“It’s a Gulf Stream 500,” he says with a smile. “It’s owned by a billionaire, but he rents to other travelers for a hefty price. Man makes money with everything he touches.”
“Is this your full-time gig?” I ask, giving him my best come hither smile. This is a guy I’d like to make friends with. Who knows when I might need a ride on this jet again.
I’ve got what I hope is a solid plan. My play is to bribe my father’s accountant into giving me the account number of my father’s Swiss bank account. The accountant is a degenerate gambler, and always in debt to some shark or another.
A private jet would make it much easier for me to slip unnoticed into Russia and then, once I have the account number, travel to Switzerland.
Sasha does sweet and innocent like nobody’s business. She’s not faking. It’s natural. But I’ve never been good at soft or sweet.
I’m more of a “claw your eyes out if you fuck with me” kind of girl. I survive. I fight. I only take in that which makes me stronger.
Okay, I know I ripped that line off. But honestly, that’s how I feel. I let the bad shit bounce off, and I only use the hate to make me even more impervious.
So, I can’t do soft and sweet. And because I’ve been locked in a cage, I only have so much experience with sex in general. But I know how to give a smile that makes a promise.
I’ve gotten more than one guard to drop a rule with this kind of smile.
The flight attendant gives me a goofy grin back. He’s passably cute, I’ll give him that, so it’s not the worst hardship to flirt. “Yeah,” he says, with a head tilt and a shrug. “Best job ever.”
“Oh, that’s nice. Maybe you can give me some career advice. I need a job like that.”
He sets my suitcase down next to the leather sofa that doubles as airline seating. “Well, you’re really pretty, so you might be able to get a job like mine.”
My smile slips, but before I can bite my tongue, words pop out. “Did you get this job because you’re really pretty?”
Shit. I’m trying to make friends with this guy. But his assertion that my only asset is my looks sparks that fight in me. Which is stupid, he doesn’t know me, or what I may or may not be good at it, it’s just the first attribute he noticed.
But it’s the only one my father ever valued, so it pisses me off.
He flushes. “No. I mean, maybe. I’ve got that nonthreatening cute thing going on that works all right with all the alphaholes that use private jets.”
Now, that draws a genuine smile from my lips. Alphaholes is the perfect word to describe my former fiancé. “That was a good one.”
“Thanks.” He laughs as he turns, gesturing for me to follow.
I hope I’ve smoothed over my prissiness enough to make my request.
“Do you think I could travel with you some other time? See what the job entails?” I hold my breath, waiting for his answer.
He looks back at me, his brows drawn together. “Maybe. Depends on the client.”
Shit. I might have played my card too soon. Patience and strategy are not my best virtues.
He turns away, confirming my suspicion. “There’s the bathroom, use it now. The pilot gets on in twenty minutes. The flight leaves in about an hour. After that, we’ll be in flight for seven, so this is your last chance.”
He points to a door opposite the bathroom. “That’s where you’re bunking.”
I open it. A twin bed that folds up into the wall is open, taking up most of the space in the narrow room. This plane isn’t huge, so I’m lucky I’m not going to be crouched in a closet. “No one will look in here?”
“No. The executive flying with us today mostly works when he travels. He’ll lay down on the couch if he needs a rest. I’ve never seen him use this space before.”
I nod as I watch him store my suitcase in a cabinet next to the bed. Seeing my luggage secured, I do as he recommended and use the bathroom. On my way out, he hands me a bottle of water. “Like I said, this was your only bathroom opportunity, so be careful not to drink too much.”
I nod, taking the bottle from his hand. “Thanks. I appreciate it.” I nip at my lip looking at him through my lashes. It would be better if I was shorter, so I was looking up, but… “I’m sorry to be pushy, but do you think I could get your number? In case you ever want to hang out or you have a flight…”
“Sure,” he gives me a goofy grin, “I can put it in your phone.”
I pull the burner from my pocket that I took great pains to steal from my brother, and hand it to the attendant. He types in his number and then his name. Andrew.
