9. Sloane #2
I pull the ribbon loose. Inside are chocolates arranged in neat rows, each one different, dark and glossy and obviously expensive enough that eating them should probably require financial planning.
There is no message. Only my name.
I turn the card over. Nothing.
Camille leans closer. “Well.”
“Well what?”
“That is not from catering.”
“I gathered that.”
“Someone likes you.”
I close the box. “That is a dramatic conclusion.”
“You received luxury chocolates on a private aircraft.”
“That could be normal.”
“It is not.”
Before I can argue, movement outside catches my attention. Cars are approaching.
The passengers.
My stomach tightens immediately. I put the chocolates back on the crew seat and take my position near the entrance beside Camille.
Anton boards first.
Then Marek.
Then Iosef.
My pulse shifts before Vadim even appears. He reaches the top of the stairs a few seconds later, and the moment his gaze finds mine, everything inside me becomes far too aware.
His eyes move over my face first. Then briefly toward the crew seat.
Toward the chocolates.
That’s all the confirmation I need. He did it.
Heat moves through me. Not because of the gift itself, but because he thought about me after the last flight. Because whatever I said to him in that galley didn’t make him decide I was too much trouble. Because apparently he still wanted me here enough to leave something on my seat before boarding.
I meet his gaze, and for a second, neither of us says anything.
There’s something different in his expression now. Something quieter.
I feel guilt almost immediately.
I was cruel to him. Maybe not entirely without reason, but cruel nonetheless.
He tried to give me space. He didn’t threaten my job. He didn’t mock me when I became upset. And now he’s standing in front of me while I hold the evidence that he remembered me anyway.
“Mr. Chernovar.”
“Sloane.”
The way he says my name still does something to me. I hate that I know it will before he even speaks.
“Welcome aboard.”
His gaze stays on mine for one second longer. Then he walks past.
I follow him with my eyes before I can stop myself.
The want is still there. Worse, actually. Distance didn’t do anything useful. I still remember his mouth, his hands on me, even the fact that he stepped back at the first sign of my resistance.
I glance toward Vadim. He’s removing his coat.
For one second, his eyes meet mine again.
Then Hale appears beside me, so close that the shift in my mood is immediate.
His attention goes to the chocolates on the seat. Then toward Vadim. Then back to me.
“Nice gift.”
I turn toward him. There’s something unpleasant in the way he says it, as though the chocolates confirm a suspicion he has already been entertaining.
“They’re mine.”
“I assumed.”
I don’t like his tone.
“Then why ask?”
He smiles. “Just making conversation.”
“I’m working.”
“So was I.”
The words make my skin crawl.
I take one step away.
Hale notices. His gaze drops briefly, then comes back to my face. “You’ve become very formal.”
“I have always been formal with you.”
Something hard passes through his expression. Then Camille calls my name from the galley, and I turn away without waiting for him to answer.
The rest of the flight begins normally enough.
Documents are spread across the table in front of Vadim and his men.
Camille and I move through the cabin with practiced efficiency while Hale disappears into the cockpit, though every time the door opens I become aware of him before I even see him.
Vadim says little to me. When I set down his coffee, he thanks me quietly. When I refill his water, his fingers brush mine once and neither of us acknowledges it. When I pass behind his chair, I feel his gaze follow me.
There’s an apology sitting somewhere inside my throat all evening, but I can’t find the right moment to give it to him, and every time I consider approaching him, Hale reappears or Camille needs something or another part of the service begins.
Eventually, even embarrassment can’t compete with exhaustion.
The cabin has grown quieter, the lights dimmed low enough that the polished surfaces around me have softened into shadows, and the constant vibration of the engines has become a monotonous hum beneath everything else.
I’ve been awake for far too long, running mostly on adrenaline, coffee, and stubbornness, and now that the passengers need almost nothing from us, my body is beginning to demand repayment.
Captain Hale’s voice comes over the intercom. “Ladies and gentlemen, we’re expecting an area of moderate turbulence ahead. For your safety, please return to your seats and keep your seat belts fastened until the sign has been switched off.”
Camille and I secure the galley immediately.
I’ve worked through turbulence severe enough to send service carts several inches off the floor, and nothing about the aircraft’s movement currently suggests anything unusual, but weather can change quickly and the pilots have access to reports I don’t.
Camille takes the rear crew seat. Mine is at the front, tucked beside the galley a short distance from the cockpit. I sit down, pull the harness across myself, and fasten it securely.
