Page 20 of Ticket to You

I open my mouth to object, but another voice on the line—a painfully familiar one—beats me to it. “We’re within twelve hours of the flight. There’s no way we could transfer the tickets to someone else.”

I wince.Why does Adam have to be on this call? As if I haven’t been embarrassed in front of him enough.

“She doesn’t know the first thing about the outdoors. Isn’t that right, Ophelia?” Jane asks me.

“I’m a quick learner.”

“Ophelia will be a…a great help to me,” Adam says, though his cool tone doesn’t quite sell it.

Jane sighs. “You asked for one more shot, Ophelia. Here it is. And remember, I don’t give second chances.”

Jane leaves the call, but I can hear Adam’s shallow breathing on the line.

“You good?” he asks after a long stretch of tense silence.

“I’m good,” I exhale.

Adam clears his throat. As Gemma said, I can imagine the wheels turning in his head, trying to come up with the best response. “Well, I’ll see you soon then?”

“Sure.”

I hang up and fall back against the couch. “How am I supposed to do this, Gemma? What happens if I fail? What if I can’t find another job and have to move out of the city? I could lose everything I’ve been working for. I could lose…you.” My chest tightens into a knot. Gemma, my best friend, the woman who is the closest thing I have to family.

Gemma walks over to sit beside me and pats my knee. “You. Will.Not. Lose. Me. You will do amazing. Jane always says that dressing the part is half the challenge, right? Didn’t you and Adam go shopping to get you outfitted for the trip?”

I laugh dryly, remembering the humiliation of the shopping trip. “We went to REI, but there was no way I was about to shell out so much money just for one week. Can you believe that theOutdoorsycrew makes fun ofAteliergirls for being materialistic? I saw some coats that cost over a thousand dollars. Anyway, Adam called his girlfriend, El, and she gave him some things I can use.”

“Adam has a girlfriend?” Gemma asks, her lips tightening.

“He had a woman—agorgeouswoman—over when I was at his apartment a couple of days ago. She told him she loved him before she left. So that leads me to believe that yes, he must have a girlfriend.”

Gemma tilts her head down and frowns. “I suppose that’s a good thing.”

“Is it?” I laugh. “A few months ago, you were begging me to go out with the guy. Did I finally convince you that Adam and I would be a worse pair than socks and sandals?”

“No, I still defend the idea that you two would be good together, but if you fell for each other on this trip, Hoffman’s would be furious. Using company funds, which are dwindling as is, to go on a trip with someone you’re romantically involved with…they’d hold you accountable.”

“Well, it’s a good thing Adam and I can hardly stand each other,” I say, securing my grandpa’s watch around my wrist.

* * *

Most of thetravel I’ve done withAtelierin the past six years was alongside Jane Sommerland. As such, we usually flew first class. No matter how long I had been in the fashion world, luxury still caught me off guard. I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to fancy cars, gifted clothes, or first-class seats. So today, with my seats near the back of the plane, squished in the center of the row, there’s a strange peace that settles in me.

But then I remember who’s next to me, and my peace is bridled.

Adam already has his noise-canceling headphones in, and his nose is in a book I don’t recognize. We’re sandwiched together and we both hunch our shoulders to try, in vain, to stay in our own space. But the cheapest seats come with little territory, and our overlapping is inevitable. Despite our physical closeness, Adam is silent.

I watch him for a moment, awed as I so often am by his features. After all, if there’s anything I can appreciate, it’s something beautiful. And even though Adam is in simple gray sweats with his hair wildly disheveled, he looks like he could be Michelangelo’s muse. With less than a foot between us, I can see the darker veins of cobalt running through his pale blue eyes. His stubble has grown into a short beard, but his square jaw still shows through it.

The plane roars to life and my heart sinks, feeling like it will pass right through the floor below me. I fish a tiny white sleeping pill from my carry-on and swallow it dry, tapping my fingers against my thighs nervously. The only time I take sleeping pills is when I’m about to fly, because they’re the only thing that dulls my anxiety well enough for me to sleep. I squeeze my eyes closed while I wait for the medicine’s effects to take over.

A tapping on my knee startles me. I open my eyes to see Adam staring at me intensely.

“Are you okay?”

“Don’t I look okay?” I ask, straight-faced.

Adam’s jaw flexes. “No. You look clammy and pale.”

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