What is he doing?
Men of Stetson’s wealth have private suites they lounge in during layovers. They certainly don’t entertainthe helpat the airport bar.
At least that’s what my experience thus far has led me to believe, and I’ve been in the private airline industry formost of my adult life. Not once has a client followed me to the bar for a drink.
“And please. Call me Stetson. Fuck the formality.”
I cross my legs for comfort, and also as a way of distraction before I turn to face him again. He’s so close I can feel the warmth of his breath coast across the skin at my neck, yet he still keeps an appropriate distance. At least, I tell myself that.
I’m not in the mood for games and definitely don’t want to spend my very short break having to be professional with a client.
“Okay, Stetson,” I say, my words coming across as a challenge. “How about you tell me what you’re doing here?”
The bartender slides Stetson his drink, and my eyes never leave him as he hands his black card to the bartender and points to my drink as well, signaling he’ll cover my tab. I don’t draw attention to the gesture. I can cover my own bill. That’s never been an issue for me.
But I’m not about to turn down a free drink. I just won’t make him aware I noticed.
I’m prideful like that.
“Well, Cove. I can tell you it’s exactly what it looks like.”
“And what’s that?”
He takes a long pull of his scotch, and his Adam’s apple bobs like a goddamn sin as the sharp liquor glides down the back of his throat.
I never did like dark liquor.
He leans his face in closer. Not by much, but enough that my heart rate picks up speed, and the feeling makes me want to do anything to make it stop. There’s no doubt he’s handsome. Sun-kissed brown hair with specks of gray, matching the scruff of his beard.
Stetson Cole is a heartthrob, and I can now confirm all the rumors are true. The Texan cowboy has an irresistible charm. All it took was one-on-one attention from him for me to notice.
Good thing for me, I’m immune to his kind of allure.
“I’m here to have a drink.” He holds up his glass for good measure before placing it carefully on the napkin. “And I’m also here to apologize on behalf of my friend. Although calling him a friend after disrespecting you feels a bit painful. We’ll call him a colleague.”
“Not even necessary,” I tell him. “I’d never survive in this business if I let every power-hungry man get to me.”
It’s true. For most of my life, I was raised without a male role model. I’m fatherless, and that’s something I accepted at the ripe age of twenty-one, sadly thinking there was a mistake. I was convinced that maybe my father didn’t know about me and was looking for me all along. Maybe he got amnesia somehow, someway, and forgot I ever existed?
Sounds too good to be true.
After endless digging to find him and an accidental encounter later, I was proven very wrong. While I realize I could let that affect me in a way that makes me use men to fill a void, all it’s done is wire me to be the opposite.
I refuse to let them get close. I’ll occupy myself with meaningless physical connections, but nothing more. It has to be that way.
If my own father betrayed me and didn’t think I was enough to stick around for, why should I expect any other to do the same?
I know what I deserve, and I refuse to be another reason a man doesn’t stay. And just to serve my father with a giant fuck you, I changed my last name back to my mother’s maiden name, Davenport.
Because Nathaniel McIntosh deserves to feel abandoned himself.
“Why have I never seen you before?” Stetson asks, summoning my attention again. I don’t know how long we’ve sat in silence, but it’s long enough for me to finish my martini and round up the bartender for another.
But for some god-awful reason, Stetson holds out a hand to stop him. I jerk my head toward him, seconds away from giving this entitled cowboy a piece of my mind. “Is there a reason you just?—”
“We should be boarding soon.”
I cut him a blank stare. “Your point?”
