She gives a tiny nod that obviously doesn’t reflect her true feelings.
“Not a fan of turbulence?” I ask.
Her neck bobs as she swallows. “Apparently not. I don't fly much. The last time I dealt with turbulence like this, I must've been twelve. I assumed I'd grow out of it, but…”
Shit. I assumed she was an experienced flyer. Most people with her kind of wealth have been jetted around for vacations since toddlerhood. I'll have to ask her about that later. Right now, I need to find a way to get her mind off things. The turbulence is strong enough to shake my confidence, and I've flown hundreds of times for work. With Maura’s inexperience, no wonder she's fucking terrified.
I rub my thumb over her knuckles. “We're going to be fine,” I assure her. “My pilot is one of the best flyers around, and he’s flown me through turbulence like this plenty of times before. It feels more dangerous than it is.”
“I know that in my head. It’s just hard to convince myself, you know?”
I do. “How about…a distraction?”
“Like what?” Her eyes are still squeezed shut, her hand tight around the armrest.
“What if I tell you about the time Beau almost got me arrested?”
One eye peeks open. “I’m listening.”
“It was right after my parents died, and I just didn’t know what to do with myself. I was entertaining the idea of starting Sequel, but I hadn’t actually committed to it. I ghostwalked through a few college courses, but I wasn’t invested. I was as lost as I’d ever been.”
Truthfully, getting out of bed was almost impossible at the time. I might not have left the house at all if it weren’t for the guys dragging me out.
“I’m sorry,” Maura says quietly.
I nod, brushing past it. “I’m just setting the stage for my state of mind when we decided to sneak into the mayor’s Halloween fundraising gala.”
She snorts. “That’s not so bad. You were probablyinvitedto the gala.”
“True. I was not invited to attend dressed as Gerard Butler in300.”
“Wait. You mean with the loincloth and the red cape?”
“Exactly.”
“To agala.”
“Admittedly, it was Halloween. Most people wore costumes.”
“Yeah, probably like masks and gowns, or they wear a tuxedo and say they’re James Bond. Nobody would go naked!”
“I wasn’t naked. Loincloth, remember?”
Maura’s answering giggle breaks off as the plane lurches again. Her hand feels clammy under mine, and I squeeze it tighter.
“If it had just been the costumes, we might have gotten away with it,” I continue. “The older guests complained, but some of the guests were more…interested.”
“The martinis and Xanax wives,” she breathes. “I remember them well.”
“Exactly. They were happy to have some young men to ogle when their husbands weren’t looking. Unfortunately, Beau happened to strike up a conversation with the mayor’s nineteen-year-old daughter. They were in the same class in high school, and one thing led to another…”
“No,” Maura gasps. “Tell me he didn’t?—”
“Let her take a look at his sword in the coat closet? He sure did. Beau has…let’s call it a reckless streak. They were discovered, shrieks were shrieked, lawsuits were discovered, police were called. About what you’d expect to happen.”
“Wow. I wish anything like that had happened at the galas my father dragged me to,” she says, shaking her head. “They were so mind-numbingly boring. I only found someone worth talking to once.”
“Oh?”
