Chapter 4
MILE HIGH TEMPTATION
JASON
It was six a.m., and I was on my way to the airport—my new life schedule: Chicago, New York, San Francisco, and sometimes LA for a quick trip or an overnight stay.
Always on the go, and I liked it that way.
The more I worked, the deeper I immersed myself in it, and the more money my company made.
Hustle was the only way I knew how to be.
My parents always set high expectations for me; I was expected to outdo myself. My mother loved to brag. Those expectations never left me. I guess I’m always striving to be the best at anything.
I was a collegiate athlete, midfielder on the lacrosse team, top of my class at Princeton, and a business degree from the University of Chicago. I thought of myself as quiet, independent, disciplined.
I met Natalie during business school, around the same time I started working with my best friend, Danny.
Both of us working hard for his dad’s hedge fund company.
Danny’s younger sister, Katie, went to college with Natalie.
She kept chirping in my ear about her pretty friend, Natalie. She wasn’t wrong.
I remember the first time I saw her. She was a natural beauty, and she seemed quiet, reserved, not the type to seek attention, which only made her more intriguing. Being around her was easy. She never demanded anything, always going with the flow. She still does.
For our entire relationship, she’s let me do my thing, never questioning, never pushing.
When she got pregnant with Bebe, she quit her job without hesitation, slipping seamlessly into motherhood. No complaints. No resistance. She made my life easier, allowing me to focus entirely on my business. As time went on, I was home less and less, but it worked. It had to.
Which is why I was on a six a.m. Monday flight, not returning until late Thursday or Friday.
Saturdays were for my family. I did love those moments, but honestly, I’m always so drained from the work week.
..the traveling, the late nights, the constant energy I had to put into everything, I normally have very little left to give.
By the time I settled into my first-class seat, the East Coast was already wide awake. I pulled out my laptop, ready to dig into emails when the flight attendant came down the aisle.
The woman next to me, a tall, blonde professional in a tailored pantsuit, looked up.
“A Pellegrino with lime,” she said smoothly. She glanced at me and smirked. “It’s like drinking without the alcohol.”
I gave a half-chuckle.
“Though maybe I do need a stiff drink,” she added.
“No judgment,” I said.
She extended a well-manicured hand. “Sherri Baker.” Her handshake was firm, her skin soft.
“Jason Bradford.”
“What do you do for work, Jason?”
“I manage a hedge fund. You?”
She gave an approving nod. “Impressive,” she said, sounding sincere. “I’m in sales. At Salesforce.”
“Also impressive,” I replied.
As soon as we were in the air, we both instinctively settled into the rhythm of work. It was almost comedic how in sync we were.
At one point, I let my frustration at a transaction show, rubbing a hand through my hair as I glared at my screen.
“Someone making your life difficult?” she asked.
“You could say that,” I muttered. “Just a client trying to nickel and dime everything.”
She gave a knowing smirk. “Ahh, one of those.”
The flight attendant returned with our breakfast, forcing us to close our laptops.
“Can I get you anything else?” she asked.
“I’m good,” I said.
Sherri turned to her. “I’ll take a mimosa, and he will, too.”
I raised an eyebrow. “I don’t drink those.”
She laughed. “On this 747, you’re going to have a drink.”
I shook my head, amused. “All right, but make mine a Bloody Mary,” I told the flight attendant. “Sorry, I’m not a mimosa kind of guy.”
Her lips curved. “What kind of guy are you?”
Ah, she was flirting. I took a sip of my drink instead of answering.
By the second round, I learned that Sherri was from Ohio and the youngest of three brothers. Divorced. No kids.
“My ex said I worked too much,” she admitted, swirling the stem of her mimosa glass.
“Sounds familiar.”
She glanced down at my left hand, her eyes lingering on my wedding ring. “So…your wife says that?”
The question caught me off guard. My cheeks flushed.
“Actually, no.” I said finally. “I do my thing, and it works.”
“I see,” she said, her expression unreadable.
She didn’t press further. I didn’t know if she was testing the waters or seeing if I was the type to join the mile-high club.
But before I knew it we were landing. Probably for the best not to find out.
As we gathered our things, she slipped a business card into my hand.
“It was nice meeting you, Mr. Bradford,” she said. “If you’re ever lonely when you’re back in Chicago, give me a call.”
Shit.
Even my wedding ring wasn’t bulletproof.
But a little harmless flirting wasn’t the worst thing, right?