Page 16 of Strictly Business

I sprinted through the doors of Charlotte Douglas International Airport with exactly ten minutes to get through security and to my gate before they closed the boarding door. There was no way I was going to make it. Reaching the ticket counter, I resigned myself to the fact I was going to miss the flight and the friendly smile of the counter associate didn’t do anything to help my anxiety. “She’s going to murder me,” I muttered to myself pulling out my passport.

“I’m sure she’ll understand, dear.”

“I appreciate the vote of confidence, but you don’t know Nina.” Digging through my purse for my phone, I dreaded the phone call I was about to make. “When is the next one I can get on?”

“Well,” the older woman typed on the computer. “Looks like we have some room for you on the noon flight.”

“Okay, that’s not bad. I can be there pretty early still.”

“That’ll get you there about 7:00 PM.”

“7:00 PM? That’s too late! Don’t you have any—”

“Sorry, sweetie. All my nonstops are booked. You gotta take a layover in Salt Lake before you land in San Diego.”

“Fine,” I cursed. “Okay, whatever gets me there. Now she’s really gonna kill me.” The older woman — Doris, her name tag read — gave me a sympathetic smile over the computer. After a few moments, Doris handed back my passport and a fresh set of tickets.

“Good luck with everything, sweetie. Hope your friend doesn’t get too mad.”

“She’s probably expecting it, let’s be honest.” I sighed and pulled up the familiar contact. I needed to get my shit together if I wanted her to even consider me for a bigger position in the company — aka the New York office, she had plans for in a few years.

I stuffed my sweater into my purse before shoving it through the X-ray machine. My carry-on behind it. The line for bodies was held up by a group of young twenty-somethings who were flirting with the two TSA agents on the other side. Wasn’t that the opposite of what was supposed to be going on? Where were the grumpy TSA agents who kept the line moving? I could see the bags piling up on the other side of both X-ray machines.

“Oops! Sorry. I moved again,” I heard one of the twenty-somethings giggle. Finally, a female TSA agent stepped in relieving the flirtatious ones. She motioned for the young women to proceed to an older agent who was waiting to search her on the side.

“Thank God,” I heard the man in front of me huff, and I couldn’t help but express my own relief.

He was a tall glass of water. His hair was black and styled to perfection. His back muscles strained against his sky-blue dress shirt. Not to mention the way his gray pants put his ass on display. If he was this handsome from the back, I could only imagine what he looked like from the front.

“Ma’am, please step forward,” a different TSA agent beckoned me forward to a secondary scanner. I cursed him for missing the chance to see what my mystery man looked like.

With no sign of him when I made it to the other side, I slung my purse over my shoulder and reached for the handle of my leather duffel bag. I was mentally preparing myself to wait another four hours before my new flight would start boarding. At least, the gate was nearby one of my favorite bars — I could get a drink before this long ass trip.

“Excuse me,” a deep voice called behind me. I heard them, but I didn’t stop. Surely, they weren’t talking to me. “Excuse me,” it called again, closer. A sudden jerk on the bag in my hands stopped me.

“Hey! What the hell?”

“Would you stop?”

My suspicions were correct. Tall. Dark. And, extremely handsome. Stormy grey eyes glowered down at me. A full beard matched the color of his hair, but it didn’t hide the sharp jawline beneath.

“Are you going to just stare at me or are you going to give me my bag?”

Wait, did he say his bag? I looked down at the bag in my hands and the one in his own. They looked similar, but not quite the same. Mine was a shade lighter and had a front pocket, but the one in my hands did not.

“You speak English, no?”

“Um, yes. Sorry. I didn’t—”

“Are you going to hand it over or… Y'know, some of us have places to be.” I quickly handed over the bag and caught mine before it landed on the ground. He continued to mutter to himself as he walked away.

Later in the day, I stifled a yawn following the other passengers on board my connecting flight in Salt Lake. I stuffed my carry-on into the overhead bin before falling into the seat that would be my bed for the next two hours. Just as I started to let myself slip into a state of unconsciousness, I felt something fall halfway into my lap — a suit jacket. The owner grumbled to themselves stuffing their belongings into the overhead bin. Opening my eyes, I came face-to-face with the same stormy eyes from early that morning.

“Try not to steal my bag when we leave this time,” he says, but this time it’s less assholey. The smile that tugged on his lips told me he was, in fact, making a joke as he fell into the seat next to me.

“Sorry about that,” I said handing back his coat.

“It happens. I'm sorry I was such a grump this morning, it has not been my day.”

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