Billionaire’s Pursuit(5)
What the hell do you wear to pick up a billionaire?
After a few more minutes of deliberation, I reached my decision and selected a low-cut, crimson cocktail dress and a cute pair of sling-back pumps. It was the closest thing I had to a power ensemble. The dress had enough sex appeal to capture any man’s attention but concealed what it should to command respect. I wanted him to remember me in one sense and forget me entirely in another.
Everything was going smoothly when about halfway through blow drying my hair, the power went out.
Seriously?
When does the power go out in LA?
Never is the answer. Well, hardly ever.
Shit, shit, shit.
As if losing power wasn’t bad enough, Katy’s apartment was in a section of the complex that only got direct sunlight in the morning. The only chance I had to get ready on time now was to use the flashlight on my phone.
My phone! It was nearly dead when I plugged it in before my shower.
I scrambled across my bed like a hillbilly sliding across the hood of his supercharger before climbing in through the driver’s side window and roaring off down a dusty country road. Nearing the far edge of my bed, I wrapped my fingers around my phone and spun it back towards my face.
Eighteen percent charge left. Damn…
At this point there was nothing I could do except move as fast as I could and hope to get the limo driver on the phone and here to pick me up, before the power drained from the battery for good. Fifteen minutes later, I hopped down the hall in one heel while trying to slip the other one on at the same time. I nearly had it when I hit a soft patch in the linoleum and my plant foot slid out from underneath me.
The next thing I knew I was flat on my butt.
Okay, Maddie. This is the part where you need to calm down. Breathe girl. Let’s take it down a notch.
Still clutching my remaining shoe in my hand, I blew a bunch of hair out of my eyes and checked the time and remaining battery on my phone.
Twenty minutes to four and eleven percent remaining.
With a final shrug of resolve, I tossed my hair back from my face altogether. I flipped through my address book, located the number for the car service and pressed ‘talk’. As I waited for an answer, there was no question I’d be at that airport in time to pick up Mr. Sinclair.
This was going to happen and nothing was going to stop me.
MADDIE
I’d pulled it off.
After calling in a last second favor with the car service, I was just going to make it. At five minutes to five o’clock, the limousine pulled along the frontage road to the Van Nuys airport.
“What terminal ma’am?” Armando, the driver, asked from the front seat.
“Terminal One.”
Reaching down, I smoothed the fabric of my dress. If nothing else, I hadn’t eaten much all day so I looked as good as I could under the circumstances. Otherwise, I hoped my still half-wet hair wouldn’t be too off-putting. When the car swung around towards the runway, I reached into my purse and as a last ditch measure pulled out a tube of texturizing taffy. A quick pass through my hair would hopefully stave off the inevitable flyaways that were sure to come.
“Terminal One just ahead, Miss Olsen. It looks as if the plane is arriving right now.”
The driver’s words jarred me back into awareness. My half-empty stomach gurgled as the vehicle began to slow and then, a few moments later, came to a full stop. As the driver got out, I flipped my compact open and took one more look when a final horrifying thought hit me. I felt the slightest twinge of moisture in my armpits.
Oh my God… No deodorant!
And so it was, clammy and disheveled, I would meet a billionaire for the first time in my life. Just then, the door cracked open and the driver’s hand passed through as he reached to help me out. At the last instant, I managed to wipe the palm of my hand across my lap, ridding myself of the moisture I was certain it contained.
“Thank you, Armando,” I said, as I emerged from inside the vehicle.
Though it was noisy, I found myself caught off guard by the relative calm of the airport. As Mr. Sinclair’s plane approached, I cast my gaze down the rows of private aircraft, which extended as far as I could see. The late afternoon sun reflected hues of blood orange and fire engine red off the multi-million dollar fuselages.
There was a sense of order to it all.
Powerful men with expensive toys commanding their slice of the universe, bending it to their will. A smile crept to the corner of my mouth as the largest plane of them all neared our position. Swallowing us with its shadow, the aircraft came to a halt as two men with neon yellow ear protection scampered to brace the plane’s wheels with bulky rubber chocks. Just then, a rogue gust of wind generated by the plane’s final stop blew past my face and sent my hair flying.