Jack took out his credit card and slapped it on the counter. “Upgrade us.”
Which was how we found ourselves sitting next to each other on a plane. Again. I guess the Pope is going to be throwing a rave.
Chapter 9
It’s not like I’d never flown first class before. When flying for business, though, I generally tried to save the company money. But first class is, well, first class. I sighed at the luxury of the extra-wide leather seat and stretched out, appreciating the leg room. Jack looked at me and the corner of his mouth quirked up.
“What?” I asked.
“You look like a cat.”
“A cat?” I didn’t know whether that was a compliment or an insult.
“A cat that has decided on a happy place and is content.”
“Well, I guess that’s an apt description. Because I am very content here. Thank you for including me in your upgrade.”
“No problem, Eve. You were the one who went into battle to rescue me.”
I pondered a moment then asked the question that had been bugging me. “Doesn’t that happen to you all the time? How do you normally handle that?”
He sighed, “No, it doesn’t happen all the time. Usually when I’m out in public I wear sunglasses and a hat and that seems to camouflage me sufficiently. I just wasn’t thinking of that. My mind was in a different place.” His gaze lingered on me, hinting what his distraction had been.
“But when you travel all over to do concerts, don’t you get mobbed at every airport?” I asked.
“Hardly. Generally, we charter a plane. We’ve got the band plus our instruments and gear, so it makes sense. Plus, it gives us more freedom to come and go as we need to and more privacy.”
I tried to imagine what it was like to just have your own plane, ready to take you wherever you wanted to go. I travelled a lot for business, but my travel never had that element of freedom. And skipping TSA lines sounded like heaven on earth.
Also heaven on earth was being served a real lunch on real dishes with real silverware and linen napkins. Jack selected the filet mignon with mashed potatoes, and I had the seared salmon with wild rice. Freshly baked rolls and real butter were offered along with a plate of artisanal cheeses. Since I needed to work, I passed on the proffered champagne and had gourmet coffee. Jack had the fresh-pressed fruit juice, served in a lovely piece of crystal stemware. Fruit tarts rounded out the meal. After the steward cleared off our dishes, I realized I couldn’t put it off any longer.
“I’m sorry, Jack. I’ve got to work. Remember how I told you on the flight down that all of my work was waiting on the deal being finalized? Well, now that we’ve got the Luxe signature on the dotted line, I’ve got a huge backlog of work to attend to.”
He gave an easy smile and replied, “No problem, hon. I’ve got work to do, too.” He reached down and unzipped his bag that was at his feet. I was appalled at the disarray in his bag. It looked like he’d utilized the wad and shove method of packing. But it was his bag and his clothes. Not my problem. He grabbed a spiral notebook and a pen and set them on his tray. I had my laptop open and started organizing files.
Glancing sideways. I saw that the notebook was a music notebook with staff-lined pages. Oh, he was going to work on some music. That made sense. Glad that he had something to occupy himself, I went back to my files.
As I read over the documents, adding notations, putting queries in the margins, and sorting information, I heard a soft sound. Looking around it took me a moment to place it. Jack had his eyes closed and he was humming. Now he was the one who looked like a cat. Very content and purring.
Tilting his head back, he scrunched up his eyes, as though trying to visualize something, then opened his eyes, sat upright, and began writing. After he’d filled in two pages his gaze met mine and I realized that I’d been entirely still watching him. It was just fascinating seeing how music originated in his mind, traveled to paper, and would, eventually become a fantastic song. I was impatient. I wanted to hear the song now!
“What are you writing?”
He gave me a slow, lazy grin. “Something about you.”
“You are not!” I swatted his arm. “Just tell me.”
“I can’t tell you something different when that’s the truth,” he replied disarmingly.
“How is it about me?” Now I really wanted to hear that song.
“Well, let’s just say you’ll know it when you hear it.” He winked at me and went back to his notebook.
I huffed a breath of frustration and returned to my work. I tried to engross myself in my charts of revenue estimates, but my mind kept wandering over to the infuriating man next to me. What on earth was his song about? Nothing about me fit in with the PRTY vibe. Maybe it was just a hilarious song about how fun it was to hijack my life.
I disciplined my thoughts and kept my focus on my files. I had several accounts to juggle and coordinate, so it did require me to concentrate. Which is why I was unaware that Jack was taking my picture with his phone till I heard the tell-tale click. My eyes immediately flicked over to him, and he was typing on his phone.
“Jack,” I hissed, “did you just take my picture?”
