Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
theo
The ice clinked softly in my glass as I opened my laptop and tried, once again, to finish the welcome email I’d been rewriting since last night. At least I have the subject line.
Excited to join the team.
And I have a draft. Just three paragraphs of corporate-safe bullshit, all hollow by the way.
I stared at the blinking cursor, my fingers frozen above the keys. This isn’t just another trip. This is the end of a version of my life and the beginning of something that, quite honestly, I’m still not sure I’ve earned. Or want.
I take a slow sip of the Jack and ginger. It’s good. Way stronger than I was expecting. So was the flight attendant, now that I think about it. She was calm, sharp, and quick with clean replies. No fluff, no forced smile.
She was just… present.
That’s rare. Most flight attendants don’t care about you, or care too much. And I get it, they’re doing their job, some of them go above that, and some of them just stand out. Like she did. She didn’t ask for my name, but I guess she could see it on her little tablet as I ordered the drink.
I glanced up for a second, looked around the cabin, and spotted her behind me on the aisle, tucking a blanket over an elderly woman a couple of seats back. She looks like the kind of person who can make even the most chaotic thing easy.
I look back at the screen.
I’m honored to step into this new chapter at Hayes International, and I look forward to…
Nope.
Delete.
My body is in this seat, but my mind is back in every boardroom, every strategy meeting, every well-meaning conversation about legacy and vision that has landed me here. I sigh louder than needed, and the person next to me gives me a judgmental look.
I hadn’t had a vacation in years. Not a real one anyway.
Not one where I wasn’t sneaking emails under the table or running numbers between sightseeing stops.
The last time I truly unplugged, I was drinking rum from a pineapple on a beach in Tulum for my honeymoon.
Six days in paradise. She picked the destination, and I picked the hotel. It was a nice balance.
That was before everything imploded. Before the late-night fights, the cold shoulders, and the truth that surfaced in the form of a text message from one of my oldest friends.
This trip isn't technically a vacation. But it’s the closest thing I’ve allowed myself in years.
A couple of nights in Paris before the transition starts.
Just one breath before I stop being Theodore Jones, the guy who built his own tech company from scratch to become the face of someone else’s empire.
Hayes International.
The name itself makes something in my chest tighten.
It sounds so big, old, and powerful. This is the kind of company that comes with a lot of pressure and a whole lot more politics.
Which I’ve spent most of my career avoiding.
But it is also an opportunity, a shift, a challenge I couldn’t turn down, even if a part of me wished I had.
Outside the window, the last bit of sunlight dipped below the horizon. The flight attendant passed by, checking trays, moving smoothly between rows. She didn’t look my way this time.
I reopened the laptop and stared at the blank email again.
I’m honored to step into this new chapter…
No, too stiff.
Excited to join the Hayes team…
Way too eager.
I rub my temples trying to take the stress out of my mind and body. How is it harder to write a paragraph opening for a corporate welcome email than it was to build a product roadmap or convince investors to give me millions of dollars?
“Hi,” she said, holding a leather-bound menu and getting me out of my head, which I’m thankful for.
“Just wanted to go over your meal selections.”
“Sure,” I said, tilting down the laptop’s screen.
“Let me guess, chicken or pasta?” She cracked a small smile.
“Not quite. Tonight’s dinner options are short rib with horseradish-mashed potatoes, roasted salmon with fennel, or butternut squash risotto.
You’ll also want to choose an option for breakfast, oh, and a snack, so we don’t have to wake you up mid-flight. ”
I took the menu from her, glancing over it quickly. “You are really good at this, aren’t you?” She shrugged lightly.
“You figure out the rhythm after a while. Dinner, snacks, breakfast. Keep the cabin calm, keep the coffee hot, try not to spill red wine on anyone’s white shirt.”
“That’s practical,” I said. “And poetic, in its own way.”
That earned a short but real laugh. “Poetic isn’t usually in the job description.” I looked up at her again. She was standing easily, her weight slightly shifted to one side, her hands resting in front of her. Confident, but not stiff. Professional, but not cold.
There was a flicker of something in her expression, amusement? Interest? Or maybe she was just doing her job really well.
I tried to remember what it felt like to be good at reading people. That used to be my thing. Now I wasn’t sure whether I was picking up on someone being flirty or just imagining it.
“I’ll do the short rib, the fruit and cheese plate, and the egg sandwich for breakfast,” I said, handing the menu back.
“Solid choices. The short rib’s a favorite.”
“Good to know.” She hesitated just half a beat before adding, “Would you like another Jack and ginger?” I met her gaze, trying to read something in it, tone, body language, anything that would tell me if this was standard or… more. I nodded. “Sure. One more.”
She gave a small smile. I wasn’t sure if she was flirting. I wasn’t sure if I cared at all. I’m just seeing things to distract myself.
That’s it.
“Here you go,” she said, setting the Jack and ginger on the tray table with a practiced grace. “Thanks,” I replied, adjusting the glass. She gave a light nod, then did another sweep through the cabin.
The lights dimmed. The captain came on to announce expected turbulence over the Atlantic.
I leaned back in the seat, sipped the drink, and stared at the blinking cursor again.
Subject: A Note of Introduction
Yes, that’s better. It’s clean, looks professional. Not too casual, but not too formal either.
Then, finally, the paragraph came.
