Nine hours.I amnotstarting a conversation.I’m a New Yorker.Jesus Christ.This is a living hell.
I’m firing the maintenance company that takes care of my jet.
Swiping my phone, I send myself another email.
Plonk.
My head spins as I swear the entire plane moves when the young woman sits down.
Her smile is back.
“Hey, I’m Emily.”She leans closer than is appropriate, her grin so big it’s almost got its own postcode.“Emily Harper.”
“Hello.”I glance away.
As much as I don’t want to, I can’t help noticing just how stunning her blue eyes are.Coupled with all that shocking red hair, she’s fucking beautiful.
Her skin—I glance back—has a natural tan, which is unusual for someone with auburn hair and honestly, I’m a little intrigued.
But Emily Harper is not someone I would usually meet or have anything in common with.Clearly she’s been upgraded, and this could be my worst nightmare.
I have a much stronger survival instinct than that.Nine hours of chatter?No fucking thanks.I close my eyes and focus back on my podcast.
I find myself unable to focus.
I open one eye.At a guess, I’d say Emily is no more than twenty-four.While she was removing herlikelyMarks & Spencer coat earlier, I took in sexy curves and more-than-a-handful pair of breasts.
I’m oddly attracted, and it surprises me.
“I was upgraded.Can you believe it?”Emily asks me.
Of course you were.
I’m still wondering if she has dark or pink nipples when I turn and give her the smallest smile and press the ear pod into my ear unnecessarily.
“Oh, sorry!”She lifts her hand, and chaos ensues.
The glass of champagne the flight attendant is handing her goes flying, and Emily leaps up out of her seat.
Fucking hell.
“Shit!Oh, fuck.Sorry.Shit.”Emily cries, brushing off the wine and waving her arms, making things worse.
Jesus Christ.
“Here, let me get that.”She tries to grab the tray and it wobbles.
Oh god.
“Stop.”The flight attendant catches the bottle and takes a step back.“I’ll bring some towels.Please take your seat.”
Someone hands Emily some napkins, and she starts a conversation with them while I close my eyes and pray she’s seated elsewhere.
“Thank goodness the seat didn’t get wet.”
This is why I don’t bother praying.
THIRTY MINUTES AFTERtakeoff and I’m ready to kill Emily.She’s twisted in her seat talking to someone across the aisle who lives twenty minutes from her parents’ house.They know her father’s cousin's brother, who works at the hardware store.
