Come on. I have to be on this flight. I have to get out of here today.
Finally, the man comes over. "There's been a change in your itinerary," he says, his English slightly halting but still confident. "Do you mind if I take you to the new gate?"
"Sure. Please," I say, relieved.
"Don't forget your passport."
"Right." I grab it from the counter and walk with him.
He takes me past the main international terminal's security and immigration control. We get to a small, private area where a glossy black SUV is waiting. "Please get in."
Unease trails a cold finger down my spine. "What is this about?"
"It will take you to your new jet." He smiles winsomely. "There's been a change of plane."
I eye him. My imagination says he's part of an elaborate plan to kidnap me or worse. But the logical part of my brain says he's just an airport employee doing his job. He has a plastic security badge with his headshot and name clipped to his jacket, and the lady at the check-in counter obviously trusted him.
Get real. I'm just not important enough for anyone to go to this much trouble. This is what I get for having low blood sugar-nonsensical thoughts. I should save them for my stories, although I haven't finished any.
"Thank you." I flash him a quick smile to disguise my ridiculous suspicions.
He opens the rear door, and I climb in. He follows, settling next to me and shutting the door.
The car moves smoothly along the asphalt, passing by shuttles, an airline catering truck and a huge jet bearing an Air Asia logo.
"Would you like something to drink?" the man asks.
Startled, I look his way and see a selection of alcohol and juices laid out on a built-in shelf. I don't really want anything, but I haven't eaten. Well. I did, but nothing stayed down …
"Orange juice, please, if you have any."
He pulls out a bottle from the silver ice bucket and twists the cap for me. I murmur my thanks and sip the juice. My throat is still raw, and the acidic drink burns on the way down. After a few mouthfuls I put the cap back on and place the bottle in the cup holder.
The car finally stops. My guide clambers out first and holds open the door. I climb down, then stare at a sleek private jet gleaming under the airport's huge halogen lights.
"What is this?"
I might be young and naïve, but I wasn't born yesterday. Airlines do not put you on a private jet just because there's been a problem with your flight.
He looks at me like I'm an idiot. Maybe my crazy imagination has been right all along. This really is some elaborate scheme to kidnap me. I take a step ba-
"Ava."
Every cell in my body freezes at Lucas's voice. I spin around and see him walking toward me.
He's changed into different clothes, too. The undone collar of his black shirt shows the strong column of his throat and a hint of muscular chest. His black linen trousers fit him perfectly, hugging his lean, tight hips and thickly muscled legs. He looks expensive, aloof and untouchably self-possessed.
What the hell is he doing here?
Blood roars in my head, my stomach churning. It's good that I didn't drink more of the juice. I turn to the man from the airport.
"I can't fly on that jet."
He frowns. "But … your assistant arranged … "
My assistant? Hysteria bubbles inside me. "I don't have an assistant."
"But-"
"I'll take it from here." Lucas hands him a few bills. The white background and brownish ink tell me they're thousand-baht notes, worth about thirty bucks each. "Thank you for your help."
The man smiles, his face relaxing into a jovial, pleased mask. "My pleasure, sir. Have a good flight home."
He gets inside the SUV, and the car pulls away.
"No!" I take a couple of steps after the vanishing vehicle.
Lucas's hand circles my wrist. "Too late. They're not coming back."
"What the hell is the matter with you?" I rage, yanking my arm. But his hold on me is like a manacle.
The dark eyebrow cocks, slanting arrogantly. "Is it so wrong to want to reduce the carbon footprint?"
The non-sequitur brings my brain to a screeching halt. I can't process what he's trying to say, and my panic recedes into the background for the moment.
"What?"
"Your ticket's gone, and I have extra room on my jet."
"I suppose my ticket being gone has something to do with my 'assistant'?"
He doesn't respond but I know.
"What do you want? Wasn't dinner enough?"
"Board the plane, Ava." His tone is firm and commanding. "You're delaying our departure."
"It'll be a cold day in hell before I get on that plane of yours."
He smiles with the ease of a man used to getting his way. What I wouldn't give to wipe that expression off his face.