Mine to Steal (Mine to Love) (6 page)

“Jett, get in here,” I demand before he can finish.

“What?” he asks, with a hint of irritation, as he shuts the door behind him. “I was just going to ask if she’s going to be my ass-istant,” he clarifies, which is where I thought he was headed. “So what exactly does
Hottie
do?” he questions with a wide grin.

“You and the damn nicknames. I thought you would have outgrown that years ago, Jett.”

“What? No one else minds, hell, I think Hottie likes it.” He shrugs with a smug grin.

“First off, watch your mouth, would you? I don’t need someone filing a sexual harassment suit and you know better.
Hattie
-” I strain out until he finally looks at me, “practically runs the place. You will treat her, and everyone else for that matter, with respect.”

“I’m just kidding
. Damn bro, you need to loosen up.”

“You need to take this serious. This is
my
name, my
work
, and while I’m gone, you’re going to be handling things from here. I’m putting a lot of stock in you, don’t let me down.”

There’s a brief buzz that sounds when I push the intercom button on my desk.
“Hattie, do you have those files?”

“Diana should be getting me some additional papers, but
this is a good starting point,” she says, walking in with her arms full of the information I requested. She sets everything down on my desk, takes a seat, and motions for Jett to follow suit. I appreciate her confidence and assertiveness in this situation.
If he is able to do what she thinks he can, I might have to give her a raise.

“Here’s how this is going to go down,” I warn,
waiting to get Jett’s attention. “Hattie handles all of the daily scheduling, prepares any and all correspondence with potential clients, and manages these accounts until they are assigned. Basically, while I’m gone, she’ll be your babysitter.”

“Actually -”
She doesn’t finish when she earns my attention.

“She will help you learn the ropes around here. If you have any questions, she’s your go-to.”

“Alright then.” He rubs his hands together and flashes a confident grin. “Let’s do this.”

I’m amazed because
for once it looks like he is going to take something serious. I hand him the Rialyn file so we can go over the particulars in case they are ready to sign while I’m gone. Hattie provides information when necessary, but I do most of the talking.

* * *

After three hours of trying to get Jett up to speed, I hand the rest of it over to Hattie, in hopes she can get it all done. If I had one more hour, I think I’d feel a little better about taking off, but I covered what I could. Security is a bitch on a good day, and as it is, I barely make it through with enough time to grab some coffee before getting on the plane. Most of the passengers have already taken their seat and it appears as though this is going to be a full flight. It would be nice to have some space for once since being over six feet tall makes flying less than comfortable. Not only for me, but also for the person next to me.

My boarding pass is for seat 12
B, and when I spot it, I can’t stifle the annoyance that sweeps through me. Not only did Hattie not book business class but she got me a center seat. She mentioned there was limited seating, but I thought surely I’d have no problem with a mid-afternoon flight.

“Excuse me,” I announce to the woman occupying the
aisle seat. “I believe that would be me,” I gesture to the empty seat with a forced smile.

She
studies me, no doubt wondering the same thing I am, ‘how is he going to fit there?’ I move aside so she can step out into the aisle, and she offers me a nice smile. “Would you like my seat?”

“That’s ok
ay, I’ll be fine,” I assure her as I tuck my laptop under the seat in front of me. She keeps eyeing me from the side, as though she’s not convinced by my words, but moves back in to take her seat while we wait for the remaining passengers to file on.

As she sits down and buckles her seat bel
t, she takes a deep breath and holds it. From the corner of my eye, I watch as she closes her eyes and mutters something to herself before exhaling a loud, exaggerated breath and repeating the process. Every other time, she grips the armrests and counts to three before opening her eyes. It’s a strange ritual, and I can’t tell if it’s a prayer or meditation, but I’m fascinated with the sequence.
I don’t think she’s a good flyer.

My head is still pounding from my
hangover; clearly the aspirin is taking longer than I’d like to work. The flight attendants won’t bring water around until we’re up in the air, which of course makes me want water this second.

The woman next to me continues her odd pattern until the flight attendant comes over the speaker to go over the usual safety spi
el. I always tune this part out because I’ve heard it a million times and could probably recite it myself, if I needed to. However, the woman next to me is watching with wide eyes, absorbing every detail they offer.

“There’s not going to be a test,” I whisper
louder than I intend with a grin.

“Excuse me?”
she snaps, but keeps her eyes trained on the nearest attendant.

Not the right thing to say.

She seems far too serious, and I feel bad because I think I might have made her anxiety level go up exponentially. “I’m sorry. Bad habit. I was trying to make a joke.”

Looking at me
for a moment, she doesn’t say anything or acknowledge my apology. Her attention returns to the attendant at the front, all the while fidgeting with the tail of her seat belt, trying to take in everything that is instructed.

“-Sit back, relax
, and enjoy the rest of your flight,” the attendant concludes before the PA system shuts off with a crack of the speaker. The other passengers begin quiet conversations, read books, or close their eyes to get some sleep, but not this woman. She oozes more anxiety than I’ve ever felt from anyone when flying.

“Are you okay?” I ask her, worried she’s about to
have some sort of emotional fit, and I’m the nearest victim.

“I’m fine,” she says. Her eyes are closed
, and her head is tilted up toward the overhead lights as she starts her ritual once more. She reaches up and adjusts the air nozzle overhead to aim it at herself before commandeering mine as well.
This woman is not okay.

“Is this your first time flying?”

“No,” she answers curtly, still avoiding eye contact.

“Do you live here in Colorado, or is Chicago home?”

