In Flight (Up In The Air #1)

CHAPTER EIGHT

Mr. Stalker

I felt a huge wave of relief as I noted, coming down into the lobby five minutes late, that Stephan and I were the only crew members that had shown up so far.

I’d never been late before, not even five minutes late, but it wouldn’t count against me this time. If we got a crew delay today, it would be whoever showed up last that caused it, and not me, since I had shown up second.

Stephan gave me a tentative smile when he saw me. “Good morning, Buttercup.”

“Morning. How was the rest of your night?” I asked, hoping it had ended well for him.

He grinned. “It was great. We went back to Melvin’s place and talked for hours. We’re taking it slow, but we understand each other now.”

I grinned back. “That’s awesome. Guess we’ll be sticking to New York for awhile, huh?”

He sighed. “I hope so. So how did it go with Mr. Beautiful?” he asked me with a smile. “You are looking much more chipper this morning than I had thought possible, considering the condition you were in when you left the bar. I assume he kept his promise to be a perfect gentleman last night?” He made the last into a question.

I nodded carefully. “Yes, he was a perfect gentleman last night. He was very sweet, actually. He even washed off my makeup. And he brought me coffee and aspirin this morning.”

Something caught his eye behind me, and I turned, expecting one of the tardy crew members. I shouldn’t have been surprised that it was James. I had left him behind in my room. He had to pass through the lobby in order to leave. But it was still a little shock to see him so soon after what we’d just done.

My eyes traveled unbidden down to the area of his body that I’d just given special attention to. I licked my lower lip. His blue eyes were positively vivid as he stared back at me, striding straight up to me.

He nodded politely to Stephan. They both murmured a good morning. James’s warm hand landed possessively on the nape of my neck. My eyes wandered back down south. His fingers bit harder into my nape, and my eyes shot back up to his.

“Our Buttercup is a handful, Stephan,” he said idly to the other man.

Stephan laughed. “She is that.”

“A f*cking perfect handful,” James murmured to me.

Stephan heard him, and laughed harder. “Well, I wouldn’t exactly know about that, but I’ll take your word for it.”

“Walk me to the door, please?” James asked me politely.

I did. He lowered his hand from my neck when we reached the door.

“I’m going to tie you to my bed and take your hymen. I can’t seem to think about anything else,” he told me quietly. “Tell me when I can see you again.”

I swallowed hard. “I’m not sure. I have a twelve hour day tomorrow. We’re doing a turn to DC.”

“What about today?”

I just blinked at him. “I’m flying back to Las Vegas.”

He just nodded as though that was helpful, and left.

The other flight attendants came down in short order, starting with Brenda. She was a solid ten minutes late from our showtime. Melissa and Jake came down a few minutes after that.

We waited another ten minutes before Stephan had to phone headquarters.

“Yes, I’m just making sure that we are sharing an airport shuttle with our pilots this morning,” he murmured into his phone. “Okay, thank you.”

The disheveled looking pilots showed just as he was hanging up his phone. We had already loaded up our bags, so we piled in while the pilots got theirs loaded up.

We rushed through the airport, the entire crew hustling to avoid a delay.

Stephan had braided my hair into one sleek braid in the van, while I applied a minimal amount of makeup at red lights. There was no way I could have done it while the maniac driver was swerving around. Even after years of New York layovers, I had yet to get used to the crazy thing New Yorkers called ‘driving.’

We made it to the gate in record time, and an exasperated gate agent let us onto the jetway. She was plump, middle-aged, and harried looking.

“You guys are borderline late,” she scolded us. “If this flight is delayed, I’m putting down the flight crew as the cause.”

Stephan gave her his most charming smile. “Sweetheart, let’s not be delayed then. Send them down anytime you like. We have the A team working today. We don’t need any prep time at all.”


She smiled back, instantly relieved by his attitude. “That’s what I like to hear. Some flight crews need thirty minutes to prep.”

Stephan gave the Captain a meaningful look. “Well, that ain’t us, right Captain?” he prompted him. Some pilots took forever to prep, too.

Captain Peter nodded, smiling. “Like he said, we’re on our A game today, so send ‘em on down.”

It was a slight gamble. If we were unlucky enough to have any mechanical problems, we would have a plane full of passengers for the delay. But we were hoping for lucky today. It was that or a write-up.

“I’ll start the pre-board beverage service for you and have Jake man the door so you can take inventory in the galley. The caterers have come and gone by now. Hopefully they left us everything we need,” Stephan delved into the liquor cart as he spoke, pulling out glasses.

“Wanna take out a tray of mimosas?” I asked him. “They’re usually a hit in the morning, especially on this flight, and it saves time, since we have twenty-one up here.”

