Page 28 of The Best Wild Idea
“Honey, you look like shit,” the man standing at the top of the plane says to me with a deep southern drawl. This must be one of Silas’ flight attendants.
I widen my eyes at him, then look around, certain he can’t be addressing me like that. Sure enough, though, his eyes are sparkling right at me. We’ve never met, but I’m the only one climbing up these stairs right now, and Silas is at least twenty yards behind me, just now exiting the SUV. Plus, Si is definitely not looking like shit this morning. Quite the opposite, actually. So that leaves only me. And since everything about my last twenty-four hours has featured one ridiculous event after another, why not add this sassy attendant to the list?
I huff, looking up at him, ready to let him knowwhyI look like shit, but when our eyes meet, I can’t help but break into an unexpected grin. He’s smiling right at me with one arm outstretched, his eyes dancing, like we’re already friends.
I give up. Everything about my life is completely absurd right now.
I shrug and keep climbing.
“You’re not wrong,” I announce when I reach the top, pushing tufts of hair back up toward my messy bun. “I really do look like shit.”
He puts his arm around my shoulders, wrapping me in an intimate side-hug, then starts leading me into the sleek charcoal tube that’s about to go hurtling down the runway.
“Well, who can blame you? And besides, that was just a little white lie to get you to smile. Break the ice. We’ve got a lot of ground to cover, you and I. Figuratively and literally.”
He nudges me a little closer to him, then bumps me away with his hip. I feel my smile widen and give up any preconceived notion about how this flight was going to go, letting him lead me into the plane’s bougie interior.
He goes on as we walk. “Ninety-nine-point-nine percent of the world would kill to look as beautiful as you, even on a bad day, and the other point-one percent would just be lyin’ to themselves. Besides, this type of trip here just doesn’t happen every day, honey! So, we can’t be wastin’ any more time. I saw you debating whether or not to even hop in here for the last ten minutes, sitting in that car out there like that.”
My ears redden.
“There’s a reason for that,” I start to tell him, but he interrupts as we pass the plane’s sleek galley kitchen.
“It’s because you didn’t know whether we’d be packin’ the good stuff here on this bird or not, am I right?” He winks at me. “Well, I can assure you we have everything on board you could possibly need. Including that tall drink of water I see coming up the steps behind you.”
The flight attendant has to stoop as we go through another doorway, but the aisle is wide enough for us to glide down together side by side.
I’ve never seen the inside of a private jet to be able to compare this to anything else, but this one seems particularly striking. Everything inside is chiseled and sleek, similar to its owner and exterior. The cupboards and floors are outlined in thick, polished wood accents. Dim lighting and coffee-colored leather make the jet’s interior feel like a broody nightclub or whiskey bar, which doesn’t surprise me. It’s all a little over the top, but undeniably masculine, kind of like Silas himself.
I reach out to touch one of the plushy seat’s headrests as we pass, wondering if it’s lined in cashmere.
“We’re gonna sit you right here, honey,” he tells me, patting my shoulder. I slink down into an overstuffed chair that feels more like a cushy La-Z-Boy than an airplane seat. If this whole thing wasn’t owned by Silas, I might never leave. “My name is Andy. Now what can I get you? A shot of vodka? A chardonnay? All the above plus an Ambien?”
I laugh for the second time since meeting Andy. Of course, Silas would have a crew expecting to serve hard alcohol or sleeping pills with the rising sun.
“At eight thirty in the morning?” I ask, turning my cheek.
“Oh, excuse me, Miss, but I didn’t ask you the time!” he trills, winking at me. “I asked you how stiff you want your drink! Mimosa? Straight champagne? We have enough liquor to kill a horse back here and I’ll keep you hydrated so it won’t hurt tomorrow. Just tell me what you typically like and I’ll bring you somethin’ that suits. Sweet? Savory? Did you want to remember the flight? Or should we just get to work on making it as unmemorable as possible?”
His smile widens.
Andy resembles a Ken doll, all muscles and taut tan skin, with a wide smile full of teeth as white as the snow. His short frosted hair stands up perfectly on the top of his head, thanks to a heavy helping of stiff hair gel.
I’m just about to tell him my order when Silas comes on board. Seeing him move toward me down the long aisle makes me feel on edge all over again, as if all the oxygen got sucked right out the door behind him. If only I could convince him to stay here in Boston while Andy and I travel to get the letters instead, I might actually enjoy myself.
“I’ll have a mimosa,” I say, eyeballing Silas while praying he chooses a seat further up the row. “If you have those.”
“Of course,” he says, beaming at me. Then he follows my narrowed eyes over to Silas and back to rest on my faceagain. “Anything else to make your flight more comfortable? A blanket? A noose?” He raises a brow.
“That’s it,” I tell him with a laugh. “Thank you.”
“My pleasure. I’ll be right back with that. And what can I get for you, sir?”
Andy turns to Silas as he reaches the seat right across the aisle from mine.
Ugh.
“Just black coffee, Andy, thank you,” Silas says.
