In Flight by R. K. Lilley

  Water seemed to be the only thing he drank.   “May I hang your jacket?”  
    His face was tense, but he was silent as he stood and removed his suit jacket.   The seat beside him was the only vacant one in first class, and I guessed that he had purchased it to gain some semblance of privacy.  
    I remembered from overhearing him speaking to our CEO on the charter flight where I had met him that he didn’t often fly commercial.   Why on earth would he?   He had a private jet.   Why was he suddenly flying with us so often?   I guessed it was most likely because he was looking into backing us financially in some way.
    As he straightened in the aisle, he was suddenly only inches from me.  
    I took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of him.   He smelled so wonderful, with just a hint of spicy cologne over his own natural scent.    
    “Why didn’t you tell me you were taking this flight?” I murmured the question to him as I took his jacket, my voice pitched low.
    “It was a last minute decision.   I didn’t know until this morning that I had urgent business in Las Vegas that needed attention today,” he murmured back, his voice soft, but his face still hard and tense.
    I searched his face briefly, but had to quickly move on.   There was just no time right then for figuring out what Mr. Beautiful was up to.
    I barely got the glasses collected and the galley secured in time for the safety demonstration.   I pointedly avoided looking at James and got through it with my usual composure.  
    The group of New Yorkers made a few raunchy comments about me loudly enough that I heard it as I passed them while I was doing a seat belt check.   I ignored them easily.   It was nothing unusual.   In fact, it was par for the course on this particular flight.  
    It was Saturday morning, and there was usually a group of old school New York men on this flight.   They were heading to Vegas, had just paid for an upgrade to first class, and were getting their party started.   They were obnoxious and rude, but also a common feature on JFK flights.
    I paused briefly by James.   His fists were clenched, his hard face tilted toward the small window.   He looked very out of sorts.  
      “Can I help you with anything, Mr. Cavendish?” I asked him quietly.   I couldn’t begin to imagine what had him so agitated.  
    He shook his head slightly.   He quickly contradicted himself.   “Tell Stephan I want to speak to him as soon as he’s available,” he said shortly.
    “Okaaay,” I said, confused, and moved on.  

CHAPTER NINE
    Mr. Angry

    “What was that all about?” I asked Stephan, as we buckled into our jump seats.   He and James had had a brief but intense looking exchange right before Stephan came to sit beside me.
    He just shook his head, looking out the window.  
    I elbowed him in the ribs.  
    “Ow,” he said, shooting me a surprised look.   “What’s gotten into you?”  
    My eyes widened with incredulity.   “Me?   What about you?   How did Mr. Beautiful over there get you in his corner so fast?   You’re supposed to help me avoid guys like that.   Instead, you’ve been helping him.   And now you’re close-mouthed about talks you’re having with him.”  
    He sighed.   “It was about that rowdy crowd in rows five and six.   They’ve been keeping up a non-stop dialogue about you, and it’s not sitting well with James.   I need to have a word with them once we reach ten thousand feet.”  
    He smirked suddenly.   “Or else I think Mr. Beautiful might start throwing punches.”  
    I   rolled my eyes, shooting an exasperated look at James, who was directly in my view.   He still had his gaze trained on the window, but his eyes were glassed over, his fists clenched hard.   He looked even more agitated now.
    “It’s just the usual good ol’ boy Vegas crowd,” I told Stephan.   “Same type of crowd we get almost every week.   The’ve been easy to ignore so far.   Don’t