Page 5 of Perfect Satisfaction

He leans over until we’re almost nose to nose. “What makes you think one of them is for you?”

I can’t stop my laugh from bubbling out. “Touché.”

“That being said, maybe I’m trying to get you to forget all your good intentions so when we land, I can convince you to indulge in lewd and lascivious acts with me?” There’s a teasing light in his eyes I respond to instinctively.

I shake my head. “Has anyone ever mentioned you’re completely irreverent?”

“Oh, sweetheart, if that was the only word they used when describing me.” Just as I’m about to pounce on that, he reminds me, “Better put that stone away, Ursula.”

I frown thoughtfully as I slide off my mother’s ring, something I haven’t removed in more years than I care to think about. I don’t know what it is about this stranger, this man, but he’s drawing out habits I thought I’d buried when it came to members of the opposite sex. Since my last semi-serious boyfriend, my love life has consisted of nothing but the rare date. Flirting with a random stranger isn’t something I’ve allowed myself to succumb to since my freshman year of college.

Not since the night my best friend Angela and I went to a party that irrevocably changed both our lives.

Yanking myself from my memories, I unbuckle my seatbelt and step into the aisle. Reaching upward, I wrestle with the carry-on I stashed overhead earlier. Fiddling for a few moments until I find a small pill case, I debate if the stone and ring will be safe enough there until I figure out who to entrust to repair something so precious. Deciding it’s the best I’ve got at the moment, I tuck both inside. I’m about to drop back into my seat, when I hear his muffled, “Fuck me.”

Something in his tone has me yielding to the womanly side of myself I rarely submit to. “Is that a statement or an offer?” I ask, peering over my shoulder.

“You, Ursula, should feel free to take it however you want.” His heated eyes meet mine before they cast over to the private loos in the first-class cabin.

At that, I burst out in gales of laughter that likely can be heard in the back of the aircraft. “Public restrooms aren’t exactly my thing.”

He pounces on my statement like a cat with fresh nip. “Whatisyour thing?”

I tap a perfectly manicured nail against my lips. Before I can answer, we’re interrupted by the steward bringing the drinks he requested. Arek immediately hands one of the tumblers to me—just like I figured he intended to do.

I rotate the tumbler around and around before lifting the glass and asking, “What should we toast to?”

A wicked smile spreads across his lips. “How about survival? I hear the desert heat is a bitch even at this time of year. Delicate skin, you know.”

Another laugh is pulled from me as I touch my glass to his. He tosses a goodly amount of drink back and I pause to admire the way his neck elongates as his head arches. My fingers itch to find out if the rest of his body is as perfect as what I can view above his shirt collar. I feel a pang of regret.It’s a damn pity I’ll probably never see him again once we deplane, I think as I lift my own drink to my lips. After I take a sip, I concur, “It is.”

He groans. “Not helping. I’m going to sweat in the pit at the concert.”

I tsk before I let slip, “Backstage there are cooling fans.”

He opens and closes his mouth. “You know this how?”

“I’m not exactly a stranger to the music industry.” It’s not a lie; it’s also not the complete truth.

No one can know the truth. For a moment, bitterness surges through me, but I shove it aside to focus on the man in front of me.

He lifts his glass for another sip before he says, “Let me guess... you work for Wildcard.” It’s known by everyone with access to any source of social media that Wildcard Entertainment has been the only label to represent Brendan Blake during his illustrious career.

“No,” I deny.

“Then how do you know about what it’s like backstage?”

I shrug. “I just do.” Being who I am, having the connections I do, occasionally has its perks.

Arek’s practically in my seat, his arm braced next to mine on the arm rest. The backs of his fingers brush against the mine. My breathing catches. “Are you sure? After all, you’re clearly focused on your work. Plus, you’re flying to Vegas the same week as the Brendan Blake show. All this points to working at Wildcard.”

“More happens in Vegas than the entertainment industry,” I admonish gently.

His snort lets me know his opinion on that matter. Not the least bit affronted, I continue to sip my drink, grateful the seats on either side of Arek and I are empty for this cross-country trek. “Then what do you do, Ursula?”

“What do you do, Arek?” I deflect the question, unwilling to release that information to a complete stranger.

“I’m an entertainment reporter.”