Page 9 of He is… Creed: Part Three

I push to my feet, hook my glasses on the top of my blouse, and unroll some toilet paper to dab my mouth, my hand shaking in the process. I check the hard drive, and damn it, it’s not all the way connected. I’ve wasted valuable time. I fiddle with it, and damn it, it slips from my grip. I watch in dismay as it hits the ground and bounces under the door.

Inhaling a calming breath, I yank open the stall door only to be greeted by a short, gray-haired woman wearing a badge and holding a cleaning rag—clearly this is the restroom attendant. And she’s far more attentive than I hope for anyone to be right now.

“Is this yours, honey?” she asks, holding the hard drive up between two fingers and peering over my shoulder at the computer open on the changing table.

“Yes,” I say quickly, snagging the stick. “Thank you.” I hate to be rude, but I shut the stall door and lock it again, quickly inserting the stick again, this time firmly.

It’s right then that the announcer’s voice sounds over the intercom with my name, warning that my flight is boarding. “Damn it!” I murmur, aware I will not have time to finish the process. Think, Addie.

Think.

I grab a wad of toilet paper and place it over the latch on the computer so it won’t fully close and power off. I shut the lid over the paper and then shove the computer back into the bag. Please don’t let the stick come out. I’ll head straight to the airplane restroom when I board and then remove the paper and the stick before claiming my seat.

I slide my sunglasses back in place, gather all my items, and exit the stall before half jogging toward the exit.

I round the entryway and come toe-to-toe with Brock, all but barreling into him.

“You have my computer,” he says. “I need it back.”

My heart jackknifes. “I do not have your computer,” I assure him, trying to step around him.

Brock moves with me in front of me. “Yes,” he says. “You do. The security guard remembers mixing them up.”

My lips purse. “If so, it’s not going anywhere.” I motion toward the gate. “And a boarding call has already been issued. Besides, I’m way too sick to deal with this right now. You can switch them on the plane where I can sit down before I throw up yet again.”

His jaw clenches, suspicion in his hard stare. “Since when does a migraine make you throw up? I thought it was a headache.”

“It is a headache,” I grind out between clenched teeth, thinking how offended my mother, a sufferer of migraines, would have been at that comment. The man excels at being a jerk. I can’t imagine how he treats someone he isn’t trying to fuck. “Migraines are the volcanic eruption of headaches. Of course, they make you throw up. And any kind of light is almost as much of a bitch as you’re being right now.”

He barks out a shocked laugh and scrubs his jaw, holding up his hands in defeat. “Okay. I get it. I’m an asshole. I will admit you seem to be blowing me off, and it riled me up. Male egos really can be monsters.”

His apology reeks of insincerity and a ploy to slide into my good graces. He can forget it. “No one fakes looking like walking death.”

“Again. The ego monster.” Last call to board blasts over the intercom, saving me from any more of him, at least in the moment. “We better get going.” He reaches for my bag. “Let me carry that for you.”

“No, no,” I say dismissively. “Really. It’s fine.”

His hand remains on my bag. “I insist,” he says, refusing to let go. “You’re sick, Addie. I’ll carry the bag. It’s what any gentleman would do.”

I reluctantly allow him to pry the bag from my hands, aware I’ve just been well manipulated. He wasn’t going to let me take my bag to the restroom, so how the heck am I going to get the hard drive out of the computer without him knowing? I’m not just sick right now. I’m panicked.

Chapter Ten

Addie

I follow Brock onto the plane, managing to maintain a remarkably calm façade. Relaxed even. As if I am not about to be found out by my would-be murderer. Creed knows what’s going on. Of that, I’m certain. The wind is with me. He’s with me. I don’t have to try to look nonchalant sending him a suspicious-looking, panicked text. Of course, he’s pissed right now and cursing me for talking him into this, but he’ll live. And so will I, because of him. But damn it, we need that hard drive. I’m so close to holding it in my hand.

I pass an alcove where a flight attendant greets me, when a plan hatches in my mind.

“Hi,” I say, stopping to chat with the woman. “I’m battling a migraine, and it’s really making me sick. Any chance I could talk you into bringing me a Sprite before takeoff?”

The twenty-something female is quick to help. “Oh, my sister gets those, and they’re absolute hell. We’re running late, so let me give it to you now so you have time to drink it.” She motions me out of the aisle so those behind me may pass, and then pops some ice into a glass and fills it with Sprite. “Make sure it’s empty before liftoff. What seat are you in? I’ll check on you once we’re in the air.”

I reach for my ticket and show it to her before accepting the drink. “Thank you very much,” I say, and then rush after Brock, praying I get to him before he manages to open that briefcase. I arrive at my seat just as Brock buckles himself in, my case at his feet, ready to open.

With a silent prayer that my plan is going to work, I move to sit and accidentally, on purpose, dump my Sprite in his lap. He curses and jerks about in shock, ice and cold liquid all over his pants and shirt.

I, of course, react with instant shock. “Oh no! Oh, Brock, I am so very sorry. I’m a mess today, I swear.” I hand him the glass. “Put the ice in this.” I reach for the computer bag. “I stuffed some tissue in here while I was in the airport restroom in case I got sick.” I unzip the bag just enough to reach inside, fumble around, remove the hard drive, and try to conceal it with the tissue.

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