In Flight(75)

“James Bond was British, not Australian, or whatever accent that is you’re trying to do,” I told him.

He looked shocked and wounded.

I was giggling in spite of myself as I checked my carts.

He gave me a mock stern look. “Okay, I didn’t want to have to do this, Bianca, but you leave me no choice. Here’s my final offer. I’ll perform Tina Turner’s ‘Private Dancer’ for you at Karaoke, if you come. Take it or leave it. Well, okay, you twisted my arm. To sweeten the pot, I’ll take my shirt off and do my Chris Farley Chippendales dance to the beat. Final offer,” he warned, then ducked back in without waiting for an answer.

I was laughing too hard to give him one. I’d seen that performance before. It was as funny as it sounded. I’d even heard tales that it had gone viral.

Damien showed up again. “Okay, picture this. Murphy is Chris Farley and I will play the Patrick Swayze part, and in a thong. And we’ll make it a duo. Final offer, Bianca.”

I still just shook my head, laughing as he ducked back into the flight deck.

“Would it be possible to get a drink of water when you’re done flirting with those pilots?” a frosty voice asked from behind me.

I turned, my laughter dying, as I took in a furious James.





CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Mr. Personality





I reached into one of my carts, handing James a cold bottle without speaking.

He took it, watching me with narrowed eyes. Cold Mr. Cavendish was back in full force.

What had I done now? I wanted to touch him. I wanted to ask him why he was angry, but I didn’t. I just watched him without speaking until he turned and strode to his seat.

I hadn’t even known we were boarding. Normally Stephan both made an announcement, for those of us in the galleys, and then came and told me personally.

Of course, with Damien and Murphy in the cockpit, things ran a little bit differently. He didn’t have to pull pilot duty for me, so he hadn’t had to come up to the flight deck.

Damien poked his smiling head out again, then came out completely, standing a little too close to me, his voice pitched low. “Who was that asshole?” he asked.

I just grimaced. I wasn’t about to talk about it. I was already distracted enough.

“Could we get a couple of waters, as well? I’ll try not to be a dick about it, though, like Mr. Personality there,” he said with a smile.

I gave him a slight smile back, though I had to stifle the urge to tell him that it was Mr. Beautiful, thank you very much. I handed him two bottles.

“You guys need anything else?” I asked politely.

He dipped his head. “Thank you, beautiful. We’re good to go.” He disappeared back into the cockpit.

I shook my head. He’s in an odd mood today. It was poor timing, to say the least. James would take exception to even harmless flirting, I was quickly learning.

I headed into the cabin briskly, to tend to my three passengers.

I stopped at James first. He was in his usual seat, looking tense, his features hard as he sat and twisted his unopened bottle of water.

“Can I get you anything, Mr. Cavendish? May I take your jacket?”

He stood, crowding me back a step when he moved into the aisle. He moved closer, and I stood my ground that time. His chest brushed mine as he shrugged out of his pin-striped suit jacket.

I saw the Burberry label clearly as I folded the garment carefully against me.

“He calls you beautiful. How much of your beauty has he seen, Bianca?” he asked, his quiet voice intense.

I gave him a perplexed, unhappy look. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, but now is not the time to do so. I’m working, Mr. Cavendish.”

His jaw clenched. “Whatever you were doing up there with those pilots looked more like play than work to me.”

His anger didn’t make me want to cower, as I might have expected. It made me want to fight.

“Don’t be ridiculous. I was working, and they were being friendly. You don’t get to control me outside of what we do in the bedroom, James.” My voice was quiet, but furious. “And you especially don’t have any control over anything to do with my work.”

He shut his eyes tightly, then opened them again, looking a little more controlled than he had just an instant before.

“I hate that. You can’t have any idea how much I hate that,” he said quietly, moving back into his seat. He leaned his head back, closing his eyes.

I let him be, hanging up his coat. I checked on my other two passengers, who sat in the last row of first class. I sent an unmoved James a glance as I walked back into the galley to prepare two Jack and cokes.

He kept his eyes tightly shut even on takeoff. I watched him, my brow furrowed. Stephan glanced between the two of us.