Up for Love in London
Read Up for Love in London Online
Authors: Willow. Bonaire
Tags: #christmas, #london, #contemporary romance, #adult romance, #stewardess, #flight attendants, #billionaire affair, #airline stories
Up for Love in London
A Flight
Attendant Romance
Smashwords
Edition~Copyright 2014 Willow Bonaire
~
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~
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~
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters,
businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of
the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any
resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is
purely coincidental.
~
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Chapter 7 ~
His Christmas Secret
Chapter 10
~ A New Year’s Resolution
It’s late on
Tuesday night and I’m checking my schedule for next month. I’ll be
flying to London every weekend in December, which means I’ll be
away on both Christmas and New Year’s Eve. How many flight
attendants want to be away from their loved ones on those special
days? Just the juniors and ones like me that are travelling solo.
But I don’t care. If I’m serious about forgetting my most recent
romantic misadventure, London is a good place to be. The lights and
decorations will be a pleasant diversion, and might help to relieve
my post-breakup blues.
It’s been two months since Brad and
I split and the sting of it has mostly passed. I remember the times
we spent together spent in Paris, the most romantic city in the
world – our long walks through the Luxembourg Gardens, snuggling on
the Bateaux Mouche as we cruised along the Seine or frolicking in
the crisp white sheets of our five-star hotel, just a block from
the Eiffel Tower. We never had layovers together in London, so I
won’t have to worry about memories haunting me. And even though
he’s a pilot, I doubt I’ll ever see him on that route.
I’m a bit
surprised that I’ll be working in the first class galley, or
kitchen, every trip. That’s what I get for drinking while bidding
for my schedule. A slip of the finger on the keyboard and you could
end up in Yellowknife.
It’s not
exactly a hardship to work first class, though it does require more
discipline and finesse. It might even be fun, especially on the
weekends, when a more relaxed crowd is on board. I like the British
upper crust as long as they’re not too crusty. And if they are, the
in-charge flight attendant, or purser, aka my boss-on-board, can
soothe their ruffled feathers.
~
After checking
my mailbox in the crew lounge, I clear security and buy a coffee
airside. I reach the gate early, but the bridge is hooked up and
the groomers are finished cleaning the aircraft, so I’m free to
board.
It’s a super
sleek Boeing -777 or a Triple-Seven as we call it. It’s only
recently been delivered, so it still has that new-plane smell. I
love that everything seems sparkly and shiny. I’m afraid it won’t
take long till the crowds in coach beat it into submission. First
class seems to stay fresh for a lot longer. Maybe it’s the
passengers, maybe it’s the materials. Nonetheless, I’m starting to
feel good about being here tonight.
The catering
truck pulls up and when the driver opens the front galley door, a
blast of frigid air sweeps through the aisles. I quickly press a
button to warm up the coffee maker and scoot out of the way.
Before the rest
of the crew arrives, I’ve counted the meals, put the champagne on
ice, brewed a pot of coffee and tossed two pilot snacks, two
bottles of water and a garbage bag into the flight deck. I’m
lounging on a sleeper seat when I hear, “Good God, it’s as cold as
the nuts on a polar bear. Someone call Control Center and get the
heat turned on.” The purser hardly catches his breath before he
grabs me and plants a kiss on either cheek. “Lauren, darling, I’m
thrilled to see you! Thank Christ you’re working the galley and not
some cockpit queen who spends most of the flight on the captain’s
lap.”
“Richard my
love, the pleasure is all mine.” I give him a big hug. “Coffee,
double double?”
“Don’t you know
it, doll face.”
Richard is my
one of my favourite people to work with. We’ve been friends since
before he came out of the closet eight years ago. Cover-
boy-handsome with a dancer’s lean build, he flirts shamelessly with
both men and women. I know it will be a fun flight. I bring his
coffee and ten crew snacks and lay them out in the mid-section of
first class.
“Hello,
everyone. For those who don’t know me, I’m Richard, your purser for
this cycle. Our galley girl, Lauren, has made coffee, so help
yourself. We’re still waiting for one more crew member but we’ll
start the briefing. Anything you’d like to add Lauren?”
“Yes, thanks.
Please don’t leave any crumbs on the seats and don’t crush the
pillows. You’re welcome to any leftover first class food, just wait
until after our passengers have finished eating.”
