1
SONYA
You're too much woman for me. In my line of work, I can't be seen with you. Gen is different—the kind of woman who suits me better. If only you had dropped the weight like I asked you to.
I stare at the text on my phone, the chaos of the airport fading into background noise as I read it over and over.
My heart hammers in my chest while icicles run up and down my spine.
If only you had dropped the weight.
Shame follows the recitation of those words—a shame suddenly engulfed by white-hot anger.
“That fucking son of a bitch!” I mutter to myself. I’m breathing heavily, and I'm pretty sure my cheeks are bright red. My hand clenches so hard around my phone it starts shaking. “What the fuck? What the ever-loving fuck?”
The words are a cascade of livid fury that pours out as I contemplate throwing my phone through the plate-glasswindow at the gate and then turning around and punching whoever I see next.
Except the person I see next is a giant of a man waiting to board just behind me. I’m not exactly short, but I have to look up—and up—to see his face. He's almost half as broad as he is tall. He’s built like a linebacker, and I wouldn’t be surprised if as soon as he sits down in a seat, the seams of his suit rip. I don't even know how he squeezed himself into it in the first place.
He’s handsome in a way that makes it hard to think, with dark wavy hair tinged gray in a way that reminds me of George Clooney. Though I think this guy is even hotter than George Clooney, and I’m certainly no Amal.
I drag my gaze from the silver fox behind me, focusing on my breathing instead. I will not let my asshole ex ruin my vacation, especially since I spent all the money I'd saved up for the wedding he called off on treating myself to it, first-class seats included.
I power down my phone and stuff it into my carry-on, nearly ripping the zipper in the process.
“That phone must have really pissed you off.”
The voice is a baritone rumble that echoes and ripples down my spine. I can feel the vibration to my core, and it does funny things to me. I turn to find the big man watching me with a slight curl to one corner of his mouth and a glimmer in his startlingly clear blue eyes. I get a whiff of patchouli, cardamom, and lots of money. I have to swallow because my mouth has suddenly gone dry as a desert.
“I, uh, I was imagining stuffing my ex into a body bag. The imagery makes me feel better.”
“Ah.” The man nods sagely. “I'm glad I'm not the one on your bad side, then.”
“I don’t think you’d fit into a traditional body bag,” I reply dumbly. “I imagine they’d have to custom make one for a man of your size.”
What the hell are you saying, Sonya?I expect the man to stop talking to me immediately since he probably thinks I’m an idiot. But instead, a ghost of a smile grows into something incredibly sexy and disarming. Add a flash of white teeth and the smile lines at the corners of his mouth and he’s so much sexier. He chuckles, a deep, stimulating sound, and I swallow hard before I make some weird noise I know I'll regret.
“You’re probably right about needing a special order body bag for me.”
I take a breath to say something—anything at all, brain,please—when I'm cut off by a loud announcement: “Flight 1386 to Prague is now boarding first-class passengers.”
For the first time in my life, I get to walk past all the other people waiting. I'm a little embarrassed and a little exhilarated at the same time because I've never flown first-class before. I don't even like flying. I love traveling, but I hate flying, which always seemed kind of ridiculous to me. It's hard to have one without the other.
The gate agent checks my ticket then offers me a warm welcome and a smile.
I deserve it, I deserve it, I deserve it.I keep repeating the phrase to myself as I walk down the bridge to the airplane where I'm kindly shown into first-class. I’m guided to a spacious, lavishseat where a tray of olives, a pouch of amenities, and bottled water, and a blanket are waiting for me.
I stow my suitcase and sit down. The flight attendant hands me a glass of champagne while the rest of the plane boards and settles in. All of my anger and second thoughts about spending so much money disappear when the sweet bubbly hits my tongue. I let out a little squeal and do a small dance in my seat because I can't believe I'm actually here, flying first-class to Prague.
Another one of those deep chuckles freezes me in place. I look over to see the silver fox who was standing behind me in line is in the seat across from mine.
“First time in first-class?” he asks.
My cheeks heat with a deep blush. “Is it painfully obvious?”
“Maybe not.” He shrugs and places his small leather bag onto the seat “I normally don’t pay much attention to whether people dance on a flight.”
He looks directly at me. His eyes are a luminous blue that makes me catch my breath. His gaze is so intense it feels like he’s looking right through me to my core. The feeling is disarming but also exciting. Does he look at everyone this way?