2. Turbulence

TURBULENCE

T he plane engines roar loudly as we barrel down the runway, my fingernails sinking into the material of the armrest as I clutch on for dear life. Closing my eyes, I lean my head back and say a silent prayer as I feel us leave the ground. The heat of his hand splaying over mine registers before his words do.

"Not a good flier?" His fingers squeeze in comfort as I nod, my eyes still shut. "Want me to keep talking, or should I just shut up?"

"Keep talking," I urge, trying to concentrate on the warmth of his skin instead of the knot in my stomach. "It's just the take-off and landing parts that I hate."

His hand relaxes over mine as his thumb begins to slide in a gentle circular motion over and over against my skin. "I know I said I didn't want to talk about work, but I hope this isn't how you're planning on showing up to your interview." My face scrunches in contempt as he chuckles. "Not that I'm sure they wouldn't appreciate your gorgeous legs."

My eyes fly open as they whip in his direction. "Of course I'm not showing up to my interview like this! Do you think I have no common sense?"

He shrugs, his expression one of mischief, his hand lifting off mine as he splays them out in front of me in defense. "Okay, okay. Don't get all huffy. I was just asking. Wanted to make sure you have all the bases covered."

"My interview isn't until tomorrow. We don't even land until five o'clock. How would I ever squeeze that in this afternoon?" I throw back at him in defense.

"Oh, yes, that's right." He nods. "I forgot about the time difference. The loss of three hours flying west to east."

"If you must know, I have a fabulous Dolce more drinks, more flirting, movie snuggling, intense questioning, no questioning, more flirting.

"Do you have a better idea?" he quips, his dimple appearing again.

Mile high club? I shake that thought away but feel my cheeks heating anyway. "You promise you'll help me prep?"

"Scout's honor." He lifts his hand in a three-finger salute, his expression one of complete seriousness.

I laugh, throwing my hands up in defeat. "Okay, you win."

"Yes!" he exclaims, his face lighting up. He lifts a hand to wave to the first-class attendant, requests another round, then turns back to me. "So, what kind of movies do you like?"

We spend the next hour talking, eating, drinking, talking some more, and then finally decide on a movie. We pick a comedy, staying away from romance and my request for nothing scary. My head is light and fuzzy from all the bubbly I've been drinking, and about halfway through the movie, I feel myself doze off. I'm not certain how long I've been asleep when I feel something warm brush against my cheek, my eyes springing to life.

"Wake-up, sleeping beauty." Sparkling green irises stare into my bleary ones, and I blink, making sure I'm not in a dream as my gaze drifts to his perfectly puffy lips. I swipe my tongue over my own, the urge to kiss him overwhelming. I lean forward just as he begins to speak, snapping me to my senses. "You fell asleep."

I bolt upright, wiping a hand over my hair, then my face, hoping I don't look like a complete mess. "I guess I'm a bit of a lightweight," I joke, trying to cover up my mortification, swiping my fingers under my lashes, hoping to remove any stray mascara that may have wept as I slept. "Do I look awful?"

"You look like an angel." My heart stutters as I absorb the way the edges of his eyes crinkle when he smiles. He extends a crystal tumbler in my direction. "Here, drink this. It's just some seltzer. It will refresh you."

"Thank you." I take the glass from him and sip from the edge, bubbles popping under my nose as cool liquid slides down my throat. Before I can come up with another blubbering response, he speaks.

"We've got about ninety minutes left until we land. Did you still want me to drill you with questions for your interview?"

Did he say ‘drill' me? Because my answer is whole-heartedly, YES . I cover my mouth as a giggle escapes and bob my head.

His brow creases. "Is that a yes?"

"Yes," I state, much louder than is required. "Let me just get my laptop." I stand and wait for him to rise, then move into the aisle. He opens the compartment he helped me place my bag into earlier and motions at the contents.

"It's this one, correct?" He places his hand on a large, black, leather computer bag with small LV initials embossed throughout the material.

"Yes," I acknowledge, accepting it as he passes it to me. "Thank you." I move to squeeze past him to take my seat when a sudden jolt sends me careening into him, a yelp of fear leaving me as my bag drops to the floor between us.

"I've got you." His arms capture me with little effort, steadying my body against his, my heart punching against my ribs as I draw in a deep breath. "It's just a little turbulence."

The plane continues to bounce, my panic increasing as I clench my hands around his biceps to anchor myself. "A little?"

His hands slide down my arms, his grip tightening as he guides me back to my seat, giving me a soft push into it when we reach it. He bends and retrieves my bag, setting it in my lap as he stands tall. A ragged breath leaves my lips as I heave a sigh of relief. "Thank you." I turn to look at him. "Again." I puff out a long exhale, my nerves getting the best of me.

"It's nothing," he concludes, waving off my behavior as he lowers into his seat with ease. "Put your seatbelt on."

I struggle to find my straps, then click them into place as I watch him do the same. The plane continues to bounce through the air, my nerves matching the frenetic tempo. Sensing my terror, his hand grabs mine and closes around it securely. "We're going to be fine. Think of it like driving down a bumpy, country dirt road."

I nod, my palm sweating against his. "If you say so. I think I much rather prefer nice, smooth cement."

He lets out a guff of laughter, which is drowned out in the next second by an announcement from the flight staff, asking us to please buckle up and raise our tray tables for the remainder of what is expected to be a bumpy ride as we travel around a storm.

"I thought he said it was going to be a smooth flight?" I lament to no one in particular, my voice full of fear and just short of trill.

"Chloe, tell me about the job you're interviewing for so I know what kind of questions to ask." Fin's deep voice, smooth and calm, reaches and draws me out of my turbulence-infused meltdown.

"What?" I stare back at him, my mind a total blank.

"What's the position? For your interview?" he repeats, his hand still around mine.

I look down at our entwined fingers, his warm skin a comfort against mine, finally bringing me to my senses. I blow a long breath out of my nose, then meet his gaze with a forced smile. "It's a vice president position for media relations."

His brows rise, his head tilting a smidge. "Impressive." He flashes a quick smile, releasing my hand to cross his arms over his chest. "Tell me why the job should be yours."

I begin my rehearsed response with enthusiasm, continuing to answer each question he throws my way, absorbing any advice he offers as we go.

"Okay, last question." He looks me straight in the eyes. "You ready?"

"Give it to me." I nod.

"Dinner with me." His gaze remains locked on mine. "Tomorrow after the interview. Say yes."

I reel back in surprise. "That's not a question."

"You'll be great at your job." He chuckles. "There's no question about that."

"You're asking me to dinner?" I repeat his request, disbelief the only thing I'm certain of at the moment.

"We can celebrate you getting the job." A confident grin slides into place.

"I haven't got it yet."

"You will." There's not an ounce of doubt in his voice. "I can guarantee it." His grin turns cockier, if that is even possible. "If I'm wrong, I'll spring for a bottle of Dom Perignon for you to drown your sorrows in."

"And if you're right?" I try to contain the smile on my face and end up smirking instead.

"I'll spring for a bottle of Dom Perignon to celebrate."

I laugh out loud. "You're quite the negotiator, I see?"

He leans in closer to me, his voice lowering again. "I really don't see how I lose if I have you sitting across from me."

My breath catches in my throat as my heart misses at least one beat, maybe two, before I gather my wits and respond. "How can I say no to that?"