Page 10 of Ache for You (Slow Burn 3)
I can’t believe I even spoke a word to him. He probably has the entire conversation on tape. These ruthless bastards have been following me for months, ever since my engagement to Brad was announced. “Kimberella Gets Her Prince,” one article sneered. The plucky, penniless seamstress marrying American royalty, the golden son of a political dynasty.
Yeah, it’s a real Cinderella story all right. Except her prince wasn’t being forced by his father to marry on the threat of losing his inheritance.
But the worst part, the absolute heart-smashing, soul-killing part, is that everyone knew but me.
Everyone knew he gambled, and ran up huge debts on his father’s credit, and had women all over town. Everyone knew he was the biggest threat to his father’s political career and the family’s good name, and everyone knew Daddy had given him an ultimatum.
Get married and settle down or be cut off.
How convenient for Brad that I was so trusting and blind. And so desperately in love with him. I made it all so easy.
Not everyone was convinced of my innocence, however. Several online articles theorized I knew all about Brad’s problems and had swooped in like a vulture to pick at the helpless corpse of his playboy days while stuffing my pockets with his money.
As if I cared about his money. When I think of all the times I told him I loved him and he’d mumbled, “You too,” and looked away, it makes me sick.
Screw love. And screw men. From now on, I’m focusing on work.
But first I have to get to Italy.
“No. That can’t be right. I have to be on this flight.”
“I’m so sorry, ma’am. Unfortunately, the flight was oversold. Your seat has been given to another passenger. There’s really nothing I can do.”
The woman in the red vest at the gate looks apologetic, I’ll give her that. But if she thinks I’m going to let her and her airline bump me off this flight, she’s nuts.
I lean over the counter and say emphatically, “You’re not listening to me. I have to be on this flight.”
“We can put you on standby for the next flight, which is . . .” She ch
ecks her computer screen. “Tomorrow at ten o’clock.”
“Tomorrow? Are you kidding me?”
For the first time in the few minutes since I was called over the loudspeaker to approach the gate agent, she begins to look uncomfortable.
Reaching under the counter, she says, “Here’s a pamphlet regarding your rights—”
“I don’t want your pamphlet. I want my seat.”
She holds the folded paper out like a peace offering. “We can offer you denied boarding compensation in the form of cash, check, or vouchers for a future flight, but I cannot get you on this flight. I’m sorry.”
Sweat dampens my underarms. My heart starts to thump, and my pulse skyrockets. Trying to maintain a demeanor of calm so I don’t get arrested by airport security, I say, “You don’t understand. My father is dying. If I have to wait until tomorrow to get on a flight to Italy, he might already be dead when I get there.”
She loses patience with me and turns curt. “Miss, I have other customers I have to assist. I really can’t do anything for you except what I’ve already offered.”
I think it’s being demoted from “ma’am” to “miss” that makes me snap. Or maybe it’s everything else I’ve been through over the past few days. Either way, I grip the edge of the counter and thunder, “My father is dying! I have to be on that flight!”
“I understand you’re frustrated—”
“No, I’m not frustrated, I’m angry! How can you just arbitrarily throw me off this plane? I paid for my ticket like everyone else! It’s not fair!”
Her face flushes red. I feel bad for her because it’s not her fault the airline oversold the flight, but it is her job to deal with irate customers, and it’s also her job to make other arrangements for those irate customers when they’re getting fucked in the ass by her employer.
Besides, she’s the one who wanted a job at this dickish airline. If she wanted to avoid awkward confrontations with distraught customers, she could’ve been a dog trainer.
“You need to bump someone else off this flight—someone whose father didn’t suffer a massive heart attack in another country! There has to be some kind of consideration for emergency situations, right?”
When her gaze turns stony, I plead, “Right?”