“I live here. Can you please stop talking to me?” she says in a rush.

“I’m sorry. I was trying to distract you.”

She finally opens her eyes and turns to me. “It’s not working. Can you try something else?”

I notice she’s wearing a wedding ring, a rather large ring, in fact. I offer my hand in greeting
. “I’m Trey, nice to meet you.” She looks at me with a hint of suspicion before taking it.

“Kris
,” she answers before slipping her small hand in mine.

“How long have you been married?”

Her face is beaming, and she turns the band with her thumb. I wonder if it’s a habit like her counting. “Five years last month.”

“Five years? Congratulations. Any kids?”

“I have a six month old. This is my first trip away from her,” she admits as her smile fades. “I never minded flying before, but somehow now, leaving her seems wrong. I mean, what if something happens to me and she’s left to grow up without a mother? What kind of mom does that make me?”

“A mom?” I ask with a shrug. “I don’t have any kids, but my sister, Abby, is the same way. She hates to leave my nephew, and he’s three. I don’t know if it’s gotten any easier for her, but she makes herself do it
,” I conclude with a smile.

I don’t get it. To me, you get on a plane, go where you need to go, do what you need to do
, and come home. But my sister gets on my case when I approach it in such an insensitive manner. It’s not my intention, but I don’t have any kids, so I don’t understand that connection.

“What’s your daughter’s name?”

“Faith,” she says with a proud smile I imagine any mother would display when talking about her kid.

The woman who came home with me - her friend said something about faith. Could that have been her name?

“Faith,” I mutter quietly to myself. “That’s a great name.”

“Thanks. I named her after my grandmother.”
She looks at me and cocks her head to the side. “What about you? Married?”

“No,” I drag out with a laugh.

“Dating?”

Shaking my head, I give her a lopsided grin. “Not really, no.”

“What, exactly, does that mean?”

“Nothing really,” I offer uncomfortably, unsure how I became the topic of discussion.

“You realize you have to tell me now, right?” She laughs a nervous laugh, and I realize she needs a distraction.

“I had a friend,” I admit, though I’m not sure why I continue.

“And by ‘friend,’ you mean girlfriend. And by ‘had,’ you mean broke up.”

“Perceptive,” is all I manage t
o say, stunned by her diagnosis, though it’s not quite accurate.

“So, did she dump you?” She’s a little too pleased by the prospect
, and I stir in my seat, trying to decide how much I want to share with a complete stranger. But, as it is, we are still climbing in the air, and she’s been so busy talking about her daughter that she’s not paying attention to our ascent.

What the hell? I’ll go with it, it’s not like I’ll ever see her again.

“Dumped? No.”

“Well, what is it then? You obviously have a story to tell; don’t leave me hanging.” She
leans over, eager for my story.

“Well, Kris, there’s not much to tell. It’s
an embarrassing story.”

She looks around and then to her watch before responding. “
Seems to me like we have nothing but time.”

She
tucks one leg up under her body and positions herself so she is facing me. Well, as best as she can in an airplane seat. I give in and spend the next two hours telling her about the women I’ve dated and how I met Em and everything between.

“So you haven’t been with anyone since Em?”
she asks with a hint of disapproval.

“No,” I lie. I leave out the details of last night because I’m not sure what to make to it either.

“I hope you don’t take this the wrong way, but what’s wrong with you?”

“What’re you talking about? Nothing’s wrong with me
,” I respond with a scoff.

“Trey, you’re a good-looking guy, and I assume that finding someone isn’t really you
r problem. Nor is this Em-girl. You need to move on. She was never yours.”

“Trust me, I know,” I argue. “Work is keeping me busy -”

“You need to stop hiding behind your work,” she warns. “My husband did the same thing for a while, and we almost missed our chance. All I’m trying to say is that if you keep distancing yourself from anything that is accessible and can possibly be something worth having, you’re never going to be happy.”

I feel like I’ve been verbally slapped across the face, but when she starts to apologize I stop her.

“No, you’re right. I don’t know what to do about it, but you’re right.”

The flight from Denver to Chicago feels like it takes an eternity. Kris had no idea what she was in for when she asked me to spill the details of my
psuedo-relationship with Emogen. It’s not like I mope around, and being with the sexy brunette, Em was the furthest thing from my mind.

As the plane touches down, Kris reaches over and pats my arm. “You’re going to find what you’re
searching for, if you open yourself up to the possibility of more.”

I laugh and shake my head
. “I’m not looking for much.”

She
assesses me in question and leans back to stare at me like I’ve lost my mind. “You should be, otherwise you’re settling, and that’s no way to live.”

Passengers are filing off the plane
, and Kris grabs her bag as she waits to exit. She grins at me with soft, kind eyes. “Trey, you need to be picky because the everyday can be mundane, but if you can find the person who makes those days a little less monotonous, then you know you are with the one you are meant to be with.”

“Thanks, Kris
,” I reply, shaking her hand and giving it a gentle squeeze. “It was nice talking with you.”

“You, too.” She starts to walk through the narrow aisle but
pauses before turning back to me. “Good luck.”

I exit the terminal with my luggage in hand and an entirely new outlook for the day. This is a new business endeavor, and I’m going to fight like hell to land this contract.

I have finally managed to get on the road to the hotel, but the GPS has me
on the outskirts of town and seeing more than I ever cared to see.
Note to self, never fly into Chicago during rush hour traffic.
Fortunately, I can see signs for the hotel down the road, causing the anxiety to leave my body.