Page 21 of The Cruiser
“It’s not like I’m going there to sleep with him,” I say, telling her the same thing I’ve told myself for the past three days with varying degrees of success. Not sure if reverse manifestation works. Or if I want it to.
“I know you’ll do the right thing. Just wanted to put it out there. Now, how are things playing out with Derek?” Never one to shy away from the tough questions, June is the ultimate mirror reflecting both the good and bad back to me. If she was a man, I would’ve married her.
“I don’t think it’s going to get ugly, but—"
“Bank on it getting ugly,” she interrupts. “Especially with this kind of situation.”
What she means is, Derek is facing a world that, on the surface, supports individual rights and freedoms, but can turn cruel very quickly. Something he and I haven’t had time to discuss.
The fallout.
“Flynn’s staying at the house while I’m gone,” I say. “Just to keep an eye on things.”
“Smart move,” June replies. “Don’t need a repeat of my misery.”
Her ex, Russ, attempted to squirrel half of her belongings onto a moving truck one morning. The only saving grace was June returning back home to collect her forgotten phone. I don’t think it will come to that with Derek, but while Flynn and I played stylist and starlet last night, I noticed the empty spaces in our walk-in closet. Derek had smuggled out one of our paintings and some clothes while I was at work yesterday. I didn’t mind the art so much, but seeing the empty pegs where his beloved collection of baseball hats once hung was another story. For years, I’d griped how ugly they were, but he refused to get rid of them.
Just like I refused to take his last name.
Our of the corner of my eye, Carlie signals to me that it’s time. I wave back and wrap it up with June. “Babes, I have to jet. Literally. Text you every day with updates.”
She sighs. “I’m mad with jealousy. Good luck, be safe, and please enjoy yourself.”
I hang up and follow Carlie onto the tarmac. A small riser of stairs leads me into the Falcon’s interior, a sumptuous cocoon of high-gloss wood and buttery leather chairs with Royal Morgan Yachts monogrammed blankets draped over the armrests. The only unwelcoming thing is the pinched face of the flight attendant. Icily pretty and sturdy in a Russian gymnast way, she sports a run in her stocking and last year’s trendy manicure.
“Good afternoon Ms. Hillman,” she says, eyeing me with reserve. “I’m Gabby, your flight concierge. Can I offer you a beverage?”
“I’d love a Pellegrino,” I reply, unsure why she radiates all the warmth of a slug. “And what the hell, a glass of champagne.”
She nods coolly, heads into the galley. I settle into one of the plush cabin chairs, organizing my laptop and headphones for the flight. I need to text Morgan as well. He wants a courtesy message before departure.
I message him and he replies immediately.
MdRC: Thank you for the update. Enjoy the flight. I’ll meet you at the hotel in Monaco and we’ll go for lunch.
VH: Sounds great. Nice plane BTW.
MdRC: The bed is very comfortable. Memory foam. It’s my favorite.
Not even in the air and we’re on the discussion of beds? I haven’t properly joined the mile-high club, and I can only imagine what’s gone down on that mattress. I’m sure Gabby has a hundred stories, if I dare ask. She keeps glancing at me sideways with an intense glare of what I think might be jealousy. Mind you, she did take in my Cartier watch and Bulgari necklace with a thieving glance.
VH: I better run. The stewardess is giving me the stink eye.
MdRC: Who is it?
VH: A lovely young woman named Gabby.
A pause.
MdRC:I find her service lackluster. If you experience the same, please let me know.
As if her ears were burning, Gabby appears magically at my side. Setting down both drinks, she asks, “What takes you to Monaco?”
“I handle public relations for luxury brands. Mr. de Rohan-Chabot hired me.”
Finally, a smile. “Ah, a work trip. Well, if you need anything, just let me know.”
With a jaunty toss of her braid, she heads back to the galley, securing the space for takeoff. I’m not sure what to make of her hot and cold personality or her winged eyeliner. Everyone gripes about us millennials being flighty and unpredictable, but Gen Z are a different breed altogether. She reminds me of the hostess at the Fairmont the other night; she’s got the same cool assessment. I chuckle to myself, tipping a healthy pour of Cristal down my throat. I wonder if Dakota’s still dreaming about Morgan.
MdRC: I look forward to seeing you.
The bubbles catch in my throat, a shimmering rise of effervescence that takes my breath away. I had a fresh batch of second thoughts while waiting for the car service earlier. But now that the trip is happening, I’m excited. Morgan’s a rising star. His personality needs finessing, but he has solid basics. He’s the ultimate PR challenge. And yes, I’m looking forward to seeing him, too. As far as anything else goes—like handling myself around a client who is walking sex—I’m a pro. I know the deal.
Keep my head down, do the work.
Ten days in and out?
No biggie.
What can possibly go wrong?