For the first time in hours, there’s nothing immediately demanding my attention.
Within minutes, my eyelids begin to feel heavy. I rest my head back against the seat and close my eyes, telling myself that I’m not sleeping, only resting them for a moment.
The engines drone steadily around me. There’s almost no movement in the aircraft. There’s no rattling, no sudden drops, and no sign of the moderate turbulence we were warned about.
I’m too tired to think much about that.
A sound reaches me from the aisle. Footsteps.
My eyes open, and for one humiliating instant, the first person I think of is Vadim. The thought is so automatic that I become annoyed with myself before I even see who’s approaching.
Then Captain Hale rounds the galley.
Whatever sleepy warmth remained in me disappears immediately.
He’s not supposed to be here.
I straighten. “Captain?”
He stops a few feet away.
Something about him is wrong. His tie has been loosened, and the crisp precision he had when the passengers boarded is gone from his uniform. His hair is slightly disordered, and there’s a shine across his forehead that has nothing to do with exertion.
More importantly, his eyes are unfocused.
I look toward the cockpit. “Is everything all right?”
“The copilot has control.” His voice is thicker than it was earlier.
I smell the alcohol when he comes closer. Whiskey, sour and unmistakable, layered over stale coffee and the rancid warmth of his breath.
My stomach tightens. “You should be in the cockpit.”
His mouth curves. “I told you we’d finish our conversation later.”
Every part of me becomes alert. I reach for the harness release.
His gaze drops to my hand. “No need to get up.”
“I disagree.” I press the release, and the buckle clicks open. I’ve barely started to rise when he reaches me and catches my wrist. The movement is so abrupt that for a moment I simply stare at his hand around me. “Let go.”
He smiles as though I’ve said something cute. “Relax.”
“Hale, let go of my arm.”
Instead of releasing me, he steps closer until his body blocks the narrow space in front of the seat.
I pull against his grip. He tightens it.
“What the hell are you doing?” I say.
“Nothing you weren’t happy to do a few hours ago.”
For half a second, I don’t understand what he means.
Then his gaze flicks toward the rear cabin. Toward Vadim.
Revulsion rolls through me. “You need to move.”
“Oh, come on.”
His free hand lands on my thigh, and I jerk so hard against the seat that the harness strap catches beneath my elbow.
“Get your hand off me.”
His fingers squeeze. “You weren’t acting this precious with him.”
I feel something cold settle in my stomach. “Hale.”
He leans closer, his breath washing over my face. “If you can give it to that old man, why not me?”
I stare at him. The sheer ugliness of the words leaves me speechless for one beat too long.
That’s all the opening he needs.
His hand moves higher.
I shove at his chest with my free hand. “Get off me.”
He catches my jaw, fingers pressing painfully against my cheek, and forces my face back toward his. “Stop acting like you’re too good for everyone.”
I try to shout.
His palm clamps over my mouth.
I twist against him, but the seat traps my hips and his weight keeps me pinned back. The smell of alcohol fills my nose. My heart is hammering so hard that I can hear it, and when I try to draw breath, I get almost nothing through his hand.
I can’t scream.
For one terrifying second, my body does exactly what I have always hated hearing people describe. It freezes. My thoughts become scattered, my hands suddenly useless against a man heavier and stronger than I am.
Then anger cuts through the panic, and I bring my knee up as hard as I can.
It connects between his legs. His entire body folds. A strangled sound tears out of him, and his hand drops away from my mouth.
I suck in a breath and shove myself out of the seat.
He stumbles backward, both hands moving instinctively toward himself. “You fucking bitch.”
I barely have time to straighten before he swings his arm. The slap catches me across the face with enough force to turn my head. Pain flashes white along my cheek. My shoulder knocks into the wall beside the seat, and I taste blood almost immediately where my teeth cut the inside of my mouth.
For a moment, everything becomes distant.
Then Hale grabs my upper arm again. “You think you can—”
His words stop.
The grip around my arm loosens.
I look past him to see Vadim standing at the entrance to the galley.
I don’t know how long he has been there.
He’s wearing a dark shirt, the sleeves pushed back slightly over his forearms, and there’s nothing relaxed about him now.
His face has gone completely still. That frightens me more than anger would.
His eyes move over the scene slowly, taking in Hale’s hand on my arm, my half-open harness, the way I’m pressed against the wall, and finally my face.