“No, no, no, no, NO. This is unacceptable. Please let me speak with your supervisor.” Kat Fahey channeled her best no-nonsense, ice queen persona, but inside, she was stomping her feet and going into full-on shrieking-harpy mode. “I have been bumped four times today, and that is four times too many.”
“Ma’am, perhaps if you would have made . . . ,” the gate attendant began, but the arching of Kat’s perfect auburn eyebrow, as well as the arrival of a supervisor, deterred the man from suggesting that Kat might plan better. She got it. After all, her work mantra was “Lack of planning on your part does not constitute an emergency on mine.” But when a perfect storm of late-season strep throat coupled with a rampant case of food poisoning from bad sushi at a company gathering left Kat as the last person standing, she really had no choice but to get on a plane and hope to hell she made it to Dublin in time to provide support for the presentation team. As it stood now, she’d been at the airport for going on nine hours. If she caught this flight, she’d have just enough time to get through customs and from the airport to the hotel in time for what was possibly the most important presentation she’d ever give in her almost-twenty years in risk analysis. Boy, when it rained, it poured.
“Miss Fahey, I will personally make sure you’re on this next flight,” the supervisor assured Kat in a soothing tone that reminded her of someone speaking to either a spooked animal or a deranged shooter. “We should be ready to board in the next twenty minutes or so.”
“Thank you so much, Ms. Marquez. I appreciate your taking care of this matter.” Kat gave the other gate attendee a sharp look and went back to her seat. No sooner had she plopped down than her phone buzzed with a text from her best friend.
Hopefully, you’re not getting this because you’re on the plane, swilling champagne out of plastic glasses like the high roller you are.
Kat texted her friend back to update her and immediately received a call.
“This is a sign, Kat. You sure you have to go?” Bridget sounded worried, and Bridget wasn’t one who got worried.
“Yes, I have to go, and besides, I want to go. I’d suggested that someone from Accounts attend the conference, but I got shot down. Who knows why they finally agreed, but I’m going to take that as a sign and just be happy that I get to go on an all-expenses-paid trip to Ireland.”
Bridget’s voice immediately brightened. “Good! That’s the right attitude to have, Kat. I don’t know what pod person has taken over your body, but make sure they stay put for a while. Maybe you’ll finally be convinced that the glass is half-full.”
Kat rolled her eyes but knew that Bridget had a point. Kat wasn’t exactly an optimistic person, but she’d resolved to have a better attitude, and miraculously, she’d stuck to it since the beginning of the year. She’d heard it took six weeks to change a habit; she was twelve weeks into the New Sunshiny Kat, and so far, so good.
“Oh, they’re calling me. I’ll talk to you when I get back next week, okay?” Kat gathered her bags and set off toward the gate.
“Have a great time, Kat. And while you’re there, why don’t you getcha some strange—I know you like those accents.” Bridget was laughing so hard she could barely get the suggestion out, and Kat just snorted.
“Goodbye, Birdie. I’ll talk to you soon.”
And with that, Kat snapped her phone shut and made her way down the walkway.
´*•.¸(*•.¸ *¸.•*´)¸.•*´
Cal closed one eye and stuck his tongue out of the side of his mouth to balance his hand as he poured the last of the tiny bottles of whiskey into the plastic cup that sat on his tray table. Even doing so, he managed to spill half of it, so he sopped up the spillage with his sleeve as he swallowed the contents of the glass.
Cal attempted to shove the bottle into the seat pocket in front of him, but it slipped through his fingers and fell to the floor. As he scrambled to retrieve it, he caught the eye of the fellow sitting in the aisle seat. Cal nodded, and the man clicked his pen at him and returned to his crossword.
Well, excuse the fuck out of me.
He scrabbled for the bottle, which was just out of his reach. He stretched and his fingers caught the errant bottle. He sat up triumphantly, only to whack his head on the tray table. Cal let out a colorful expletive, which came out louder than he meant. That got another click from his row-mate.
“Folks, it looks like we have a full flight to Dublin tonight. Please remove all smaller carry-ons from the overhead bins to make room for those that do not fit under the seat.”
Cal groaned. He was a big guy, and he specifically sought out this row for the leg room. He had originally been assigned the middle seat, but when the window seat ended up not being occupied, he moved and cheerfully manspread across a seat and a half. That was one good thing about coming on this trip alone—he didn’t have to worry about a prissy woman saying he was crowding her.
He watched the people file down the aisle and held his breath every time someone stopped by his row. He knew he was destined to sit next to either a Chatty Cathy who was a nervous flyer or a raving jackass who would claim the window seat, causing Cal to be sandwiched between him and Mr. PenClicker. A huge man stopped and eyed Cal’s seat. The guy was about the size of Cal’s brother, which was approximately the size of a Mack truck. Fuck. But then the guy blinked and mumbled, “Damn. I’m on the wrong side,” and turned around. Cal breathed a sigh of relief.
“Please move all stowable bags to under the seat in front of you,” the intercom voice reminded the passengers on the crowded plane. Cal watched to see if Mr. PenClicker moved his briefcase. He didn’t. Jerk-off.
“Hello—uh, does this briefcase belong to either of you gentlemen?”
A tall, redheaded woman had one hand inside the overhead compartment and the other clutching a garment bag that could not possibly fit in the bin. Mr. PenClicker clicked his pen and frowned but did not claim the briefcase. Red looked expectantly at Cal, who shook his head. She chewed her lips, then seemed to make a decision and proceeded to try to stuff the hanging bag inside the compartment. A glimpse at the tiny strip of pale skin that showed above the waistline of her jeans had Cal quickly averting his eyes and jabbing Mr. PenClicker’s arm with his knuckle when the other man didn’t do the same. People were shoving by Red, further hampering her, and when she got knocked into Mr. PenClicker, she let out a loud, “Jeez, people—really?”
“Ma’am?” Cal ventured.
That earned him a snappish “What?”
“You might see if they can hang it. There’s a closet near the front of the plane.”
She huffed and pulled the bag out of the overhead compartment, but one look at the resulting backlog of passengers behind her made her pretty face fall.
Cal signaled the flight attendant he’d been flirting with for the first leg of the flight. “Miss Adelaide, can you put this lady’s bag in the closet, if there’s room? Thank you, darlin’.”
Adelaide smiled blandly at Red while she scribbled out a claim tag and then shot a brilliant grin and a wink in Cal’s direction before taking the bag to the front of the plane.
Red had plopped down into one of the middle seats, right next to Cal, and gaped at him. She still had a satchel and a laptop bag clutched against her chest, and she looked incredibly overwhelmed. She shook her head, seemingly getting her bearings, and began to stow things under the seat. When she sat back and buckled her seat belt, she had a set of noise-reducing headphones, an e-reader, and a stack of papers in her lap.
She let out a huff and then turned to Cal. “Thank you for taking care of my bag. I appreciate it greatly.” She stuck out her hand. “Kat Fahey.”
Cal grinned. “It’s nice to meet you, Miss Fahey. My name is Cal Harper.”