The Girlfriend (The Boss) by Abigail Barnette Page B

wrong place.
    I trailed my fingers over the back of one of the comfy-looking chairs. The seats were covered in soft tan leather that went well with the warm light and the dark wood accents. I went through the open door Jackie had gone through, and found her stowing our carry-on luggage in drawers beneath what looked like a full-sized bed.
    “Can I help you with something, Ms. Scaife?” Jackie asked, straightening.
    I shook my head. “Nope, snooping. I’ve never been on a private plane before.”
    “Oh?” She looked surprised at that.
    “I suppose you don’t get many first timers, huh?” As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I thought of Neil flying other romantic partners around the world. I decided I didn’t want to know. “Don’t answer that.”
    She smiled. “Well, if you do need anything, don’t hesitate to ask.”
    When she left, I sat on the edge of the bed. It was a little firm.
    “Those are seats during the day.”
    I looked up at Neil standing in the doorway. I tilted my head and pursed my lips. “If you have a plane, what were you doing in the airport six years ago?”
    “I don’t keep the plane staffed full-time, it’s far more practical to hire flight crews from private companies,” he explained. “I got the interview with the heads at Daihatsu and had to leave before I could make arrangements for a crew.”
    I quirked my lips to the side. “You know, if you had been able to hire a crew, we would have never met.”
    He paused, a strange expression passing over his face. “I... Don’t want to think about that. Now that you’re here, I can’t imagine my life without you in it.”
    It was a grim thing to contemplate. If we hadn’t met in that airport, I would have gone to Japan. I wouldn’t have been working at Porteras when Neil bought it. The thought of missing the past two months— the good and the bad— deeply troubled me.
    “Good plan. No sad thoughts.” I rose and went with him to the seating area, where we buckled up and waited.
    I squeezed Neil’s hand hard during takeoff, but once we were in the air it was smooth sailing. I worked my jaw to pop my ears, and Neil offered me a piece of gum. I took it and chewed gratefully. “At least this plane isn’t as loud as a seven-forty-seven. It’s the worst when your ears are clogged and there’s all that ambient noise. You can’t hear anything and you feel like you have a bag over your head.”
    “No, the worst are takeoffs and landings.” He looked a little pale as he smoothed both hands over his face and into his hair.
    “You took it really well.” Or maybe I just hadn’t noticed because I’d been so nervous, myself.
    “I was suppressing my fear, because you were frightened.” He gave an embarrassed laugh, and in an exaggerated and terrible southern accent he quipped, “Gotta be strong for my woman.”
    I pretended to swoon, leaning my head on his arm. “My hero.”
    After we got the all clear to unbuckle, I went to the bathroom— teensy, but still not as cramped as commercial airline bathrooms, for sure— to brush my teeth and get changed into my nightgown. I still couldn’t bring myself to do the faded flannel pjs thing in front of him willingly, so I’d brought a short, silky black chemise to sleep in during the flight. I hated the fact that I was still bleeding as if I was having the world’s longest period, but the literature from the doctor’s office had said it could last up to two weeks. It would have been nice to join the Mile High Club.
    A part of me felt irrationally guilty for wanting to have sex again, so soon after having an abortion. Maybe it was my Catholic upbringing, or just misogynist cultural conditioning in general, but I felt like I had done something bad, and that I should go on punishing myself and denying my dirty, dirty sexual urges.
    But how was I supposed to feel repentant and dirty— in the bad way— when someone looked at me the way Neil did when I stepped through the door?
    He