Page 1 of Hostile for the Holidays

ONE

STELLA

I don’t knowwhy people complain about traveling during the holidays. I love the hustle and bustle of the crowds, the anticipation of fellow travelers who are excited to reunite with family and friends, and of course, the festive décor and music in the terminal. It’s the most wonderful time of the year after all.

For me, everything has gone smoothly this afternoon.

Traffic to LaGuardia was light, I checked my bag with plenty of time. I was even able to snag the last Cobb salad at the Grab N’ Go station for a light lunch. Now, I’m at the gate and ready to board, so I can relax.

My eyes scan over the waiting area. There’s a couple whose two kids are playing a game of cards across the open seat in one of the airport seating banks. An elderly couple looking at a phone screen together and talking. It’s calm. It’s chill.

Everything is going according to—oh my god. My eyes snag on a familiar face waiting in the boarding line, then I do a double-take because it’s not possible. He’s not supposed to behere.

But sure enough, it’shim.

Thick, wavy copper-brown hair attached to a face with obnoxiously perfect bone structure. I mean, whose jaw is thatsculpted? And why are his cheekbones perfectly proportioned to his sharp nose and full lips? Also, the dark-framed glasses he’s wearing aren’t giving nerdy tech guy at all.

Glancing down at his phone, he moves forward with the line. He’s wearing dark jeans and a crocheted red holiday sweater with a snowflake on it that I wish looked silly on him but unfortunately the color compliments his warm skin tone. And the worst of it is he looks good. Better than good. Downright delectable.

I make an effort to clear my dry throat.

He shifts the wool coat from one arm to another and tucks his phone into his back pocket.

A moment later his head swings in my direction, and I instinctively slip behind a large round column next to the trash receptacles.

I think he saw me. We only locked eyes for a half a millisecond, but that’s all the time I need to confirm that it is, without a doubt, him. I’d know those hazel eyes glinting with intensity anywhere.

Jasper Jensen, my childhood rival, and nemesis, is boarding my plane.

What’s he doing in New York?He’s supposed to be hidden away in his gated Silicon Valley mansion with all the other tech nerds creating ground-breaking technological advances.

I don’t keep tabs on Jasper, but I’d have to be living under a rock to not know about his successes.

Jasper is the CEO of his own company, Jensen Innovations. It’s some cutting-edge VR/AR technology that is used for corporate training and education. That’s right. He’s a tech billionaire and he’s gorgeous. And he’s making that god awful holiday sweater with a large snowflake on it look good. How many guys can say that?

With my back pressed to the hard concrete post, I take stock of my body.

Beneath my cashmere cardigan sweater my heart is racing a mile a minute. My palms are sweaty, making it difficult to keep a grasp on my leather travel bag, and beneath the waistband of my designer jeans, my tummy is tingling with an edgy, anticipatory buzz.

All the ease I was feeling earlier has been chased away by Jasper’s sudden appearance.

It’s worse than seeing an ex. Coming face to face with my childhood rival is like going to battle inThe Hunger Gamesand I was not prepared for that today. I’ve got nothing in my arsenal. No witty comebacks or one-upping stories. In the rush to get out of my apartment earlier, I don’t even think I put on deodorant.

The unnerving thing about this moment? I have all the boxes of a successful life checked. I was just promoted to creative director at the lifestyle brand I work for, East & Ivy. I’m the youngest creative director in the industry right now, and my branding ideas have sent sales and advertising skyrocketing. I have an apartment in the trendy and vibrant Chelsea neighborhood, and my social calendar is filled to the brim.

Or at least it’s filled with first dates that amount to nothing more because finding a man to date in New York City is like trying to find a lost sock at the laundromat. It’s an impossible feat. I’m never going to find the match.

And while logically I know I have time to meet the man of my dreams, there’s something about the fact that my younger sister is getting married in less than two weeks that has caused my brain to hyper fixate on the fact that I’m still very single, and nowhere close to finding the one.

But other than my relationship status, I’m living my best life.

Because I’m an overachiever. I always give everything one hundred and ten percent effort.

It’s the reason for Jasper and my rivalry. Since that fateful day in second grade when he told me boys were smarter than girls, a modern-age battle of the sexes began. Nothing was off limits. We competed for top grades, top honors, and generally aimed to outdo each other in everything we did. In fifth grade when we selected instruments for band, I desperately wanted to play the clarinet but I was sick the day instruments were assigned and I got stuck with Jasper on the drums. To my parents’ dismay, I practiced day in and day out to hone my rhythmic skills on the drum line.

Then, we both made drum major our senior year in band, but Jasper and I had differing opinions on how things should be run, so poor Mrs. Jones, the band director, had to break up our arguments more than a handful of times. There was the famous half-time show where half of the band followed my direction, while the other half went along with Jasper. It was complete chaos and Mrs. Jones required us to take turns each game directing the band to avoid another mishap like that.

But I’m an adult now. I can choose to not let Jasper Jensen get under my skin. I’m going to march right over to the line and get on this plane without saying a word to him. Without giving him the satisfaction of knowing that seeing him today has rattled me.

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