Page 2 of The Bossy One

“Jesus,” I swore under my breath. I stood up, trying to grab the bag from her hands. “I’ve got it.”

Apparently, I’d picked the one woman who was allergic to accepting help.

“Thanks, but I’ve got it,” she said, her voice coming from somewhere on the other side of the giant duffel bag. All I could see were her fingers, buried so deep in the canvas you’d think she was hauling a concrete slab.

“Clearly you don’t,” I grunted. “And you’re holding up the rest of the plane.” I wrested the duffel from her—and the concrete slab she’d hidden inside it—and shoved it into the overhead compartment.

“I said I was fine.” She looked up at me, disheveled locks of fiery red hair falling across her face. “I get that you’re trying to be helpful, and flying is probably stressful for you. But—”

I slammed the overhead compartment closed and sat back down in my row.

“Seriously?” she continued. “I appreciate the help, but—”

“You’re welcome,” I cut her short, praying to God this put an end to whatever conversation this woman wanted to have. Unless she was carrying a dead body inside that duffel bag—you never know with people—there was nothing more interesting right now than falling asleep.

“If everyone could please take their seat,” the flight attendant said again, sounding a little desperate.

But the woman didn’t move along and take her seat. Instead, she started fishing for something in her purse. Her wide hazel eyes took up her whole face, which was delicate and sprinkled with freckles. Her bright red hair spiraled in messy curls around her flushed cheeks.

If I wasn’t in such a rush, and she wasn’t such a walking disaster…

No. She wasn’t my type. Too clumsy, too talkative, too…much.

She fished her phone out of her purse and frowned at the screen. Then she looked up at me with narrow eyes.

“What?” I demanded.

If she recognized me and decided now was the time to lodge a customer complaint…

Instead, she held up her phone, showing her ticket info. “I think you might be in my seat.”

Fuck me, I thought, as I reluctantly surrendered the aisle seat.

Of course I had a seatmate…and of course it’d be this woman.

I grunted and moved over to the window seat, which had significantly less leg room. With my knees pressed tight against the front seat, I felt like a coiled spring someone had tried to squeeze into a sardine can. Just what I needed.

Her shoulder bumped mine as she took her place. She smelled like lavender.

“Wow. Good thing I’m short.” She looked at me, her right eyebrow lifting into an arch. A thin, amused smile dawned on her lips. “These seats must be really uncomfortable for tall people like you.”

I didn’t say anything.Please God, let her not be one of those women who says every single thought that comes into her mind.

“Not that I’m short-short. Actually, I’m average. The average American woman got shorter this year.”

Apparently, God didn’t like me very much.

She took a deep breath. With a quick gesture, she finger-combed her disheveled hair. “Look, if we’re stuck together, we might as well get along. Let’s start over. I’m Olivia.” She held out her hand to me and smiled, rueful.

As if I’d ever need to know this woman’s name.

I didn’t say anything, but my glower must have been eloquent, because her wide, genuine smile faltered a bit. Just enough to make me feel like an arse. Reluctantly, I took her hand. “Declan.”

“Declan.Lovelyname. I don’t think I’ve ever met a Declan.” Her smile returned to full bloom. “Don’t you think traveling’s better when you get to know the people around you?”

I snorted. I needed to make a new friend on this trip like I needed a hole in the head.

“No,” I said shortly, and took my hand back.

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