Page 26 of Forbidden Game

“You can if it’s a private jet,” he muses, lifting his sunglasses to the top of his head with a wink.

“Unfortunately for you, we are not taking a private jet.” I cross my legs to put some more space between us.

His smile falls. “What do you mean?”

The car rumbles as it starts, and Francis drives us out of the underground parking lot. I lean back against my seat as the sun filters in through the tinted windows.

“I mean your sister took the jet to Vancouver, so I booked us commercial.”

“Why couldn’t we take JetSuite?”

I swear, next he is going to ask why I couldn’t book us a helicopter and say that commercial should have been the last possible resort. Sometimes I forget just how privileged Parker is compared to the rest of the guys—compared to me.

“They were booked. Our flight is only two and half hours. You’ll survive. It’s not like you haven’t flown commercial before.”

He scowls and slumps back in his seat before nodding his head so his sunglasses fall back down on his face. He looks like a sad puppy. A sad, rich puppy.

“Just because I’ve flown commercial before doesn’t mean I like it.”

“I booked you first class, and we’re flying Imperial.”

He perks up at that, like I knew he would. I wouldn’t book the Parker Covington on just any commercial flight. This isn’t my first rodeo. Imperial Airline is the only commercial airline company Parker is okay flying because it is—of course—owned by one of his friends, Weston Hill, so he gets special treatment.

Francis eventually pulls up to the busy airport, and I make quick work navigating Parker and myself through the throng of people moseying around bag drop. If there’s one thing I hate, it is inefficient people at the airport. I have everything planned down to the minute so that nothing can go wrong.

We finally make our way through TSA, and I let out a sigh of relief when I see that we are perfectly on time despite Parker’s slight delay earlier. We have thirty minutes until boarding. Just enough time to grab a water or a snack before the flight.

I come to an abrupt stop when I reach our gate, and Parker bumps into my back. He looks up from the mobile game he is playing with an apologetic grin.

“Sorry, Syd.”

“It’s fine,” I brush him off, squinting at the screen next to our gate.

The word “DELAYED” is spelled out in bright yellow.

That can’t be right. I didn’t get any notification of a delay. I double-check the airline app before refreshing my email, but there’s nothing there.

“Wait here.” I steer Parker to a free seat and sit him down, perching my overnight bag on top of his roller.

I plaster my brightest smile on my face and head over to the employee working at the gate. “Excuse me, miss.”

The woman behind counter peers down at me with a brittle smile. “How can I help you?”

“I was just wondering, how long is the flight delayed?”

“I don’t have a definite time currently.”

“I’m sorry?”

“We are waiting to hear back from air control,” she elaborates.

“All right,” I drawl. “Do you know why we are delayed?”

“Inclement weather at the destination.”

I just frown. This woman seems determined to give me the bare minimum information. I’m sure she’s been asked this question a few times already, but really. I’m trying to be civil.

“There’s a snowstorm in Denver,” she sighs. “We’ll make an announcement once we have more information.”

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