Chapter 18 Samantha
SAMANTHA
The next few days go fast, and I focus on my nutrition meal project. Harry works in his penthouse most of the time, and his focus is truly inspiring. Or a sickness, or both.
At the end of the third straight workday, I overhear Harry talking. He tells William he needs to fly to LA for a meeting in Hollywood. After, he tells him, he needs to have a meeting back in NYC.
He then says he will fly off, alone, and he will do it first thing in the morning.
I remember my boxes back in my old apartment.
I need to get them from my A-hole ex, in LA, and there is no way, no way, I can ask a pal or my mother to help. It is too risky.
My ex’s last message was heavy, and I do not want my things thrown out. I also do not want my things burned.
This is the safest way to get them.
The next day, I woke before Harry did, and I packed fast, in stealth. Harry told William he was flying at nine, alone, and without a crew. After Harry’s breakfast at eight, I cleaned up fast.
I then did another highly illegal thing, after poisoning. I stowed away on his plane.
In the small, remote hangar, I found the small black private jet.
It was hard to get in, but once I worked out how to open the emergency door, the stairs just dropped down.
Once inside, I placed my small daypack in a back locker. I then caught my breath and pushed a switch. The steps returned to their closed position.
As I hide in the back and in the dark, I think about all the mistakes.
All the mistakes I’ve made in the world. I wonder if this, here and now, is the greatest.
Finally, I hear steps, clunking and cussing. Next, I hear engines, system testing, and pre-flight stuff.
I suspect the best way forwards is to make sure he can’t return easily to drop me off.
Only surprise him after a while. Then, be super nice and sound sorry.
I know I must wait at least thirty minutes so it’s a hassle for him to turn around. I also know this. I will still get told off and likely lose my job or get spanked.
Hmmm, spanked.
After what is probably thirty to forty minutes, I creep out of the hiding place in the slim jet. I look around, clicking my sore neck. At least now I know I’d be a bad cat burglar.
As I walk down the private jet, I see it in the sunlight. It’s amazing, and it looks custom. It is cream leather and oak-paneled, and it is classy and impeccable.
The day outside is spectacular, and the golden light streams in powerfully.
I wonder what to say as I get closer to the cabin. “Oh, so this is not the grand hall on the second floor! How did I get lost?”
Or
“Wow, the pool looked different a few days back. Hang on, where am I?”
I pause as I reach the cockpit door. I then inhale and yank it wide.
Harry is standing naked, and he spins as his eyes pop wide. My eyes pop at the same time, and my jaw drops. “What the fuck!”
“What the fuck!”
Harry is changing his clothes and standing in black boxer briefs. A suit is over his pilot’s chair, and he is hot. We have both frozen, and it’s awkward.
“Hey, is this the hall on the third floor?”
“Samantha!”
“So, here’s the thing,” I say, my hands now up in defense. “And I didn’t look at your, you know, junk.”
I have already spun away, and I am now trying to breathe. “Care to explain?” I ask.
“Me?”
“Well, you are naked,” I say.
“Was! And putting a fucking suit on. In private!” A second later, he says, “You, speak now.”
“I can explain,” I say, hoping not to.
“What the hell are you doing on this flight?” Harry asks as I turn and watch him zip up his trousers.
“Oh, I’m not kidnapping you. I’m just stowing away.”
Harry zips up, and his eyes bore down on me. He points at the co-pilot’s chair angrily. “Sit!”
I do, like a bad girl. As he does up his shirt, I know I’m in trouble by the way he eyes me.
“That shirt is my favorite,” I say.
“Ha,” he snarls, confused, pissed, and not buying it.
“Anyway, why were you naked?”
“Because it’s my fucking plane is why.”
Harry finally does up his shirt and he tucks it in. My eyes take him in, and he holds the wicked scowl.
As he pulls on shoes, as if readying for a meeting, he checks the autopilot and then his watch. “Now we need to get you a parachute.”
“The hell we do!”
We share a look, and Harry shakes his head. “Just go make yourself useful.”
I race off, and down the back of the jet, I find a small kitchen section. I do my best with coffee and snacks, then I return with the weird food I carefully foraged.
I walk back in with a tray, lifting my chin to deflect his toxic vibes.
Grumpy takes a coffee. He is seated now, and autopilot is off.