I’m honored to be joining your team and look forward to getting to know each of you over the next few months. Though this is a new chapter for me, I’m stepping into it with deep respect for the company’s legacy and excitement about the road ahead.
That was it. It was simple and safe. With just enough sincerity to sound like I meant it.
I hit save.
The cabin lights softened to a warm glow. Most of the passengers were already reclined or fading into their noise-canceling headphones. First Class had a way of making people disappear fast, one glass of wine and a good pillow, and half the cabin looked like a hotel lobby at midnight.
I kept my headphones in and worked quietly. One spreadsheet open on one side of the screen, the draft email on the other. It wasn’t exactly a ‘rest’, but it was the closest I got.
A little over two hours in, the galley curtain rustled, and there she was again. “Dinner is here,” she said quietly, placing the tray on my table. “Short rib, and here are your utensils.”
“Thanks,” I said, removing my headphones. “Still working?” She glanced at the screen before I shut it. “Yeah, trying to finish something before we land.”
“Something important?” I shrugged.
“It’s an introduction email. I’m starting a new job next week.” She tilted her head slightly. “Oh, is it Paris-based?”
“No. But I have a meeting there, and I could use a break before everything starts.”
“That’s smart. Most people wait until they’re already burned out to take time off.” I smiled faintly.
“Yeah, that’s right. Most people don’t even realize they’re burned out until it’s too late.”
She stayed beside the seat a moment longer, glancing toward the rest of the cabin. A few passengers were already stretched out with blankets over their laps, eyes closed, wine glasses half full on their trays. One was softly snoring.
“It gets quiet up here fast,” she said. “Once the meals are out and the lights go down, it’s like a different flight.”
“Not complaining,” I said. “I need the quiet.” She looked at me for a second, assessing me. “You look like someone who doesn’t get much of that.” She’s not wrong. But before I could respond, she added, “I’ll check on you again in a bit. Let me know if you need anything.”
I turn back to my food, still thinking about the way she said it. Like she’d seen something in me I hadn’t meant to show. Not that it mattered. We’d be in Paris by morning. And people like her didn’t remember the passenger's name in seat 1A.
The tray was cleared, the lights dimmed again, and for a while, I worked in silence. A few more emails. One calendar sync. Half an article I didn’t finish reading.
Eventually, I leaned back, stared at the ceiling panel, and pressed the small button above my seat. The chime was quiet, barely noticeable, but a few minutes later she appeared, hair tucked neatly behind one ear, with that same calm expression, though her posture was more relaxed.
“Could I bother you for another drink?” I asked. “Of course,” she said with a quick smile, then disappeared behind the galley curtain.
When she came back, she held the drink with both hands and leaned in slightly as she placed it on the tray table. “Double Jack and ginger,” she said, tapping the top of the glass gently with her finger. “On the house.”
I looked up at her, a little surprised. “I thought they were all included?” She shrugged, mouth tugging into something between a grin and a smirk. “They are. But it sounds cooler when I say it like that.”
“Nice one,” I laughed more than I meant to.
She lingered a bit longer this time, resting her hand lightly on the seat, leaning just enough to make the proximity feel intentional. Or maybe that was the drink talking. Still, the angle of her hip, the way her gaze held mine a little longer than necessary… it felt like something.
“Do you spend much time in Paris?” I asked, in a tone way more casual than what I was feeling. “Here and there,” she said. “It’s one of our more regular layovers. Depends on the schedule. You?”
“Not since college,” I said. “This time’s more of a rest stop than a vacation destination.” She nodded.
“That’s one of my favorite things about traveling. Sometimes you go because you want to see something. And others, you go because you need to leave something behind.”
I didn’t reply right away. Instead, she effortlessly shifted the conversation. “Got plans while you're there?” I shook my head. “No agenda. Just walk around, eat something good, and drink. Pretend I’m not starting a whole new life in seventy-two hours.”
Her smile softened. “Sounds like a decent plan.”
We were talking about everything and nothing at the same time.
Airline stories, favorite cities, terrible hotel coffee, good croissants, weird passengers.
She told me about a rainy layover in Dublin where she and her best friend accidentally got locked out of their hotel room barefoot, and I told her about the time I lost my passport in a Lisbon bar and still managed to get back to the States without anyone noticing.
And when I finally glanced down at my screen, I realized we’d been talking for over fifteen minutes. She blinked, like snapping out of a daze.
“Oh, God. I should— sorry, I should check on the other passengers.”
“Oh, no worries.” She gave a quick nod, then pushed off the divider and moved back down the aisle, pausing briefly to adjust a blanket for someone before vanishing into the galley again.
It had been a long time since I talked to someone like that.
I must have dozed off for a while, because the next thing I remember was the gentle tap of a tray being set on my table.
“Breakfast,” she whispered. “And a coffee. Thought you might need the help.” I sat up straighter. “You read me too well.”
She smiled. “You’re not my first.”
My breakfast was simple. An egg sandwich and some fruit, but the coffee was perfect. Probably the best thing I’d had in days. It wasn’t like regular airplane coffee. This was better. She didn’t linger this time. She just gave me a polite nod and moved to the next row.
Two hours later, the captain announced our descent into Paris.
The window shades lifted, seats started to be adjusted, and sleepy passengers blinked into consciousness.
And the flight was over.