Then the plane lurched.
I didn’t scream, because I was not an animal. But I did shoot out a hand, which found Gabriel’s forearm before I even realized it. His skin was warm, and the muscle beneath was tight, bracing against the movement.
He looked down at my hand, then up at my face, and then, in the lowest voice imaginable: “Afraid of flying?”
I jerked back. “No. I’m afraid of crash statistics.”
He watched me for a beat, then leaned in so close I could feel his breath. “Would you prefer I held your hand the whole time?”
The rational response was to tell him to eat a bag of glass. Instead, I said, “If you think that’s necessary for safety, by all means, do your duty.”
He smiled. Dimples. Infuriating. “Consider it done.”
He flagged the attendant. “Could you bring Ms. Reeves something to help her relax?”
“Coming right up, sir.”
I glared at him. “I don’t drink.”
“You do now,” he said, and when the attendant delivered two glasses, he raised his. “To surviving the offsite.”
The glass was sleek, filled with something that looked like orange juice but wasn’t. I gave it a perfunctory sniff and took a sip.
It was not juice.
My tongue shriveled, my throat went thermonuclear, and before I could stop myself, I coughed so violently I launched a spray of the stuff directly onto Gabriel’s lap.
The next one minute unfolded in slow-motion horror.
Gabriel looked down, blinking. The attendant gasped. Some random stranger, who had apparently been watching, let out a cackle.
I scrambled for napkins, mortified. “Shit – sorry – fuck-”
Gabriel took the napkin, dabbed his pants, and deadpanned, “I didn’t take you for a spitter.’”
Strangers around us were laughing, and the double meaning didn’t escape my notice.
I set the glass down with a clatter and steeled my expression. “Next time you want to poison me, warn a girl.”
Gabriel’s mouth twitched, half amusement, half something else I couldn’t place. “It’s a Sauternes. Not exactly a classic choice to off someone.”
He kept dabbing at his lap, but his gaze was fixed on me, not his pants. The flight attendant brought a fresh glass and an entire roll of paper towels, and I busied myself with mopping up the seat tray, my face on fire.
“Are you okay?” the attendant asked, sympathy warring with judgment in her voice.
I squared my shoulders. “No. I’m fine. In fact, bring me the whole bottle.”
That got a tiny laugh out of Gabriel. “Didn’t know you were a connoisseur.”
“I’m not. But if this flight crashes, I want to die drunk.”
He smiled, slower this time, like he was seeing me for the first time. “I’ll drink to that.”
We sat in silence. Not comfortable, not exactly hostile, but… something else. My nerves were shot, my pride was in tatters, but my hands didn’t shake anymore. I watched theclouds out the window, and when turbulence hit again, I braced myself, this time keeping my hands firmly on my knees.
Eventually, he leaned over, voice so low it was meant for me alone. “You know the Board can’t touch you, right? Even if they try.”
I snorted. “You overestimate your ability to fix things with threats and six-figure bonuses.”