“Lucy,” he says, voice commanding, just like when he’s giving me a task back at the office. “You need to take a deep breath. Do it with me.”
I follow his lead, forcing breath into my lungs, body unfurling as I manage to relax. We breathe together like that for several counts, Dane murmuring the numbers to me low enough that, even if we weren’t the only ones in the cabin, only I’d be able to hear him.
One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four.
By the time we’re descending, I’ve managed to overcome the panic racing through my body, convincing my nervous system that everything is okay.
The plane lands and Dane removes his hand from my arm and leans back, picking up his work once more like nothing has happened. My body shakes, exhausted from the tension, from the arousal and fear, and I just stare numbly at him for a long moment, not able to look away.
“Alright,” the pilot says, opening the door between the cabin and the cockpit. “Should only need to wait here for an hour or so. I’m going to get out and talk to the crew. Be back in a jiffy.”
Dane raises his hand in acknowledgment, and the door shuts again, leaving us alone once more. He is focused on his work,so I try to do the same, pulling my laptop open and scrolling through the conference itinerary. I check on the flights for the events girls. They’ve already landed in Amsterdam and should be picking up the supplies for our booth shortly.
For about an hour, Dane and I work in silence. I do my best to ignore the thick, almost tangible awareness around me. The sense of teetering, something just on the edge, ready to fall. It reminds me of physical science, learning about the potential energy of an object raised above the floor.
I feel like the object, and my potential energy is increasing by the minute. I guess that makes Dane the floor.
There’s a sharp rap on the door to the plane, and I jump, letting out another little sound that I’m not proud of. Dane’s eyes cut to the plane door, then narrow. “Come in,” he commands, sounding annoyed.
The pilot must be on the other side. I recognize the cadence of his voice but can’t make out the words. Sighing, Dane sets his things on the table and stands, straightening his suit before he walks to the other side of the plane and pushes on the door handle.
It doesn’t budge.
“What the fuck?” Dane spits out, with uncharacteristic emotion, as he pushes on the handle again. Actually, I’m not sure I’ve ever heard him swear.
Slowly, I stand, inching closer to him, and this time I manage to make out the pilot on the other side of the door, his voice muffled by the metal and the rain still lashing against the exterior.
“Door’s stuck!” he hollers.
Dane doesn’t waste time responding, “Well, get itunstuck!”
I watch, frozen, as Dane starts to pace, walking around the cabin and trying different doors. The one to the cockpit doesn’t budge, either, and he turns to look at me.
“How long have the lights been off?” he asks, glancing at the ceiling, and I realize, for the first time, that they’ve gone dark. I just assumed that was normal, like the lights going off in a car after cutting the ignition.
“Since we parked—or, landed—?” I say, but Dane is already spinning around, stalking back to the door, throwing his weight against it in a way that’s both controlled and furious. The door lets out a mild groan of protest but otherwise doesn’t move.
His phone rings, and he whips it up to his ear, “What the hell is going on?Open the door.”
Standing where I am, I can make out the voice on the other end. It’s fuzzy, so I lean in to hear better.
“…electrical shortage, affecting the plane’s security system. Right now, the system seems to think someone is trying to break in, so it’s shut down completely. Everything is locked up tight with those… and bolts. We’ll need a special blade to get through it, or… electrical specialist can come and look?—”
Dane shifts away from me, and with the new distance, I can’t make out the other side of the conversation. Still, I’ve gotten the general idea.
We’re stuck in here.
“I don’t care if he’s fast asleep in Houston or the fucking North Pole,” Dane growls into the phone. “Get him on a plane and get him here. I want out of this thing.”
He ends the call, starts to pace, and makes another call, this time requesting someone who can cut through the bolts that are holding the door shut. When Dane seamlessly shifts from English to what I think is German, I sit back down and try to recreate the breathing exercises he just had me do.
It works, and I’m feeling calmer when I open my eyes. Of all the places in the world to be stuck, a luxury private jet with a bathroom and plenty of food isn’t the worst I can think of.
Dane, though, clearly doesn’t agree with me. He makes call after call, even after I feebly point out that with the electric not working, my phone has stopped charging, and his might go dead. He carries on like he didn’t hear me, and maybe he really didn’t.
The expression on his face suggests a sort of single-minded focus that shuts everything out.
“No, no—Tuesdayis not acceptable,” Dane growls. “I have a conference to get to. Do you understand that? It cannot be longer than a few hours.”
