1. Khaleya Mathers
“Leya! Don’t forget your scarf!”
Da’ana’s voice carried from the balcony of our shared apartment before I could make it halfway across the parking lot. I looked up just in time to see my uniform scarf dangling from the tips of her fingers, like she hadn’t almost let me walk out here looking half-employed.
I threw both hands up. “Drop it!”
She let it go, and the silk floated down like it had all the time in the world.
I didn’t.
I jumped, snatched it out of the air, and kept moving toward my Monte Carlo—the same loud, temperamental car that announced me before anybody ever saw me coming. She was cute when she wanted to be, but this morning, I needed her to be dependable.
I slid behind the wheel, shoved the key into the ignition, and turned.
Nothing.
Well, not nothing. She gave me a weak little purr, like she was thinking about embarrassing me.
“No ma’am,” I whispered, gripping the wheel. “Not today, Shelby. We don’t have time for the drama today.”
I had clients with more money than patience waiting on a Premier Wings flight, a coordinator who watched time like it owed her child support, and a fragrance brand I was trying to build between takeoffs and touchdowns.
Being late wasn’t an option.
Not when this job paid my bills.
Not when Stamped by Khaleya was still more dream than empire.
And definitely not when I was one bad day away from remembering luxury only looked easy from the outside.
Soon enough, Shelby stubbornly purred to life. I leaned forward and kissed the steering wheel a few times before slipping on my cheetah-print shades. Then I peeled out of my parking lot.
I’m sure I broke almost every rule of the road, but at this moment, I didn’t give a damn. Twenty minutes earlier than I should have made it to work, I was pulling into employee parking. I barely parked my car good before hopping from the front seat. I rushed to my backseat to grab my bag.
Then I leaned down to check my appearance once more in the window, to make sure I was up to par. Satisfied, I rushed toward the employee entrance and nearly knocked Amber on her ass.
I gripped my chest as I slowed down.
“Running late, I see,” she commented with a soft smile.
“Girl, I spent too much time editing damn content last night.”
Amber nodded as she walked around me.
“Speaking of content, I hope one of those videos was on how to navigate these damn dating apps. I don’t know how you seem to always find the men you do on them.”
I laughed with a shake of my head; the girlies made it more difficult than it needed to be. I kept walking toward the door and looked over my shoulder in her direction.
“The trick is to work on those hard passes, my girl. You can’t be open to any and everyone. Which is why you’re catching so many damn frogs. But you’re giving me ideas—the girls in my comments have been asking for the same thing.”
“It’s a sign. But have a safe trip!” she said while waving.
I waved back and rushed inside to check in. I’d done this a million times before, getting my workday started. I made sure I had my work credentials and passport, then made my way seamlessly through the checkpoint.
I said a silent thanks to God that I worked for Premier Wings, when James, the ground handler, walked over to grab my luggage to place it beneath the plane. I then made sure my scarf was tied around my neck and made my way over to the crew lounge.
The moment I walked inside, Brena, the flight coordinator, tilted her head, then looked down at her watch.
“You know normal folks just call out if they’re going to be running this late.”
I smirked and shrugged as I took the flight schedule from her.
“Well, normal people don’t have a social media base that will have their head if they don’t get their daily dose of Stamped by Khaleya.”
Brena giggled. “Touché. You do have the folks in a chokehold.”
“I try my best, but any allergies on this one?” I asked.
“Nope, but he likes his itinerary ready by the time wheels are up for takeoff. Oh, and a fresh cold bottle of Fiji the moment he walks on board.”
I nodded. “Got it. Well, let me head over so I can make sure everything is in place before they get here.”
“This one is very particular, Leya, and he doesn’t like unnecessary conversation.”
I shrugged with a smile. “Good. I charge extra for charm, anyway.”
Brena smiled, then looked down at her schedule before looking back up at me.
“I hear you, girl. Before you go, when is your next drop? I’m running out of Butterfly Dreams.”
Nothing made me smile more than when someone spoke on my oils. I was practically in a relationship with Stamped by Khaleya, my fragrance line, and it was the healthiest one I’d ever been in.
“It’s coming, but I need a little more time and funds to make it happen.”
“Alright, well, you make sure I’m the first to know when you do get it back in.”
I smiled and headed for the door. “I got you.”
I passed a few more of my coworkers who were getting ready for their flights, then made my way onto the jet to prep the aircraft.
