. "Could be worse. He could be a screaming infant."
As if on cue, his seat jerked forward. A child's laughter sounded behind him before his seat kicked the seat again. I covered my mouth to keep from laughing.
James' jaw ticked. He turned in his seat to face the mother.
I turned to look too. She was playing some Tetris game on her phone.
"Excuse me," James spoke. He repeated himself more loudly when the woman didn't respond.
She looked at him with a blank look.
"Control your child," he said.
The kid kicked his seat again. I could practically see the steam rolling out of James' ears. He unbuckled his seatbelt and moved to get up. My first reaction was to grab his arm. He halted.
I cleared my throat and pressed the attendant button. Then I twisted in my seat to face the mother and child. The kid was grinning like the devil.
"What?" the woman snapped at me.
"Hey buddy," I addressed the boy. "Do you like cookies?"
He nodded.
"I'll make you a deal. Every hour of this flight you go without making a noise or kicking my friend's chair, I'll give you a cookie. That means you can have up to four cookies. How does that sound?"
The boy looked at his mother who seemed wary but compliant. Then he smiled. "What kind of cookies?"
"Oreo."
"Okay. Deal."
I reached over the seat to shake his hand. "Your time starts now."
As I settled back into my seat, James stared at the side of my face. I finally acknowledged him.
"Thank you," was all he said.
I couldn't help but smile a little in satisfaction. The flight attendant came to address the help button but James told her everything was okay now. Then I opened the Kindle app on my phone and continued reading my hot and steamy romance.
Aside from Mr. Cheese and the occasional baby cry, we landed in New York safely that afternoon. I wanted to glue my face to the window. Flying in over the bay had to be the coolest landing I've ever experienced.
I gave Seat-Kicker the entire six-pack of Oreos I'd splurged on. His mother smiled at me.
When it came to our turn to deplane, James stepped into the aisle and cleared it so I could go first. I strode out into the terminal, more excited than ever to get out and see Manhattan.
We picked up my luggage and headed to the private car the client hired for us. Our meeting was scheduled in thirty minutes, so we rushed off to the business center, which conveniently was located in our hotel.
James' client was the owner of the hotel and its luxury chain. I was both terrified and excited to meet such a powerful person. James spent the entire ride rehearsing his report and perfecting it. I could tell he was good at this.
When we arrived, the bellmen took our luggage. James and I went straight to the meeting room on the fiftieth floor. I wanted to walk slowly and gawk. James insisted on rushing, though.
Everything was stylish and expensive—the tiled floors, ornate light fixtures, fabric-lined walls, and eccentric furniture. All the employees wore matching dark blue uniforms.
"So," I said in the elevator, "what is my purpose in this meeting?"
"You'll be reading a report. Just numbers."
"Can't you do that?"
"I could. I'd rather it come from your mouth. Joan will like seeing your involvement."
"Joan?"
"My client."
I took a deep breath. I didn't understand what he meant that she'd like to see my involvement. I was just the assistant, after all.
"Part of your presence in the Foundation," he added, "is to show donors that we care about victims. That requires you to be involved in things."
"Great," I mumbled. "Maybe I should use my victim power to get us first class on the flight home."
He looked coolly down at me, those forest-colored eyes meeting mine for the first time since we deplaned. "I already upgraded us for the return flight."
"When did you do that?"
"Before the plane took off."
I chuckled.
We got off the elevator and went to a meeting room down the hallway. There were probably six other rooms of varying sizes on this floor. The room was empty except for a small table with coffee and pastries.
While James set up his workstation, I helped myself to a sugary coffee and croissant. I had just taken a nibble when I heard a woman's voice.
"Well, hello there."