She shakes her head too quickly. “I’m fine.”
“No, you’re not.”
“I said I’m fine.”
The plane shudders again.
That does it.
I unbuckle before the seat belt sign has even gone dark and step into the aisle. The attendant appears almost immediately, polite and already prepared to tell me no.
“Is there a suite available in first?” I say.
Her eyes flick toward the front of the cabin, then back to me. “Yes, sir. There’s one available.”
“We’re taking it.”
She starts to explain process. I don’t let her get far.
“Charge whatever you like,” I say. “Just move us.”
There are some advantages to money. One of them is that arguments like this become brief.
By the time I turn back to Sienna, she’s trying very hard not to look humiliated by the attention.
“You can’t do that,” she says.
“I just did.”
Her mouth parts. “For me?”
I look at her for a moment, long enough to make the answer clear before I speak it. “Yes.”
She goes quiet.
The suite is absurdly luxurious for a flight of this length. A private little world shut off from the rest of the cabin, with a wide seat that folds flat, softer lighting, too much leather, too much polished wood, and enough privacy to make a man dangerous if he were already inclined that way.
I am.
She steps inside and turns slowly, taking it in. “This is insane.”
“It’s quieter.”
“It looks like a hotel room.”
“A small one.”
That gets the faintest smile out of her, but only for a second. The plane gives another small jolt and the smile vanishes.
I close the door behind us. “Sit down.”
She does, though less because I told her to and more because her knees are not as steady as she wants them to be.
I sit beside her, not crowding her yet. “You need to breathe.”
“I am breathing.”
“Badly.”