Chapter 9
It’s not like I’d never flown first class before.
When flying for business, though, I generally tried to save the company money.
But first class is, well, first class. I sighed at the luxury of the extra-wide leather seat and stretched out, appreciating the leg room.
Jack looked at me and the corner of his mouth quirked up.
“What?” I asked.
“You look like a cat.”
“A cat?” I didn’t know whether that was a compliment or an insult.
“A cat that has decided on a happy place and is content.”
“Well, I guess that’s an apt description. Because I am very content here. Thank you for including me in your upgrade.”
“No problem, Eve. You were the one who went into battle to rescue me.”
I pondered a moment then asked the question that had been bugging me. “Doesn’t that happen to you all the time? How do you normally handle that?”
He sighed, “No, it doesn’t happen all the time. Usually when I’m out in public I wear sunglasses and a hat and that seems to camouflage me sufficiently. I just wasn’t thinking of that. My mind was in a different place.” His gaze lingered on me, hinting what his distraction had been.
“But when you travel all over to do concerts, don’t you get mobbed at every airport?” I asked.
“Hardly. Generally, we charter a plane. We’ve got the band plus our instruments and gear, so it makes sense. Plus, it gives us more freedom to come and go as we need to and more privacy.”
I tried to imagine what it was like to just have your own plane, ready to take you wherever you wanted to go. I travelled a lot for business, but my travel never had that element of freedom. And skipping TSA lines sounded like heaven on earth.
Also heaven on earth was being served a real lunch on real dishes with real silverware and linen napkins.
Jack selected the filet mignon with mashed potatoes, and I had the seared salmon with wild rice.
Freshly baked rolls and real butter were offered along with a plate of artisanal cheeses.
Since I needed to work, I passed on the proffered champagne and had gourmet coffee.
Jack had the fresh-pressed fruit juice, served in a lovely piece of crystal stemware.
Fruit tarts rounded out the meal. After the steward cleared off our dishes, I realized I couldn’t put it off any longer.
“I’m sorry, Jack. I’ve got to work. Remember how I told you on the flight down that all of my work was waiting on the deal being finalized? Well, now that we’ve got the Luxe signature on the dotted line, I’ve got a huge backlog of work to attend to.”
He gave an easy smile and replied, “No problem, hon. I’ve got work to do, too.
” He reached down and unzipped his bag that was at his feet.
I was appalled at the disarray in his bag.
It looked like he’d utilized the wad and shove method of packing.
But it was his bag and his clothes. Not my problem.
He grabbed a spiral notebook and a pen and set them on his tray.
I had my laptop open and started organizing files.
Glancing sideways. I saw that the notebook was a music notebook with staff-lined pages. Oh, he was going to work on some music. That made sense. Glad that he had something to occupy himself, I went back to my files.
As I read over the documents, adding notations, putting queries in the margins, and sorting information, I heard a soft sound. Looking around it took me a moment to place it. Jack had his eyes closed and he was humming. Now he was the one who looked like a cat. Very content and purring.
Tilting his head back, he scrunched up his eyes, as though trying to visualize something, then opened his eyes, sat upright, and began writing.
After he’d filled in two pages his gaze met mine and I realized that I’d been entirely still watching him.
It was just fascinating seeing how music originated in his mind, traveled to paper, and would, eventually become a fantastic song.
I was impatient. I wanted to hear the song now!
“What are you writing?”
He gave me a slow, lazy grin. “Something about you.”
“You are not!” I swatted his arm. “Just tell me.”
“I can’t tell you something different when that’s the truth,” he replied disarmingly.
“How is it about me?” Now I really wanted to hear that song.
“Well, let’s just say you’ll know it when you hear it.” He winked at me and went back to his notebook.
I huffed a breath of frustration and returned to my work.
I tried to engross myself in my charts of revenue estimates, but my mind kept wandering over to the infuriating man next to me.
What on earth was his song about? Nothing about me fit in with the PRTY vibe.
Maybe it was just a hilarious song about how fun it was to hijack my life.
I disciplined my thoughts and kept my focus on my files.
I had several accounts to juggle and coordinate, so it did require me to concentrate.
Which is why I was unaware that Jack was taking my picture with his phone till I heard the tell-tale click.
My eyes immediately flicked over to him, and he was typing on his phone.
“Jack,” I hissed, “did you just take my picture?”
“I might have,” he answered, his eyes dancing with humor.
“Why? That’s rude. You can’t just take my picture. What are you going to do with it?”
“Eve, you’re fully dressed, hard at work. What do you object to about that? I refrained from taking a picture when you were asleep in that delicious pink silk number.” His smirk grew broader with the memory and my cheeks flamed. Had he been watching me sleep? That was disturbing. And had I drooled?
“Go back to work, Eve. I’ll let you know when we’re close.”
I resolutely returned to my files, surprisingly making some progress on the number juggling.
Out of the corner of my eye I could see Jack typing on his phone.
He was engaged with his phone, alternately typing and looking (Was he texting someone?
Who?) and when he finally turned off his phone and slipped it into his bag he looked like he was silently laughing.
“Ok, what is it, Jack? What’s so funny? Out with it.”
“Are you sure you want to know, Eve? Sometimes ignorance is bliss.”
“Yes, I want to know. Why are you laughing?”
Shrugging, as if to say, ‘you asked for it’, he dug out his phone and handed it to me.
My jaw dropped. Literally. Staring at his phone’s lock screen I had no words.
It was an obviously AI-generated image. Of me.
As a Valkyrie. With long blond braids and a warrior maiden outfit complete with horned helmet.
Crouched in a battle position. Wielding two pieces of carry-on luggage.
