Chapter 1 #3
The man's eyes narrowed slightly—an intensely oppressive micro-expression. I could even see his sharp jawline tighten as his jaw muscles contracted.
Just then, the airport announcement crackled to life.
"Flight AA405 to Washington Dulles International Airport is now boarding first class and business class passengers at gate A12..."
This was the flight I'd just dropped two thousand dollars on.
I didn't spare him another glance. I decisively shoved my phone back into my bag, grabbed my beat-up suitcase with one broken wheel, straightened my spine, and strode past him in my worn-out ankle boots.
"By the way," I paused as I passed him, voice cold enough that only we could hear, "your temper's even more pretentious than your cufflinks. Have a terrible day."
I didn't wait for his response, heading straight for the gate.
Only after joining the boarding queue did I allow myself to relax slightly, exhaling a long breath. My palms were soaked with cold sweat.
Total lunatic.
A self-absorbed prick who looked like a supermodel but had the personality of a viper.
I vowed in my heart never to see that face again.
Though those broad shoulders and predatory aura did fit the standard I'd set for male protagonists in my novels, that poisonous personality? Definitely the type who'd make the heroine pull a gun and shoot him in chapter one.
The gate agent looked at my messy hair and wrinkled slip dress, undisguised contempt flashing in her eyes. But when the scanner beeped confirmation of a first-class ticket, her expression instantly froze into comically awkward embarrassment.
I didn't even bother with a fake smile, dragging my broken suitcase into the jet bridge.
The moment I stepped into the cabin, I didn't go straight to my seat. Instead, I headed directly for the first-class lavatory.
I locked the door, finally separating myself from that damn world outside.
The lavatory was small but softly lit, with expensive hand soap and moisturizer by the sink.
I looked up at myself in the mirror.
God, that silver-haired man's assessment had been generous.
The woman in the mirror had two raccoon-like smudges of mascara around her eyes. Her chestnut curls piled on her head like tangled weeds, slip dress collar askew, exposing half her cleavage.
I turned on the faucet and splashed ice-cold water on my face. The temperature finally cleared some of the fog in my brain.
I grabbed paper towels, scrubbing away the ruined makeup around my eyes, smoothing my hair, then adjusting my neckline. I looked at that exhausted but still well-defined face in the mirror, at my voluptuous, sexy curves.
"Listen, Vivienne Cole," I spoke quietly to my reflection, tone uncompromising. "Derek's a blind idiot. You're sexy, you're hot, you're talented. You absolutely will not let some cheating bastard—or some cologne-drenched narcissist—ruin your life."
Taking a deep breath, I pushed open the bathroom door and stepped out.
This was my first time flying first class. Looking at those spacious leather seats—big enough to lie flat—my mood finally warmed slightly. I found my seat according to the boarding pass number—3D. Window seat. Perfect.
I shoved my beat-up suitcase into the overhead bin and collapsed heavily into the wide, plush seat. I closed my eyes, inhaling deeply, trying to purge Derek, Chloe, the penis headband, and that dangerous silver-haired man from my mind.
My phone vibrated. A text from Mia.
"Did you board? Tell me you didn't get in a fight at the airport."
I rolled my eyes, typing quickly. "No fights. I just bought a first-class ticket. Also, I met a world-class narcissist. Face that could land a GQ cover, but a mouth more poisonous than Derek's."
Mia replied instantly. "Oh my god, V! First class costs thousands! Are you insane? PS. Hot? How hot are we talking about? Did you get his number?"
My fingers jabbed at the screen. "Twelve hundred bucks, but totally worth it so far. PS. Hot like a cold-blooded assassin. NO number! I swear if I ever see him again, I'm dumping my coffee all over his expensive suit! Complete asshole. A cursed encounter!"
"Okay, splurge a little—you earned it! PS. Don't write him off yet, V. Maybe it's fate."
Fate? I snorted, tossing my phone aside.
If the universe wanted to compensate me, it should've had Derek get hit by a garbage truck today.
I flagged down a passing flight attendant for water—desperately needed to suppress this hangover headache.
The attendant smiled, handing me a glass with two ice cubes. Just as I raised the cup, ready to gaze out at the busy baggage carts on the tarmac and finally relax my tense nerves, that cold, gravelly male voice suddenly spoke beside me like a thunderbolt striking my head.
"I believe your vision fails not only at identifying plastic shapes, but apparently can't distinguish Arabic numerals either. This is my seat."
My hand jerked violently. Ice water nearly spilled all over my dress.
I turned slowly, like a rusted machine, and came face to face with that silver-haired man's triumphant smile.
God, are you kidding me?