I made sure nothing was left behind from the previous flight, and that the meal for the flight was prepped and ready to go.
Then I followed Mr. Blackwell’s must-haves down to the letter.
This was going to be a long flight if his requests were anything to go by.
A bottle of Fiji water, chilled but never iced.
His itinerary printed, uploaded, and placed in the left pocket of his seat before takeoff.
No unnecessary conversation unless he initiated it.
I couldn’t help the obnoxious laugh that slipped out. This man was practically a serial killer, and I’m supposed to be locked in with him for a few hours. I read over the notes twice, and it didn’t make me any less irritated.
But this wasn’t anything new with rich men or women. They were either too friendly or allergic to joy. It seemed as if Mr. Blackwell had been vaccinated against all things that brought joy, if this sheet had anything to say about it.
I chose not to dwell on it a moment longer and got started with his list of requirements. Once I was positive I had gotten everything right down to the letter, I decided I was free to make a little content. I usually liked to show me setting up the cabin.
So for aesthetic purposes only, I rushed to my small purse I’d brought aboard, then set up my tripod. I leaned forward to glance out of the window as the pilots worked in the cockpit. I needed to make sure I still had a little more time before Mr. Dictator showed up.
I stepped back until the Premier Wings logo on my scarf sat perfectly in frame without giving too much away.
The girls loved a little mystery. They did not need to know my exact location, my client’s business, or the fact that I was filming this between chilled Fiji water and pretending rich people didn’t have me questioning their childhoods.
I tapped record and lifted the small roller bottle beside my face.
“What’s up, ladies. I think it’s time to be stamped, and you know I had to pair this trip with scent.” I rolled the oil along the inside of my wrist.
“Today’s stamp is Jet Lagged & Unbothered. She’s soft vanilla, warm amber, and a little bit of trouble at cruising altitude. Perfect for when you’re booked, busy, and pretending your car didn’t almost embarrass you before work.”
I leaned in closer and lowered my voice.
“And remember, ladies, the scent is not for chasing. It’s for being remembered.”
I blew a kiss toward the camera, stopped the recording, and grinned when I played it back.
Cute. Quick. No client information. No chaos.
Exactly how I liked it.
“Damn. I asked for a quiet flight, and somehow walked into a whole segment.”
My shoulders locked before the rest of me could catch up. I gripped the sides of my dress for a moment, then bent forward slightly to collapse my tripod.
Slowly, I turned toward the cabin entrance, already praying my face didn’t look as guilty as my spirit felt.
A man stood just inside the doorway, one hand tucked into the pocket of his tailored slacks, the other wrapped around the handle of a sleek black carry-on. He looked too calm to have startled me and too amused to pretend he hadn’t enjoyed it.
Of course.
Mr. Chilled-Fiji-No-Ice-Minimal-Conversation himself.
I lifted my chin and gave him the same smile I reserved for turbulence, difficult clients, and men who were too fine to be trusted.
“Good morning, Mr. Blackwell. I see we’re arriving before the itinerary now.”
He smirked down at me as he swaggered around me and took the seat I’d made sure was all put together for his arrival.
Mr. Blackwell was nothing like what I’d expected. I just knew he would be an old man with old money. But no. This man was everything but that.
His brow lifted in my direction as his cheek dipped, showing off his dimple. If I were a lesser woman, impressed by every fine man who smiled at me, my panties would be soaked.
But I’d seen fine many times over, and this man wasn’t anything different. He was just a man who had a long list of requirements to suck the fun out of life.
His mouth quirked into a smirk, showing off just how arrogant he was. I blinked a few times before turning in the opposite direction to grab his chilled Fiji water. Then I placed it on the table in front of him on a coaster.
“My name is Khaleya. If I can get you anything else, please don’t hesitate to ask me.”
I didn’t wait for him to reply. The way that man was looking at me, like he was hungry and I was the best thing on the menu, was making me nervous. Shit, and I never got nervous. That was one of my superpowers.
At least it was.
I made my way toward the cockpit to check in with the pilots and also give myself some room to breathe. I’d never had anyone come on this flight and get me off my square. I needed to stick to the Premier Wings motto: Poise over Pressure.
I released a breath, put on my softest smile, and straightened my shoulders. I was going to fake it until I made it. I needed to act like this man hadn’t made me forget how my knees worked.
I tapped the side of the wood frame.