Page 8 of The Mission

“Yeah.”

Conrad gave up. “I hope you have a lovely time.”No, I don’t. Break your leg.Then he felt bad for the sentiment.

In the end, he was nowhere near any of the group when he got on because they opened up two lanes to check boarding cards and passports, and as usual, Conrad picked the slowest line.

He did his usual quick lucky touch of the outside of the plane as he stepped on board, then showed one of the cabin crew his boarding card. He was directed left—oh the thrill of it—and made his way down the aisle.

When he reached his seat and saw Arlo, Conrad’s smile matched the one on Arlo’s face.

“Hey, how about that? You want to sit next to the window?” Arlo offered.

I love you.No one had ever offered him the window seat, not even his parents. “I’m fine here. But thank you.”

Conrad took off his ski jacket and put it in the overhead locker along with his backpack. He moved the pillow and the amenity bag so he could sit down. The seatbelt sign was on, so he fastened it.

“Champagne? Orange juice?” A steward held out a tray.

“Champagne, please.”

Arlo took one too.

“This isn’t a coincidence,” Conrad said, because he wasn’t completely stupid.

“No. I admit to skulduggery. I’m a pilot with this airline and I have a few powers of persuasion. I hoped you’d rather sit with me than with the friends you don’t appear to be friends with.”

I really love you.“Big Arsehole, Little Arsehole and all the other arseholes—not including the firm’s clients? Oh yes. You’re absolutely right. I’d much rather sit with you.”

“I might be an arsehole too.”

“Don’t tell me that.”

“What ifyouare?” Arlo’s eyes twinkled.

“In case you’re worried, I won’t spend the next two hours moaning.”

“Now I’m disappointed.”

Conrad grinned. Thank God he had a sense of humour. “Thank you for this chance to sample the delights of pampering in Business. Do I get a massage and foot rub as well as champagne? Is there champagne?”

Arlo leaned in. “Yes, and the rest if you’re lucky.”

Oh fuck. You’re definitely gay.Forget Conrad’s malfunctioning gaydar, Arlo had dangled a glittery pink hook and Conrad had swallowed it.Now reel me in.

“What do you do for a living?” Arlo asked.

“I’m an accountant.”

“Do you like it?”

“Yes, I do. It’s rewarding.” His standard answer, though it wasn’t his dream job. But lead cellist with the London Symphony Orchestra was taken. He’d almost applied, then thought better of it.

“Do you live in London?”

“Richmond.”

“I live in Uxbridge. Not far away from Richmond. A hop, skip and a jump.”

You’re flirting with me. Ask him if he’s single.

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