"Is that so? I guess they'll need to break out the blankets in Hades tonight." Before I can respond, he picks me up and tosses me over a shoulder like a sack of rice. Blood rushes to my face, but that isn't the only thing making my cheeks heat.
"Put me down, you bastard!"
I lash out with my legs, trying to hit him in the ribs or wherever it's going to hurt enough for him to stop this, but he wraps an arm around the backs of my knees, effectively stopping me. My head bounces on his back, and I pound the thick slab of muscle there, but I might as well be smacking a rock.
"You're making a scene, Ava. Bad girl."
He smacks my ass with his free hand. It stings enough to make me see red with outrage. I flail around, trying to get down or hurt him or even better-accomplish both.
"Keep doing that and I'll drop you. Which will hurt."
"Like you care!"
"But I do. Very much."
The softly spoken words seem oddly sincere. And for some absurd reason I believe him.
"Then let me down," I say quietly.
"Not until you're on board."
He takes the steps up to the plane. His gait is uneven. Did he hurt himself? Or did I manage to hit him hard enough to make him limp?
A tiny part of me says he deserved it, but I feel bad anyway. I don't want him injured. I just want to be left alone.
"Welcome aboard, Mr. Reed," comes a friendly greeting in a professional female voice.
Oh my fucking god. Kill-me-now. "We have a crew member here?"
"The plane's not going to fly itself."
I cover my face with my hands. I don't drop them when he puts me back on my feet. I don't resist when he sets me in a plushy leather seat and buckles the belt.
This has to be a nightmare. A horrible dream induced by anxiety and guilt and nerves and wine and stress. If I can just wake myself up, I'll be back in my hotel room after a refreshing nap. I'll go to the Night Bazaar and have that curry I saw in my dream.
Yes. That's exactly what I'll do … just as soon as I wake up.
"Would you like something to drink?" the cabin attendant asks.
I open one eye and peer upward. She looks back at me with a professional, polished smile as though she hasn't just witnessed my being hauled on board like a sack of cornmeal.
Okay. I need to face the reality that Lucas did indeed carry me onto this infernal jet like a … possession, and the people who work for him are unlikely to help me get off it.
"What do you have?" I ask in my calmest voice.
"She won't touch anything other than Dom," Lucas interjects. There's a glass of champagne on the armrest next to him, and a little movie plays in my mind: me snatching the bubbly and tossing it in his face.
"I'll have what he's having," I say with a sweet smile for the cabin attendant.
The woman's composure stays intact. "An excellent choice."
I accept the proffered champagne served in a real flute-I've never been served in an actual glass when flying-and take a tentative sip. The carbonation tickles my mouth and nostrils, and the wine goes down smoothly with a hint of vanilla and honey.
I look everywhere but at Lucas as I nurse my drink. The interior of the jet is teal blue and mahogany with light cream-colored leather. There are four plushy seats that recline all the way back until you can lie flat. A workstation's built into the other side, and there's a well-cushioned bench behind us for casual relaxation and chatting. I spot a door in the back, probably leading to a private room.
Everything gleams and looks hideously luxurious. This is my first time on the plane, but Faye Belbin's undoubtedly been on it more than once. The notion clenches around my chest, making it impossible to breathe.
She looks like she deserves to be pampered with a toy like this. You? Well. Look at you.
Yes. Look at me. In my cheap clothes that I picked up on sale.
I put the champagne down.
"We'll be taking off in ten minutes." The cabin attendant smiles at Lucas as she speaks, and she continues to keep her focus on him.
My stomach burns. It can't be a good idea to have alcohol so soon after throwing up.
"Once we reach cruising altitude, I'll be serving you a light snack of chicken satay, salad lightly tossed in pineapple vinaigrette, vegetarian fried rice and figs stuffed with goat cheese and honey-glazed walnuts. And seventy minutes before we land-"
"We can discuss the other options later," Lucas says smoothly, interrupting her monologue.
"Certainly, sir." She takes his empty glass. I hand her mine although it's still half-full.
"Dom not good enough?" Lucas asks.
I stare directly at him. "No. I didn't want to hang on to it during takeoff."
"You don't look good."
I tilt my chin, my mouth firm. "I'm fine."