He nodded absently, digging around. He could never find anything in the galley, and I didn’t know why he even tried anymore.

I opened a drawer full of cold bottles of water, pointing. “Just put those out for them. I’ll do the rest of the mimosa prep while you do that.”

I was already popping the cork on the champagne as he strode back into the cabin.

It was going to be a hectic morning. It just had that feeling to it. I liked that, though. Staying busy was never a bad thing, as far as I was concerned.

I had a tray of mimosas waiting when he came back a few minutes later. He headed immediately back out.

I had accounted for all of the drinks we needed. I began to count the meals, and prepare the menus. I handed Stephan the menus to hand out and he handed me a list of drink orders. No glasses remained on the tray.

“I should be good after you hand out those menus,” I told him. “Do I need to take out another tray of mimosas?”

“Nope, you made the perfect amount. And you have a surprise in 2D, Buttercup.” He grinned at me as he swept back out into the cabin.

I was only half listening, making drinks as quickly as possible. Pre-board service could be tricky when we were this pressed for time.

I strode out with the first round of drink orders. I was delivering the orders back to front, because that was how Stephan had written it down. It must have been the order they’d boarded in. The gate agents sometimes liked to mix it up, though only god knew why.

I unloaded the drinks quickly. There were some loud, boisterous New Yorkers up front today. I just smiled at them. A few men almost shouted at each other as they argued about some sports team. I counted five of them together that may be a possible problem, or may just need a firm shushing if they kept it up.

They got suddenly quiet as they noticed me.

“Hey, sugar. You’re a sight for sore eyes,” the loudest one said to me finally, after they’d all stared at me rudely while I set down their drinks. I looked up and smiled at him pleasantly. Neutrally. He was maybe in his late forties, with dark hair and swarthy skin. He looked like a New Yorker down to his toes.

“Good morning,” I murmured, heading back into the galley for the next round.

I only had a few more drinks to make after that. The waters and mimosas had been enough for most of them.

I handed out the next small round, collecting already empty glasses on my tray as I passed back in. I started from the front again, collecting jackets, and making sure no one needed anything.

I froze, my cool composure slipping for a heartbeat when I saw the man occupying 2D. I was surprised that I hadn’t noticed him sooner. It seemed as though my body should have sensed his very presence by the way it instantly reacted.

I recovered more quickly to the sight of him this time than I had the last time he’d been in that seat. I hoped that meant I was getting used to him.

He can’t continue to affect me this way every time I see him, I told myself. I knew it was just wishful thinking.

“May I get you anything else, Mr. Cavendish?” I inquired cooly. He already had one of the bottles of water that Stephan had handed out. Water seemed to be the only thing he drank. “May I hang your jacket?”

His face was tense, but he was silent as he stood and removed his suit jacket. The seat beside him was the only vacant one in first class, and I guessed that he had purchased it to gain some semblance of privacy.

I remembered from overhearing him speaking to our CEO on the charter flight where I had met him that he didn’t often fly commercial. Why on earth would he? He had a private jet. Why was he suddenly flying with us so often? I guessed it was most likely because he was looking into backing us financially in some way.

As he straightened in the aisle, he was suddenly only inches from me.

I took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of him. He smelled so wonderful, with just a hint of spicy cologne over his own natural scent.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were taking this flight?” I murmured the question to him as I took his jacket, my voice pitched low.

“It was a last minute decision. I didn’t know until this morning that I had urgent business in Las Vegas that needed attention today,” he murmured back, his voice soft, but his face still hard and tense.

I searched his face briefly, but had to quickly move on. There was just no time right then for figuring out what Mr. Beautiful was up to.

I barely got the glasses collected and the galley secured in time for the safety demonstration. I pointedly avoided looking at James and got through it with my usual composure.

The group of New Yorkers made a few raunchy comments about me loudly enough that I heard it as I passed them while I was doing a seat belt check. I ignored them easily. It was nothing unusual. In fact, it was par for the course on this particular flight.

It was Saturday morning, and there was usually a group of old school New York men on this flight. They were heading to Vegas, had just paid for an upgrade to first class, and were getting their party started. They were obnoxious and rude, but also a common feature on JFK flights.

I paused briefly by James. His fists were clenched, his hard face tilted toward the small window. He looked very out of sorts.

“Can I help you with anything, Mr. Cavendish?” I asked him quietly. I couldn’t begin to imagine what had him so agitated.

He shook his head slightly. He quickly contradicted himself. “Tell Stephan I want to speak to him as soon as he’s available,” he said shortly.

“Okaaay,” I said, confused, and moved on.