Page 46 of Fly with Me

“You don’t have to look at that now. I don’t know why I gave it to you during dinner. It’s all the details of the three events I need a date for. What to wear. Who the people are that I need to talk to who will best optimize my ability to network with the right people. The people who make promotion decisions, that is.”

Olive pushed her plate out of the way, so she had room to lay out the binder. “It’s color coded.”

“It’s organized.” Stella pointed to the contents.

Olive flipped through pages. “There are custom tabs and small photos of the different executives.”

“Yes?” Her voice was factual. Like the binder was the most normal thing ever. But this was some Paris Geller–level shit.

“Never mind, nerd.” Olive winked at Stella.

“Oh, you think this is nerdy? You should see my label maker.”

God, Olive wished that was an incredibly oblique euphemism.

“You are the biggest nerd.”

“Well, you’re the one who agreed to fake date me.” Stella’s cheeks flushed.

“Touché.” Olive guzzled her beer, wondering if she should move on to bourbon. “I need more alcohol for this.” She stood and walked to her brass bar cart. She twisted off the cap and didn’t even bother to get ice.

“I’ve been thinking about how I could compensate you for your efforts.”

Olive almost spilled the bourbon as she splashed it into a glass. “Well, now I feel like a fake hooker.”

Stella’s cheeks became a deeper rose pink.

Olive sat back down. “It was a joke, Stella.”

“Oh, right. Okay. If you feel uncomfortable…”

“I don’t feel uncomfortable. A few parties. How bad could this be? Chatting with some pilots. Oh shit, that pilot from the flight will probably be there. Captain Kevin or whatever.”

“Yeah.” Her eyebrows pulled together. “Kevin will be there. But we shouldn’t have to talk to him. He generally ignores women he doesn’t want to sleep with.” There was an edge to her voice.

“Was there a time when he didn’t ignore you?”

Stella scraped her nails over the paper label on her beer bottle. “It was a long time ago. Never anything since. Things were worse when I started. The Me Too movement helped a lot.”

“I’m sure.” Rage pulsed in Olive’s chest. Maybe she could figure out a way to “accidentally” kick him in the balls at one of the parties. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s fine.” Stella set the beer bottle down. She scooted it a few inches closer to her plate on the placemat as if to make sure it didn’t drip condensation onto the wood table. “I want to take you to Italy.”

Olive choked on the bourbon, making her throat burn. “What?”

“You said you’ve never been. You were an art history major.” She pointed at the gallery wall with its lush colors and assemblage of various European masters from different periods. “Seeing that, it makes me certain this is the right thing to do. I get really good deals with other airlines.” Stella fiddled with the salt and pepper shakers in the middle of Olive’s table.

“That’s absurd. You can’t take me to Italy.”

“I don’t have to come with you or anything. I would buy your ticket and maybe set up a hotel room for you with my travel points.”

“In case you forgot, I’m terrified of flying. And that’s over an ocean. We talked about this.” She made a swimming motion with her hand.

“You got on a plane to Florida and back.”

“I—uh.”

Stella’s mouth pulled to the side, eyes narrowing.

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