Page 25 of Fumble

James is the safe bet.

That’s what I’m going to tell Hunter. I’ll go back home for a few days to regroup, and when I get to San Francisco, I’m going to go on a date with James. With my decision made and an uncomfortable knot in the pit of my stomach, I set about working, doing the job I came here for. Focus is the best medicine for a raging libido. Every time I find myself staring at the corded muscles of Hunter’s arms beneath his rolled-up shirt sleeves, I crack the whip on my libido—down girl— steering my energy into schmoozing with every journalist who comes through the door.

By the end of our session, I have a stack of business cards for useful career contacts, a smile on my face, and a death stare from my boss.

Time for a sharp exit!

* * *

“Have a great weekend,everyone! I’ll email you all with the itinerary for San Francisco.”

The Vaughn entourage disperses throughout the airport, little ants disappearing into the crowd, all on different flights. Malcolm manages a curt smile before eyeing me warily.

“Well, off you go then, Ms. Fairchild. You don’t want to miss your flight.” He’s worried. He knows something.

“I was going to make sure Mr. Vaughn has all his flight details and information for San Francisco before I check in.”

“He’s a big boy. He’s taken plenty of flights before you came along, and there will be many flights after you’re gone.” The snide leer in his voice makes my blood boil.

“I understand.”

“Do you? I hope so. I wouldn’t want there to be any misunderstanding when we reconvene on Monday.”

“Loud and clear.”

I turn on my heels, grateful to lose myself in the sea of people who surround me. The lines seem endless—people from all over the country going home or getting away from the daily grind. As I wait to check in, my bones seem heavier, weighed down by the tension and stress of being around Hunter all day, every day. I didn’t let myself feel it until now, but I’m exhausted. He’s exhausting. Thinking about him and wanting him is all-consuming.

By the time I get to the front of the line, my bags are like anvils hanging from my arms. Handing over my ticket, I forage in my purse for some gum.

“I’m sorry. This booking was canceled earlier today.”

“No, it wasn’t. I confirmed it myself. Check again.” Her cheeks flush as her over- manicured nails tap-tap on the keyboard.

“I’m afraid it was canceled, and the seat has been re-booked. I can get you on the next flight leaving at midnight?”

“Are you freaking kidding me? No! I’m not paying for your mistakes! Whatever you did, undo it. I bought a seat on this flight.”

“I can’t do that. There are no available seats on this flight now.” I’m about to lose my shit when a petite blonde woman appears at my side.

“Ms. Fairchild?”

“Yes.”

“I have your boarding pass. If you’ll just follow me, I’ll take you to your flight.”

“This is my flight.”

“You’ve been upgraded to first-class. Mr. Vaughn insisted.” What the hell? We haven’t spoken two words to each other since lunchtime. I’m the one who organizes flights and any potential upgrades. Why does he even care if I travel coach?

I’m too tired to fight a stranger on this. The sooner I get home to my own bed, the better. I need to relax. I’m like a spring—coiled and ready to pop. First-class might be a nice way to unwind a little sooner.

I follow behind in dazed silence, oblivious to the bustling airport around me. I could stand to learn from the attendant. She’s courteous, professional, and helpful. My bags are seamlessly squirreled away before I’m ushered to my seat and furnished with a glass of champagne. This experience has already spoiled me for all future travel. Flying coach is going to feel like being shut in the cargo hold after this.

For the first time today, my shoulders slump, and the tension that’s been vibrating through every muscle slowly melts away. I grab my headphones and plug in my favorite playlist.

Bliss.

By the time we’ve jettisoned out onto the runway, I’m almost asleep. The pilot interrupts to welcome everyone on board.

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