41. Anna #2
I had no idea he was my best friend’s brother when we hooked up on the plane.
Sneak Peek - Forgotten Grumpy Billionaire
Chapter 1: Amy
I'm early for once in my life.
Not by much — twenty minutes, maybe twenty-five — but for me that's practically a spiritual achievement. I've missed flights. I've sprinted through terminals in heels. Once, I filed a story from a gate-side floor because my editor needed it before wheels up and I'd cut it too close to find a seat.
Today I have a coffee, a carry-on that closed, and a seat by the window.
The lounge hums. Business travelers with the blank expression of people who've made this trip enough times that airports stopped feeling like anything. A couple near the door arguing quietly about a gate change.
I pull out my laptop. I have a draft I've been avoiding for two days. I open it.
Stare at it.
Get up to find the buffet.
The spread is impressive for nine in the morning — cheese, fruit, those little quiche things. I'm building a plate when my phone buzzes.
I pick up without looking.
"Amy," Keller's voice is the kind of calm that isn't calm at all. The voice he uses —
"I'm at the airport, Keller."
"I know where you are. That's why I'm calling."
I set down my plate. A plane taxis across the tarmac.
"The Harmon piece drops Friday," he says. "I need you in the room Thursday morning when we go to print. Stein is already asking questions about sourcing, and you're the only one who?—"
"Can I do it on Zoom?"
"Amy, this story accuses one of the biggest charity foundations in New York of pocketing hurricane relief money."
"Because they did."
"The man's on three museum boards and shakes hands with senators."
"Meanwhile, families are still living in FEMA trailers."
"You don't know Harmon personally."
"No. I know his accounting."
"Amy—"
"Eleven million dollars raised after Hurricane Celia, and half the shelters still don't have running water."
"This is bigger than you understand."
"No. That's the problem. I understand it perfectly."
"You need to get back here; we need you in the office, face to face."
"My best friend's wedding is on Saturday."
Silence.
Not surprised silence.
Prepared silence.
"I'm aware," he says. "Which is why I'm calling now instead of Thursday."
"Keller."
"It's one day, Amy. Fly out Friday night. You make it for the ceremony; you're back by Monday?—"
"The rehearsal dinner is Friday. I'm the maid of honor." My voice doesn't shake. "And I've been building this story for six." The warmth drains out completely. "I need a decision."
"This is bullshit."
"Bullshit. You can fuck off. I'm getting on the plane."
"Don't do it."
I hang up. I stand there. Did I just quit my job?
I grab a handful of cheese and crackers and shove them into my mouth because I need something to do with my hands and the burning behind my eyes that is not going to turn into crying in an airport lounge on a Tuesday.
I stare at my phone. Nothing. I wait. Keller does not text.
Keller does not call back. Keller does not send a single word.
Four years. Gone.
I'm still staring at the screen when I feel it — watched.
I look up.
A man stands at the other end of the buffet holding a coffee.
He's looking directly at me.
He doesn't look away.
I smile.
He moves toward me.
Up close he's taller than I thought.
The suit fits him perfectly. He's definitely not buying off the rack.
No bags. No carry-on. No laptop open in front of him. Just a book.
Just the man, the coffee, and an expensive watch.
My phone rings.
Mom.
"Hey."
"Hey, I'm at the airport."
"Trisha's really going through with it, huh?"
"Yeah, I can't stop her."
"God bless her."
He's still watching me between coffee sips.
"Mom, there's a guy in the lounge giving me the eye."
"Is he hot?"
"Would I be wasting your time if he wasn't? No luggage. No laptop. Not even on his phone."
"Huh? What's he doing?"
"Drinking coffee and checking me out."
"It's not icky, is it?"
"No, not at all. He's really good at it."
Jesus Christ.
I just lost my job, and my biggest concern now is whether a stranger thinks I'm attractive.
"What are you wearing?"
"Black pants. Silk blouse. Heels."
"Nice. I'd say good luck, but..."
"Lucks got nothing to do with it."
She laughs softly.
"Mom, on another note. I might have just quit my job."
"What the fuck happened?"
"Well, they wanted me to cancel this trip and come back to the office, and I told them to fuck off, basically."
Silence.
"Mom?"
"Thinking. You did the right thing."
"Thank you. I love you."
"I love you too. Enjoy your week. You'll figure it out."
"And don't tell Dad."
"When do I speak to that man?"
"Good."
We hang up.
I grab my purse and walk over to him.
He looks up when I stop in front of him.
Doesn't say anything.
"Can you watch my stuff? Two minutes." I point back to my seat. "Don't rob me. I'm already having a rough day."
Now the smile shows up.
I run cold water over my wrists and stare at myself in the mirror. I'm unemployed. I say it in my head a few times to see if it lands differently. It sits there, heavy and shapeless.
Four years. Six a.m. wake-ups. Red-eye flights. Editors who needed it yesterday. The byline. The access.
I think about the hotel.
Six nights on a card I shouldn't be using.
I dry my hands.
He's still there when I get back. My things are untouched. I drop into my seat without looking at him and open Keller's contact one more time. Four years and Keller couldn't spare two words. I close it and pack my things.
I'm ready. Please God, no screaming babies on this flight.
I leave the lounge. I don't look back for him.
The gate agent scans my pass and pauses.
"Ms. Hayes." She looks up with a small smile. "You've been upgraded. Seat 3A."
She hands me a new boarding pass.
I take it.
First class.
"Thank you," I say quietly.
I find 3A. And there he is. Across the aisle. One row back. Settled like he was poured into that seat, jacket folded, looking out the window. He doesn't turn when I stop.
I shove my bag into the overhead bin and drop into my seat.
I open my phone.
Still nothing.
The flight attendant leans in with a glass of something sparkling, and I take it without asking what it is.
Across the aisle, there he is.
One button on his shirt is undone now. Tie gone.
"I got upgraded," I say.
"Good." Not surprise. Satisfaction.
"Did you have anything to do with this?"
One shoulder lifts. Which is not a no.
"You look like you needed some good news."
"Thank you."
I just lost my job, and somehow that isn't the thing making my pulse climb right now. I pull up my phone mostly so I can keep an eye on him behind it.