Page 6 of The Mistletoe Makeover

I glance at Mr. Smolder again, feeling a need to explain, even though he will not get any special treatment from me. “I have an important meeting today.”

He nods, unimpressed. “Me, too.”

“Mine’sreallyimportant,” I say, defensively.

From behind his glasses, I swear he rolls his eyes.

“Ma’am, can I have your ticket information, please?” the lady behind the counters says. She’s suddenly returned to her robotic voice because apparently I’m not as special as Mr. Smolder.

I hand over my ID and catch Mr. Smolder peeking at my ugly license picture, the one that makes me look like a convicted criminal having a bad hair day. “That’s a really terrible picture of me, in case you’re wondering.”

“I wasn’t wondering,” he says flatly.

“I mean, they won’t even let you smile for your license these days, so we all look like a bunch of murderers.” When I’m nervous, I turn into my mother and can’t stop talking.

From behind his glasses, the crease deepens between his eyebrows. “That’s not really a problem for me.”

Which is another way of saying,I always look like a gorgeous guy who women flirt with.

He steps away just as the flight attendant hands me my ID. “You’re all set. You now have a seat in economy class, thanks to this gentleman.” She nods toward Mr. Smolder, who looks a bit smug, like he just tossed a couple pennies into my tip jar.

I glance at his ticket and see that he’s in first class. Frankly, it seems a little unfair that he flies in first class while his coworker does not.

He turns to the man in the suit. “I’m going to grab some food from the lounge and take a nap until they call for boarding.”

Judging by how he’s trying to slink away to his special bougie lounge, I actually feel sorry for his traveling companion. It’s not right that they fly in two different classes. I follow Mr. Smolder to the entrance of the lounge, wanting to say something but too afraid to tap on his shoulder.

My strong feelings about justice and fairness bubble up inside me, the result of growing up the daughter of a single parent. My mom had to fight for everything.

He turns at the last second to face me. “Let me guess,” he says, exasperated. “You want something else?”

“What else would I want?” I crinkle my nose.

“I don’t know. A picture?”

The nerve of this guy to assume I want a picture with him. “All I wanted was to say thanks,” I blurt. “Even though I think it’s unfair that you made your coworker give up his seat. Shouldn’t you guys be equals?”

He stares at me for a second, like he’s struggling for an answer. “He bought his own ticket,” he says flatly.

“Why did you get the first-class seat, then? Did you guys play rock-paper-scissors or something?”

The crease between his eyebrows deepens. “He paid his way. Said he wanted to save money.”

I shake my head, still not understanding. “Then why didn’t you sit with him?”

“It’s kind of hard to...in my position.” He lifts a shoulder, like he doesn’t have another option.

What is he, some special snowflake?

“You should be equals. No matter what position you hold in the company.”

“The company?” he says with a laugh.

“Aren’t you in business together?”

“Sort of,” he says, then stares at me. “He’s worked really hard the past several months. I thought he’d like the break.” He saws his teeth over his lip, then scans the surrounding area, like he’s worried about something. “Believe me, if I could skip this meeting, I would.”

“Oh,” I say, suddenly feeling stupid. Maybe he’s actually doing somethingnicefor his coworker, rather than forcing him into airport purgatory.

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