Page 3 of Christmas With the Jerk

I’m standing in the middle of it, trying to wrap my head around everything that just happened. I haven’t stopped shaking since we got off the plane, the adrenaline still pumping through my veins. My heart is literally pounding in my chest like it’s trying to escape. I can still hear the explosion in my head. The fire. The smoke.

Now I know what happened. Someone planted a bomb. Just days before Christmas.

I swallow hard, glancing up again at one of the news screens in the terminal. The story of the bomb in Terminal B is now being shown on every channel. There were no fatalities, but several people sustained injuries. Emergency services are swarming the scene, shutting down the entire terminal.And planes all over the airport have been grounded due to their proximity to theincident. Thousands of passengers are stranded. I’ve never seen anything like this.

One of those stranded people could have been me.

I take a deep breath, but it does nothing to calm my racing mind. The lines at the counters are moving slower than molasses. The gate agents are swamped, voices hoarse as they repeat the same message over and over: ”We’re doing everything we can to reschedule passengers, please bear with us.” It’s clear there’s only so much they can do and there are only so many seats on however many planes that can get out of here today.

Everyone is trying to get out of here. But no one’s going anywhere fast.

My phone vibrates in my hand, but I don’t even look at it. Instead, I glance around at the sea of people. Some are sitting, heads in their hands. Others are pacing, furious or scared, snapping at anyone who gets too close.

I catch my reflection in the glass windows and feel the weight of it all pressing down on me. I’m supposed to be in Boston by first thing Thursday morning for the biggest pitch of my career, and instead, I’m stuck here in a terminal that looks like Buddy the Elf fromElfgot hold of it. It’s about to crack under the pressure of a thousand stressed-out passengers trying to get their Yuletide on.

2:10pm

There isno way going to get to Boston in time. The next available flight isn’t until early Thursday morning, and even ifI wasn’t too freaked out to get back on a plane after what just happened, it won’t get me to Boston in time for the meeting.

I shake my head, trying to push the thoughts away. I’ve worked too hard to let this fall apart now. Being an account manager at this firm is everything I’ve worked for. I’ve spent years proving myself, step by step, just to get here.

Thorne, on the other hand, had this opportunity handed to him. I have never been so fortunate. I worked my ass of to get to where I am. If we don’t land this client, all the promotions and progress I’ve dreamed of—the things I need to give me a sense of security—are out the window.

As if on cue, I hear the sharp, unmistakable voice of that very same trust fund loser. I can’t stand him. FML.

I look up and there is Thorne Chilton, standing a few feet away, talking to a Delta agent. He looks as annoying as always, so sure that his charm and influence will somehow get him on an already-full plane.

God, he’s such a smug asshole.

I knew I wouldn’t be able to avoid him forever. But at least I’ve managed to do so for the last few hours in the the pandemonium and aftermath of the bomb threat. I’ll take any win I can get right now.

Even in this disorder, Thorne has managed to look as polished as ever. His suit is pristine and his hair is perfectly tousled in that way that makes him look like he didn’t even try. I wish I could hate him for his looks, but the truth is, it’s everything else about him that I hate.

I can’t help but wonder how he felt about sliding down the inflatable exit slide in his expensive bespoke suit. The thought of that gives me a little inner tickle, and I smile to myself at the prospect of him losing his mind over having to do it. So there is that tiny silver lining.

Arrogant. Entitled. He’s never had to work for anything in his life, and now here he is, acting like this whole disaster is just another inconvenience in his very important existence.

“What a fuckshow. There are no flights available for us within a two-hour drive of here that will get us to Boston before our meeting on Thursday.”

“What are you still doing here, then? Don’t you have somewhere more important to be?” I snap, unable to help myself.

Thorne turns, narrowing his eyes at me. “Woodley. Still as pleasant as ever, I see.”

I grit my teeth. We’ve never gotten along. We work for the same company, but he’s one of those guys who coasts through life on his parents’ wealth and connections. He was handed his job, just like everything else, I’m sure.

Before now, we haven’t had to work together on a project, but for some unknown reason, Dani, our manager, assigned him to work with me on this client. I’m sure it's par for the course for him: I did all the work to get us a foot in the door, and he will breeze in and reap the benefits.

Now, it appears, I’m stuck with him on what is shaping up to be a nightmare of a trip.

“We need to figure out how we’re getting to Boston,” I say, ignoring the urge to throttle him right here in the middle of theterminal. “I don’t think our solution is here in this insanity. If you’re in, then let’s look into renting a car. Unless you want to drive us in yours.”

“We can’t drive to Boston.” Thorne scoffs, folding his arms. “You’ve lost your mind.”

I shake my head, my mind already racing. “We need another option. We aren’t missing this pitch.”

“Driving for a full day in the snow isn’t an option. It’s a fantasy.” His tone is sharp, sarcastic, like he’s already given up.

I turn toward the rental car counter, my eyes narrowing. “Unless you have a better idea, we’re driving.”

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