Eloise didn’t sleep a wink on the plane.

They took off at 6:00 p.m., and dinner was served shortly thereafter. Eloise had no idea what they ate back in coach, but she and her boss dined on king crab macaroni and cheese, green salad with balsamic dressing, and buttered rolls.

It was, for about an hour, actually pleasant. The two of them traded travel horror stories. Eloise shared the story of a time she’d been stuck on the tarmac in Florida for over four hours. Gainsborough laughed and insisted she call him Patrick, and Eloise wondered if she was actually becoming friends with her boss. She drank white wine with her meal and felt pleasantly tipsy by the time the stewards collected their trays.

Then, Patrick got out his laptop.

The presentation was in the form of a slideshow, and he wanted to go through it slide by slide. He made Eloise practice advancing the slides while he read from them to ensure she knew exactly when to click to the next slide. When they had done that twice, he made them switch roles, “Just in case I get sick or break my neck and you have to give the speech for some reason.”

Then, he started to really spiral. What would she be wearing at the presentation?

“A suit,” Eloise said, gesturing to the clothes she was wearing now to give the general impression.

Patrick’s eyes nearly bugged out of his head. “That suit?”

“What’s wrong with this suit?”

“It’ll be wrinkled.”

“I can iron it.”

“What if the hotel doesn’t have an iron? It’ll reflect badly on the company if you turn up looking scruffy.”

Eloise sighed quietly to herself. This was just like Patrick. When he was anxious about something, he lost all sense of reality. As much as she did sometimes judge him for his dependence on assistants, he really needed someone looking out for the everyday concerns of life.

“You don’t have to worry,” she told him. “I packed several suits. I’ll wear a fresh one on presentation day.”

“The skirt should be above the knee,” he said. “But not too short. Right above the knee. That’s the best length for you.”

She bit back her ire. “Okay.”

Then, they went through the presentation again.

“Why are you so nervous about this meeting?” she asked him, five hours into the flight, when it was beginning to feel as if the whole world had shrunk down to just the two of them and there was nothing they couldn’t say to each other.

Apparently, she’d misread the situation.

“I’m not nervous,” Patrick snapped, his hands wringing.

“You seem nervous,” she insisted.

“You seem drunk.”

This was a low blow. Eloise might have had several glasses of wine while they’d been in the air, but she was by no means drunk. Her cheeks flamed. She wanted very badly to get away from Patrick—to get off this plane, or even just to sleep so she wouldn’t have to interact with him anymore—but there was no respite.

Seemingly unaware of how he’d upset her, he clicked back to the beginning of the presentation and made them go over it again, this time timing themselves to make sure they weren’t going too fast.

By the time the plane landed, Eloise felt close to pulling her hair out. She gathered her things and stood quickly in the aisle, itching to deplane. The flight attendant thanked them in both English and Arabic as they exited, and Eloise juggled Patrick’s bag in her arms as she marched down the jetway. He trailed behind her this time. Was he tired?

No. Once they were inside the terminal, she saw what had been keeping him—sightseeing. You could see the ocean from the airport windows, and on the other side of the building, Al-Zhera’s gleaming capital city, Yahari.

Eloise had done her research before making the trip, so she’d seen the Yahari skyline on her computer screen, but she hadn’t been prepared for the beauty of it. While it was dominated by skyscrapers, just like the cities back home, the shapes of the buildings were foreign. There were curves where Eloise would have anticipated angles, and bowed sides to buildings that would have been straight at home. She couldn’t wait to see the city at night. It was probably even nicer than it was now, at noon.

Of course, to Eloise, it was already night. She did some quick math in her head and realized that her internal clock was at three in the morning. No wonder she felt cranky. Patrick was only partly to blame for her mood; she needed to get some sleep.

She didn’t speak to Patrick at all on the ride to their hotel, and much to her relief, he opted not to speak to her either. Maybe he’d simply had enough of preparing for the presentation, finally, she thought, or maybe he was feeling the effects of jet lag, as well. Either way, she was glad for a break from his voice. She leaned against the side of the cab and tried not to fall asleep.

They were deposited in front of an absolutely luxurious hotel. It sat just meters from the edge of the beach, and was trimmed with columns and balconies all the way around. Eloise tried to pay attention as the receptionist outlined the hotel’s amenities for them—was there food? She hadn’t eaten since that plane meal—but was too exhausted to focus. Finally, they were handed their keys and pointed toward the elevator.

Patrick turned to her. “Do you want to check out the beach?”

Eloise couldn’t think of anything worse.

“I’m too tired,” she managed. “I think I’ve got to get to bed.”

“You know, the proper way to combat jet lag is to stay up—”

The elevator door closed in his face, and Eloise whispered a silent thank you to it. She had read that article, too, but her jet lag was just going to have to deal. She was taking a nap now, and nothing could stop her.

The elevator ferried her silently upward. It had a glass wall to the rear, so Eloise could watch the beachgoers recede below her as she sailed toward the twelfth floor. With a ding, the elevator deposited her in a wine-red carpeted hallway. Nearly staggering with exhaustion, she towed her suitcase along until she found room 1245, swiped her key card, and entered.

A beautiful king-sized bed with lush white linens. Curtains blowing in the breeze coming off the balcony. A flat-screen television. A mini fridge that was—she checked—fully stocked. Even a whirlpool tub in the bathroom.

Lovely.

If only she could stay here, order room service, and not speak to Patrick for the rest of the trip. That would be perfect.

She couldn’t, of course. But she could do that tonight. Stripping off her suit and tossing it on the chair to deal with later, she crawled into bed and was asleep before she could turn out the light.