He looks confident as he flies, and it is kind of hot. He does, however, raise a brow at my weird snacks. “What the fuck is that?”
“A giraffe.”
“I know what it is.”
I look down at the animal crackers I laid out in a nice shape.
“Hang on, I brought private snacks,” I say, racing off. Three minutes later, I bring in fancy cheese, crackers, olives and the likes.
“Better,” Grumpy says, helping himself.
I nod, my mouth full with an olive. “I know, right?”
“You’re a bad thief. I know what William buys.”
I wipe my mouth and gulp. “That’s a bit rich, coming from panty stealer.”
“Panty thief,” he says correcting me.
“Stealer,” I say, my chin high and now enjoying the view. “Look, I have a thing in LA,” I say.
“Funny that, I do too,” Grumpy says.
I slowly curl up in the co-pilot’s seat, putting my legs under me. “I didn’t know you could fly.”
“I didn’t know you could stowaway.”
I sigh. “Are you going to milk that for long?”
“Likely!”
Finally, after endless fun quips and banter, we land at Santa Monica’s airport in LA. A limo is waiting, and as the stairs drop down, he gives me a look. “Come on.” As we walk to the limo, I am about to ask our plan for the day. That’s when he stops.
“I want to make a deal.”
“That being?” I ask, distracted with the private Hollywood jets around us.
“I need you tonight.”
“You have such bad social skills.”
“Likely,” he says, giving zero fucks.
“You’re also bad with dating and coming on to people. You really need some polish.”
“What? No!”
“So, you just want sex?” I ask, hands on my hips, maybe okay with it.
“Yes, well, hang on, no, what? I need to attend a gala.”
“So, you want me to cater?” I ask, confused. “No way, I need more time to prepare—”
“No, I need a date.”
“What?”
There is silence.
“Well, less of a date, more of a, come as my… friend. Friendly person. Okay, as a date.”
We share a loaded look.
“Right… And what kind of gala are you talking about? I traveled light. Us stowaways do.”
Harry has trouble keeping his cold and bossy veneer. Finally, he loses it and shakes his head with a smile. “Kind of funny.”
I smile and bash his huge arm. “Thanks, that was scary back there, especially the stow-kidnap felon charge situ.”
“My pleasure, and it’s not over yet! Charges may still apply,” he says.
“What?” I huff.
“I’m kidding. Anyway, I have a meeting at a movie studio now. Then we need to get you some clothes,” he says, looking me up and down.
“I look fine,” I say, pouting in my black leather pants, black T-shirt, and white Converse, again.
“It’s a gala, dear. A gala! You know. Diamonds. Gowns, black ties. And suits.”
I gulp.
Ninety minutes later, Harry and I are in the back of his rented limo, and he has three more movie screenplays. He also has two more media projects.
We drink sparkling water, and I’ve just walked along Melrose. It was spectacular. I adored all the cool fashion boutiques. After buying some clothes, I feel better. Also, excited.
As the limo turns, I see a street sign. It says Rodeo Drive, and I stare out, my eyes big.
We drive past blingy boutiques, and even if they’re not me, they are dripping with class, and they are dripping with style.
Finally, we pull over, and Harry gets out fast. He walks around the limo and holds my door wide. “Out.”
“What?”
“Chop, chop!”
I climb out, still wearing my black leather trousers, my tight T-shirt, and trainers.
I look around, then follow him in his fancy navy suit. “I feel like a peasant.”
Harry looks back at me and tosses over his shoulder, “Your words, not mine.”
We cross the fancy road, and I mutter away to myself. As we walk past the most amazing fashion brands in the world, he yanks my hand. “Come on, woman.”
It’s hard to keep up, but he slows, looking confused about where to go. Suddenly, he stops as if lost. “Look, it’s a fancy event, and I have a black dinner suit. The country’s top movie executives and finance people will be there. I need you to look amazing.”
I squint at him.
“Okay, as good as always.”
I put my hands on my hips and give Harry a look. “So how do you want to do this? You lead or follow? I’m thinking, follow, if you want it fast and with style.”
Harry steps aside, offering me his elbow. “Three things. I always like it fast, and I always like it with style. Plus, I am paying.”
I frown. “Are you sure about that?”
“Hundred percent.”
I relax. I just bought some cool street wear on Melrose, but Rodeo is not going to be an affordable fashion-buying experience.