She reads the terror on my face, then lets out a rich laugh. “I’m kidding! Jayda is the best there is. You’ll be ready.” She claps a hand on my shoulder so hard I almost fall over. “See you tomorrow.”
Then she’s gone.
I’m shaking.
Jayda sits back down, and I follow suit.
“Don’t worry,” Jayda says. “Morgan can be…overwhelming, at first. Her sense of humor is a bit… aggressive. But she’s patient. You’ll see. I think you’ve got all your questions down pat, so actually, let’s brainstorm some calming activities you can do when you’re nervous, both on and off the stage.”
I nod weakly. I’m going to need it.
Chapter 8
JAMIE
It’s been one week since I first saw Morgan Hunter, tumbled embarrassingly fast into heat, and only avoided making a fool of myself by sheer luck.
And now I’m about to go on a global tour with her.
I’ve flown a few times for academic conferences and to visit my grandparents when I was a kid, but it’s been at least five years since I’ve been out of the country.
I keep feeling like I’m forgetting something, and I dig through my apartment for what it might be. But I’ve got my passport, my phone, and my credit card, so that’s gotta be good enough.
I sling my backpack over my shoulder, grab my new floral suitcase, and drag it to the train. The train seems like a good idea at first—might as well save the company the forty bucks for a rideshare if I can—but when the train sits at a station for fifteen minutes for ‘signal issues,’ I seriously regret my decision.
Another five minutes go by with no sign of movement, so I finally decide to cut my losses and get a rideshare. The moment I reach the stairs, the train driver announces that they’ve fixedthe issue and the doors slide shut.
Fuck. Whatever.
I’m halfway up the stairs—I have no idea where the elevator is at this station—and I’m already sweating, but I lug the suitcase up the last few steps and summon my ride.
It’s a busy corner, and my driver circles the block three times before they figure out the correct turn and pick me up.
I’m a half hour behind where I wanted to be. My leg bounces the entire car ride, and the anxiety is like bugs crawling under my skin.
I jump out of the car and run to check-in. It’s fifty minutes until my flight time—the baggage cutoff is forty-five. There’s a line. Fuck.
I consider cutting it, but I see a staff member checking boarding passes. He glances at mine, gives a nod, and points me into the VIP line, which is currently empty. Must have seen the time for my flight, and I murmur profuse thanks as I scurry up to check in.
I stare at the clock all the way through the security line, and I get out the other side with twenty minutes to go. I could really use some caffeine, but I don’t dare risk a detour until I find my gate.
The hallway towards my gate just keeps going and going and going. I power-walk, knowing I’ll get in trouble for running, but fuck am I cutting it close.
I pull up to my gate and it’s already mostly empty, but I breathe a sigh of relief to see there’s still one person left in line. I step up behind them, and my blood pressure drops twenty points as the boarding pass scanner dings approval and I step onto the jet bridge.
That weird, distinctive jet bridge smell hits me, and it finally feels real. I’m about to spend a month jet-setting across the world.
“What seat?” the flight attendant asks as I step aboard.
“Oh, uh…” I fumble for my boarding pass. “Five A.” They must have started numbering things from the back or something, and I’m not looking forward to having to step over everyone to get into my seat, but that’s what I get for being late.
“On the right,” the attendant says, and I start up the aisle, stepping past first class and raising a hand to push aside the curtain to economy class.
“Oh, too far,” the attendant calls sweetly from behind me.
I turn and blink. She points to the last first-class seat on the right.
“I’m sure it’s not that,” I mutter, double-checking my boarding pass.