Jack was quaking with silent laughter, tears streaming down his face as he took back his phone.
“Jack, take that off right now.”
“Why? It’s not hurting anyone,” he defended his insane art choice.
I made to grab the phone back, and he held it high, playing a childish game of keep away. “Hon, you can’t erase it. The phone’s locked. Plus, I’m kind of in love with it. I’m thinking of how good that would look printed up as a poster. My walls are kind of bare…”
I rolled my eyes as hard as I could. “Fine, Jack, have your Norwegian fantasy. But please have the courtesy to not link my name to it.”
Still laughing, he nodded. “Don’t worry, Eve. Your secret identity is safe with me.”
I turned my back on him, attempting to regain my composure.
How did he manage to always get to me? As unsettled as I was, I was not being very productive, but I had to at least pretend to work so that I wasn’t fighting with him.
But was that it? Was it the fighting I was avoiding, or was it how much I enjoyed sparring with him?
He broke into my reverie. “You still owe me a story, you know.”
“What are you talking about? How do I owe you a story?”
“When you told me how you’re half French and half Norwegian, I asked how you came to live in Paris. And you said that was a story for another day. Well, today’s another day. So, spill the beans.”
The sadness settled over me like a cloak. I did not wish to share this story. Sensing the change in mood, he took one of my hands and clasped it in his. “I’m sorry, hon, if this is distressing for you. You don’t have to tell me.”
Somehow his permission to not tell the tale made me wish to share it with him. With a small, sad sigh I began.
“When I was ten years old, my parents were in a car accident. They both died in the crash. My grandmother flew to Minnesota, helped me to deal with the detritus of death and then flew me to Paris to live with her. She raised me and I owe her so much. I call her every week and go to see her a couple of times a year, but I still miss seeing her. She is a wonderful woman, so kind and generous. If I hadn’t had her, I don’t know where I would be right now. ”
Jack absorbed this thoughtfully, rubbing my hand gently. “I’m so sorry, hon. I didn’t know it was a sad story, or I wouldn’t have asked.”
“It’s OK, Jack. We all have our sad stories, don’t we? And sometimes it’s nice to take them out and share them with someone who listens and cares. I generally don’t tell people, but somehow, I know I can trust you.”
He gave a little half-grin. “But you’d still lock the bathroom door, right?”
“Absolutely, Jack. Now please let me finish this. I need to get some more done before we land.”
He released my hand and leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. Occasionally, I’d dart a sideways glance, but he seemed quite content to be still.
When the captain announced that we’d be landing soon, I repacked my laptop into my bag and looked over at Jack.
He’d fallen asleep. There was a sweet vulnerability to him when he was asleep.
His soft curls framed his face, matching his ridiculously long eyelashes.
It just wasn’t fair that he should have curls and long eyelashes.
My hands itched to touch his hair and see if it was as soft as it looked.
I’d slept with the man twice and I’d never managed to find a way to run my hands through his curls? Stupid Eve.
I gently touched his shoulder, and he came awake with a start.
Momentarily disoriented by his surroundings, his eyes found me, and he smiled widely.
“I could get used to waking up with you.” Flutters invaded my chest as I realized he was not alone in that sentiment.
It would be all too easy to get used to Jack.
But I knew he’d drive me crazy. And he’d get tired of me.
And then he’d leave. And I’d be shattered.
Pushing those thoughts aside, I said, “We’re almost there.
” There was an echo of sadness in my voice that I couldn’t hide.
I knew that landing in New York was an ending.
Well, I’d just have to focus on what a gift I’d been given in the past three days.
I’d gotten to meet Jack Garcia. And spend time with him in a way any of his fans would probably kill for. That would have to be enough.
An additional bonus of first-class travel was being one of the first ones to deplane.
Instead of having a half hour wait trapped in the back of the plane, we grabbed our bags and headed off the plane.
As we walked down the concourse my hand and Jack’s seemed to find each other, without our conscious input, as though magnetically drawn.
Holding hands just felt so right and comfortable.
Not a promise or a demand. Just acceptance.
I steered Jack to the first gift shop on our way. At his raised eyebrow I silently pointed towards a rack of sunglasses. He nodded his thanks, bought a pair and an I Love NY ball cap, put them on and we continued unmolested to the baggage area.
At the luggage carousel we waited side by side in silence.
Jack released my hand only when I spotted my suitcase and he hefted it off the carousel for me.
He turned to me and looked earnestly at me, as if debating whether or not to say something.
Finally, he settled on, “Are you taking a cab?” I nodded and he said, “Let me help you with your bags.” He grabbed the suitcase and walked me out to the curb and the waiting line of taxis.
As the cabbie stowed my bags in the trunk, Jack pulled me into a hug. “Thanks for everything, Eve.”
“It’s been my pleasure to get to know you, Jack. I hope everything goes well for you. And I can’t wait to hear that song!” I tried to inject brightness into my voice that I didn’t feel.
“This doesn’t have to be goodbye, Eve,” he whispered into my ear. “We’re in the same city. We could still see each other. I could introduce you to the best pizza in New York.”
“That’d be nice, Jack.” It would be nice.
But I also knew it would never happen. “Goodbye Jack.” And I stood on tiptoe and kissed his cheek.
Then I quickly got into the cab. As the cab pulled into traffic, I didn’t look back.
I don’t know if I’d rather he was still at the curb, gazing forlornly after me, or if he’d just gotten into his own cab and driven away without giving me another thought.
I figured, on balance, I’d pick forlorn, because that was certainly how I was feeling.
I dashed tears from my cheeks with my fingertips and gave the cabbie my address.