“Yes,” I mutter as I look around nervously. My heart rate has picked up dramatically at the mere thought.
She smirks cheekily and I shake my head in a dismissive gesture. The truth of the matter is that I have no idea what the attraction to Mark is. I may not even like him in the flesh, although I think it would be highly unlikely if I didn’t. We seem to get along very well, and it was at his insistence that I applied for this job.
“I need to go to the bathroom. How long is the drive from the airport to where we are staying?”
Brielle shrugs. “No idea.”
My eyes scan the customs area for a bathroom. “It must be on the other side of the gates.”
We are called to the front of the line to the customs desk, then half an hour later we exit, walking into the arrivals of London International airport. It’s a noisy, crowded, bustling space, and a row of men stand to the left along the wall holding small signs with names of the people that they are picking up. We both look around nervously.
“Do you see our name?” I ask.
“No.”
“Shit, no one is here to pick us up!” I snap. “Typical.”
“Relax, they will be here,” Brelly murmurs.
We keep walking toward the baggage terminal but I still don’t see anyone with either of our names on their signs.
“What do we do if nobody turns up?” I frown.
She runs her hands through her hair as her eyes scan the space. “Well, I don’t know about you, but I’m going to lose my shit.”
I look over her shoulder and see a tall, broad man in a suit holding a sign with the name Brielle Johnston on it.
“Oh, look, there is your name. She must have sent you a driver.” I point to the man and she turns around and waves meekly at the distinguished looking driver.
He walks over and smiles warmly. “Brielle?”
She smiles nervously. “Yes, that’s me.”
He holds out his hand to shake hers. “Julian Masters.”
Oh. I bite my lip to stifle my smile as I watch the color drain from my dear friend’s face. Julian is a man, not a woman as we thought.
Brielle’s saucer size eyes meet mine in shock. Oh my God. I want to burst out laughing. Her face is priceless.
He raises his eyebrows impatiently.
“Um, so, yeah, I’m Brielle.” Her eyes flick nervously to me. “And this is my friend I am here with, Emerson Mathews.”
He nods warmly and shakes my hand. “Nice to meet you.”
“Hello,” I squeak.
“I thought you were a woman,” Brielle breathes.
His brow furrows. “No, last time I checked I was all man,” he grumbles, unimpressed.
I swallow the lump in my throat. Awkward.
Brielle fakes a smile and I drop my head to hide my face.
“We will have to wait about fifteen minutes for your baggage, I’m afraid.” He gestures to the carousel in the corner. He then paces off in front and Brielle punches me hard on the arm. “Oh my fuck,” she whispers. “He’s a fucking man.” I giggle with my hand over my mouth like a child as we follow him marching through the crowd.
“I can see that,” I whisper.
“Excuse me, Mr. Masters?” she calls.
He turns around. “Yes.”
We both wither under his glare. “We are just going to use the bathroom,” Brielle tells him nervously.
He nods one curt nod and gestures to the right. We look up and thankfully see the neon sign.
Brielle grabs my arm and drags me into the bathroom. “I’m not working with a stuffy old man!” she shrieks as we burst through the door.
I shake my head. “It will be okay. How did this happen?”
She takes out her phone to check the email again and I duck into a cubicle. I really am busting.
“It says woman,” she cries through the door. “I knew it said woman.”
I frown as I sit down. “He’s not that old,” I call out. “I would prefer to work for a man than a woman, actually.” Damn it, I need to calm her or she will get on the first plane back.
“You know what, Emerson? This is a shit idea! How in the hell did you talk me into this?” she shrieks through the door.
I smile sympathetically as I exit the cubicle and wash my hands. “It doesn’t matter, you will hardly see him anyway, and you’re off weekends when he’s at home.” I need to diffuse this. “Stop the carry on.”
Steam practically shoots from her ears. “I’m going to kill you. I’m going to fucking kill you.”
I know I shouldn’t, but I want to laugh. This is frigging hilarious. “Listen, just stay with him until we find something else. I will get my phone sorted tomorrow and we can start looking elsewhere for another job,” I reassure her.
She puts her head into her hands in dismay.
“At least you got picked up. Nobody cares about me,” I scoff as I stare at my reflection in the mirror and reapply my lip gloss. “I look like shit. Mark probably saw me and ran a mile,” I reply flatly as I try to fluff my hair.
She looks up from her hands. “Oh, Em. What are we doing?”