Page 46 of Shades of Grey & Gold

Chapter Fifteen

Max

“Sir,”apilotiscoughing over his words, scrambling to stand up as we walk into the plane. “Welcome aboard, Mr. Re—”

“Thank you. Are we running on time, then?” Callan interrupts the pilot, passes a glance between them and extends his hand.

The pilot that is sitting takes Callan’s outstretched hand with a nod. The other previously sputtering pilot looks down at Callan’s hand like it carries the plague andvisibly leans backward. He reaches out and shakes Callan’s hand anyway, in what looks like the most uncomfortable handshake I’ve witnessed.

“Great, thanks.” Callan pays the odd reaction no attention, turning into the cabin and taking a plush white airplane seat at a small, glossy wood table.

He gestures for me to sit next to him, but I hesitate.

What have I gotten myself into here?

I look behind me, head turning slowly, glancing at a pretty flight attendant who has just shut the door to the plane behind us. I roll my lips together. Well, that literal and figurative door is now closed.

With a few tentative steps, I sit across the table from Callan instead of next to him. The flight attendant walks up, setting two napkins on the table along with a short glass of brown liquid in front of Callan.

“My name is Denise, I will be your flight attendant today. Sir,” her words drip sweetness at him, gesturing at his glass, but he doesn’t take his eyes off me to even acknowledge her, so she turns her attention to me. “And for you, Miss…?”

Her words trail off in question.

Was she asking for my name or my drink order?

Callan seems to have the same thought, as his head snaps up to look at her, to answer one question or cut off the other. “Water, two. That’s all. Thanks.”

His eyes catch on my scrunched expression. He wasn’t rude. He was polite, but curt. I just haven’t heard him talk that way to anyone. Almost like he is in charge. Like when people say,‘Just pretend you own the place.’

Realization dawns on me and I force my expression to stay neutral. Does he own this jet?

“We have anything else you might want,” he sighs, realizing his tone was rough, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I just needed her to step back. They’re always so eager to attend.”

“Perhaps that’s in the job title: flightattendant,” I deadpan back.

“Is nosy in the job title? ‘Cause they’re also good at that.” His eyebrows rise as he takes a sip.

I cut the shit.

“We are on a private plane. Did you win the lottery in the past seven years since I’ve seen you, Callan? Because the last time we were together, you were selling your car to start paying off your student loans, or at least that’s what you told me.”

He sighs, “There were never any student loans, Max. I specifically said I needed to sell my car. You assumed it was for student loans. And I just didn’t correct you.”

My face scrunches up again.

“Then why would you sell your car?”

“Because where I was going, I didn’t need that car.”

“Where can you go in this country and not have a car other than, perhaps, Manhattan? Were you in the Big Apple, Callan? Going to Broadway shows and living it up on the Upper East Side with Gossip Girl?”

“Nope,” he pops the word between his lips and leans back in his seat as the flight attendant sets two glasses of water in front of us, turning to leave without a word. “I just had other cars and didn’t need that one. I was done with it.”

Other cars. Cars, plural?

“Okay, so recap: cars, plural. Jet, singular? Is this an accurate picture of your assets?”

“Not even close, but it’s a start, we can do net worth next if you want,” he laughs and looks out the window as the plane starts to move slowly.