Richard
examines the flight manifest and then checks his watch. “It should
be a full flight. Boarding starts in 15 minutes, so let’s review
our emergency procedures and tonight’s service.”
~
It’s show time.
Two flight attendants take boarding cards and two more help in the
first class cabin, hanging coats and stowing passengers’ bags. I’m
in the galley, pouring Champagne into delicate flutes when the
captain and first officer breeze by into the flight deck. The F/O
pops his head out, but before he can say anything, I tell him their
snacks and water are on the observer seat and the trash bag is
looped over his armrest. Neither one wants coffee, so I continue to
fill the glasses.
I adore the
smell of Champagne almost as much as I adore drinking it. It’s a
shame we can’t indulge in a small tipple or two at work, just to
take the edge off, but that’s strictly taboo. In fact, we can’t
even be perceived as drinking on duty or in uniform at any time.
The one luxury I have is using the leftover bubbly to wash my hands
at the end of the flight. If it’s going to get dumped down the
drain, it may as well take my germs with it.
A head of foam
spills over the glass and onto the counter. I dip my finger and dab
a few drops behind my ears. I think it makes me smell
expensive.
“Did you just
put your finger in my Champagne?”
It’s definitely a man’s voice, with an educated British
accent.
You should be so
lucky
. And then I wheel around and look up
at a passenger who could knock Richard off the front of GQ
Magazine.
I’m mesmerized
by his intense baby blues but I can’t read his attitude, so I smile
sweetly. “Of course not, the glass overflowed.”
His silk tie is
so perfectly matched to his eyes that I wonder who chose it - wife
or girlfriend. Hopefully not boyfriend. His suit is definitely
designer and his cologne, all citrus and leather, smells more
costly than the Champagne I just spilled. He leans in close enough
so his beautiful lips almost touch my ear. “That’s a shame.”
I feel my face
flush but I manage a quick retort. “What’s a shame? The finger-free
champagne or the mess on the counter?”
“Both, but
especially the first one.” He reaches behind me, pressing his broad
chest against my shoulder and picks up the suspect flute. “Cheers,”
he says, and shows off a row of perfect white teeth before sipping.
He then returns to the cabin.
Wow. I can’t
tell if that was seduction or sexual harassment, but my heart is
fluttering and I’m getting a warm tingle low in my belly. My hands
quiver as I arrange the glasses on a silver tray. I wonder if he’s
alone and mentally kick myself for not checking out his left
hand.
I’m peeking
around the galley curtain, planning a pre-flight visit with Mr.
Handsome when the pilots call to discuss their crew meals. “Short
taxi,” the F/O advises me and I relay his message to the rest of
the crew. By the time I’m free again, the first class menus and
amenities have been handed out, the cabin doors are closed and
Richard has started his announcements.
While he’s
speaking, he pulls a boarding stub out of his pocket and winks at
me. 3C - Mr. Charles Sterling. I tuck it into a glass of swizzle
sticks, quickly apply a touch of lipstick and saunter into the
cabin.
It appears that
Mr. Sterling is travelling alone, though it’s hard to tell from the
way the first class sleeper pods are arranged. No one sits
side-by-side. If there is a Mrs. Sterling, she’s not on this
flight. If there is, she has damn fine taste in men.
Mr. Sterling,
or Charles as I’m allowed to call him, now that we’ve had physical
contact, is perusing the dinner menu. When Richard asks passengers
to direct their attention to the front of their cabin, our eyes
meet briefly. I feel another flush coming on. If you look up
“drop-dead gorgeous,” you’ll probably find his picture. I like a
man with sculpted cheek bones and dark, thick, well-cut hair. No
grey yet, but I’m sure he’ll look even more delicious when that
happens in about 10 years or so. He reminds me of a young Sean
Connery, from the first James Bond movies, the 1960s ones I’ve seen
on late night TV.
I usually
resent standing at the front of the cabin during the safety
demonstration. After all, it’s on video, so my presence seems
redundant. Tonight, however, I’m glad for the opportunity. It might
take my mind off the inevitable question period to come, when
colleagues ask about my romance with Brad.
I swore I’d
never date anyone in our airline, especially a pilot. It’s not
really a prejudice, it’s just my way of avoiding too many queries
about my personal life. Still, when Brad swept me off my feet in
Paris, literally, as there was a huge puddle of water on the
sidewalk, I couldn’t resist. Apparently, none of his other
conquests could resist him either.