Bossman(48)

“Construction. Supposed to end by six each morning, but the laborers must want the overtime.” He shrugged and pointed to the road ahead of us, which was a sea of brake lights as three lanes attempted to converge into one.

As we inched our way forward over the next hour, it killed me to discover that although the cones were out for miles, there wasn’t actually any construction going on anymore. Checking my watch, I realized there was a distinct possibility I could miss my flight if traffic didn’t clear soon.

On a good day, I was a nervous flyer. The added stress of possibly being late caused my heart to accelerate even more. Needing to distract myself, I took out my phone. A new text had just arrived.

Mom: You need to clean out your refrigerator more often. You have expired pickles.

Really? Was she hiding outside in an alleyway when I left? Just couldn’t wait to go in and start her investigation? I’d left Ugly Kitty with a full dish of food. It wasn’t even necessary for her to stop by until tomorrow. I’d fix her. Screwing with her would take my mind off of my upcoming flight.

Reese: Don’t throw it out. I keep the expired stuff to feed to Tallulah.

Moving on, the next text was the one I hadn’t answered yet from Chase—about the rain check for the dinner I’d canceled last night.

Reese: Won’t be back until the weekend. My boss wanted to get rid of me, so he sent me to Kansas.

After responding to a few more texts and emails, I successfully took my mind off how late I was running. I arrived at JFK with thirty-five minutes before takeoff and hauled ass to a kiosk for check-in. When I spotted the length of the security line up ahead, I almost broke down and cried.

Desperate, I walked over to a TSA agent. “There’s no way I’m going to make my flight if I wait in this line. The Tunnel took forever to get through, and there was construction on the LIE. Any chance I can cut ahead? I’m traveling for business, and I really can’t miss my flight.”

“Ticket.” She held out a plastic-glove-covered hand and looked at me like she heard the same sob story a hundred times a day. Handing it back to me, she pointed over her shoulder. “First-class line to the left.”

I let out a breath when I saw there was no line where she was sending me. “Thank you so much!”

Of course, my gate was at the other end of the terminal, but I managed to get through security and down to the boarding area just as they announced last call. Since there was a small line to board, I caught my breath and walked up to the ticket counter to see about changing the middle seat I’d been issued when I purchased.
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“Is there any chance I could switch my middle seat? I know I’m late and the last to board, but I figured it couldn’t hurt to ask.”

“We’re pretty full…but let me check.” The attendant took my ticket and punched a bunch of numbers into the computer. Furrowing her brow, she said, “You actually don’t have a middle seat. You have an aisle.” She slid the ticket back to me and pointed. “Row two.”

That made no sense. “I was in row thirty-something when I bought the ticket.”

“Not anymore. You’re in an aisle seat in first class. You must have been upgraded.”

The line to board had dwindled, and who was I to argue about being in first class anyway? When I reached row two, I pulled my purse from my shoulder and shoved it under the aisle seat. The window seat was empty, but I noticed the New York Times folded in half atop where there was no passenger. I opened the overhead compartment and checked for room to store my bag before reaching down to grab my suitcase handle.

A large hand startled me when it covered mine. “Here. Let me.”

My head whipped toward the man standing next to me, but I already knew whom I’d find.



***



“What’s going on in that head of yours?” Chase asked.

I’d been quiet since finding him on the plane. I was a nervous flyer to begin with, and having Chase surprise me the way he did had thrown me for a loop. My heart was beating out of control as we began to barrel down the runway. I gripped the armrest between us and gave him a curt answer.

“I hate takeoff. And landing. All the stuff in the middle is fine.”

Chase covered my hand with his and squeezed. He didn’t let go when we were in the air. Once our altitude leveled, I let out a deep breath, and my shoulders relaxed.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were taking this trip?”

“It was a last-minute thing.”

I squinted, wondering if he had planned this all along. “How last minute?”

He looked me straight in the eyes, and I could see his apprehension. “I don’t even have an overnight bag.”