Page 1 of The Payback Plan
IN THE BEGINNING
CHICAGO, O’HARE AIRPORT, 21 DECEMBER
Paige Barker had been pissed off for four years. Getting snowed in at O’Hare with thousands of other disgruntled holiday travellers just before Christmasandon her birthday was the cherry on top of a life so derailed she might as well be the Fat Controller.
Happy freaking twenty-fifth.
She glared at the departure boards all stubbornly flashingdelayed– no shit, Sherlock – and then through the large floor-to-ceiling windows festooned with garlands and red holly berries, to the runways. Or what she could see of them through the biblical-ass storm.
The irony of Dean Martin crooning ‘Let It Snow’ through the PA system right now almost made her laugh. But she was too damn mad for that. She was stuck here for who knew how long with the roads too hazardous to check into a nearby hotel and no taxis to be had anyway. Also, she wanted to be on site the second the runways opened to make sure she was on the first flight to London.
Or any UK destination really. Hell, she’d take Shetland if it was all she could get. She’d promised her mother she’d be home for Christmas.
And if that meant she had to aimlessly wander the halls for days existing on ridiculously expensive airport food and booze, then she would. And when that all ran out, which she supposed was entirely possible if the storm dragged on, she had three packets of Oreos stashed in her bag and plenty of pounds between her and starvation. She also had panty-liners and toothpaste.
Eat your heart out, Bear Grylls.
What she needed now was a drink. Or John McClane to burst in and kick Snowmaggedon’s ass. Given that was unlikely, she’d settle for the drink. Although where in hell she’d find a table when every other person in O’Hare had the same idea, she had no clue.
‘Ten per cent off at Just Desserts.’
Paige stopped glowering at the windows to find a stocky woman with pink cheeks, sparkly eyes and fluffy, flyaway magenta hair offering her a flyer. Her voice crackled like an old record but her accent was pure New York.
‘Oh no, thank you,’ Paige said, her accent becoming painfully British, as she warded off the proffered piece of paper. ‘I doubt I’ll be able to get a seat anywhere at the moment.’
The woman smiled beatifically. ‘You could be lucky.’
Paige snorted.Luck.She swore she must have broken a mirror, walked under a ladderandcrossed the path of a black cat several times in a previous life. ‘I doubt it.’
Undeterred, the woman offered the flyer again. ‘You never know.’
For reasons she couldn’t explain, Paige took it, earning herself another beatific smile. ‘It’s just around the corner,’ she said before turning away and disappearing into the crowds.
Paige glanced at the pretty pink flyer featuring pretty drinks with pretty umbrellas and pretty calorie-dense desserts. At ten in the morning it was way too early to be indulging in either but airports were like casinos – time was amorphous. And her mouthwaswatering.
Cocktails and cakes didn’t make up for a lengthy delay or the pervasive inertia that had stalled her life for so long now but theydidmake her feel less stabby. And besides, if shewasstuck here for days and all the food ran out, she should probably carb load.
* * *
It took Paige five minutes to reach Just Desserts which was as eye-wateringly pink as the leaflet. It was a huge place that spanned the width of the central aisle separating two parallel thoroughfares and had multiple entrances. It was also crowded but, right there, in the centre of the restaurant, was one spare, round table with four chairs.
A waiter was withdrawing after just having wiped it down and it shone under the bright lights like a Taylor Swift arena, beckoning her inside. She half expected to hear a choir of freaking angels.
Huh. Maybe her luckwasturning.
Scurrying to the table, her eyes never leaving the prize, Paige reached her chair just as another woman skidded in to claim the opposite one, careening – crotch first – into the back.
Maybenot.
‘Fuckity-fuck!’
Paige blinked as the woman – a fellow Brit – recovered from a landing that would have crippled a man. She was about to ask her if she was okay but was interrupted by a third woman claiming the chair to one side with a puffed little whoop. A fourth, coming in hot from a different direction, laid claim to the last spot at the table.
For a moment none of them said anything as they all eyed the table like a quartet of single bridesmaids might eye a tossed wedding bouquet, but then Paige noticed each woman was clutching a pink leaflet.Just like her.
‘If none of you are with anyone else,’ she said tentatively, ‘we could share?’
There was an immediate round of relieved sighs and big smiles as chairs scraped and everyone settled in, hanging coats over chair backs and stashing bags on the floor.
