Page 13 of Mistletoe Missus
I was a nervous wreck one moment, and the next, a melting snowflake sure to ice over with a deep freeze. One that would easily thaw as soon as Mitt touched me. I needed a damn shot.
“Excuse me?” I snapped my fingers at the flight attendant because I didn’t know how else to get her attention.
“Yes, Ms. Kingsley?”
Jesus. Everyone appeared to know me. Mitt worked fast.
I stopped the snap of my fingers and laid my hands on my lap. “Do you serve alcohol on this flight?”
“Why, yes, we do.” She smiled. “What can I get for you?”
I asked, “What do you have?”
“We have everything.”
Shit! Seriously?
My eyes bugged out of my head, and I realized I should act the part if I was about to become Mrs. Morgan. Instead of fidgeting with my hands, I calmed them in my lap and mademyself appear more carefree—used to the luxurious lifestyle—and I fixed my bulging eyes that resembled a hairless cat.
“I’ll take a tequila shot, please—no lime.”
I wanted the shot straight, killing all traces of the aching heat inside my belly. The bitter taste would crush the waves of desire Mitt had effortlessly brought to the surface and sink me with the tide. I’d prefer being lost at sea and a tad tipsy over the mixed-up feelings whirling inside me.
She brought the shot glass over, filled to the rim, and I gulped it down in one go. “Thanks.”
The shot burned on the way down, but it was no match for my bruised ego from Mitt’s brush off. He hadn’t returned, and it had been a few minutes, possibly ten, since he left. I rose from my seat, in need of the restroom, with a powerful urge to pee. The alcohol gave my urinary tract an extra push with its sudden need to release.
I ambled through the long corridor of the cabin, the plastic trim giving a sleek wooden appearance, and passed a sofa with an end table attached and a vase full of beautiful white orchids. The pleasant touch gave the modern interior a homey feeling, with the dim lighting that was calming for a nighttime flight. I ventured in the exact direction Mitt had disappeared and saw a door straight ahead, which I figured led to the pilot. Before the cockpit, there was a half-draped curtain and a wall that led to the bathroom. From what I could see, more seating was behind the barrier, and I reached for the latch to the washroom, but Mitt’s voice stopped me.
“I don’t care if it costs $100,000! Make sure it’s a size eight.” He said in a low, harsh voice. “Fourteen million for the highest priced one?”
A brief pause.
“Okay.”
I peeked around the corner. My eyes landed on Mitt, seated with a drink in hand as he swirled the liquid around in a glass. He was engrossed in the phone call he didn’t even notice me eavesdropping on his private conversation. I knew I should mind my own business, but this man made me curious—nosier than a pesky cat, and everyone knows how the warning goes. Curiosity killed the cat. But Mitt Morgan was far too mysterious for an inquisitive kitty like me.
Mitt added, “Whichever one she chooses, send the bill to my office.” And he ended the call.
She?
Who isshe?
The conversation had to involve Mitt’s business. Some court case under wraps since he wanted privacy for his important call, and I had ruined it. But Mitt hadn’t a clue.
My husband-to-be moved, and I feared he was returning in the same direction. My eyes widened as I opened the restroom door and locked it shut behind me with a relieved sigh. Mitt hadn’t noticed me, his perplexed bride-to-be, hiding in the bathroom while he went back to his seat, and I had a pee. As I flushed the toilet, replaying the previous event, a thought occurred to me. Whatever the phone call was about had nothing to do with business when it came down to Mr. Mitt Morgan spending millions ofhismoney.
EIGHT
Christmas Day
Tinsley
Iwoke up to the pilot announcing our incoming landing at the Colorado airport. As we descended toward the tarmac, Mitt held my hand through the unexpected turbulence. I was grateful for the gesture and clung to him until we hit the ground. The plane bounced once, then twice as the brakes kicked in and we arrived safely in another state.
“We made it,” I sighed with relief.
Mitt kissed the back of my hand. “We did it.”
