The cabin of the private jet is luxurious, with light brown leather seats lining a long aisle in pairs. Thankfully the rows aren’t crammed together. There’s enough room to recline fully so that the chairs form makeshift beds. I claim a row in the back of the plane, tossing my carry-on bag onto the window seat to save it for her. If I had to guess, I’d assume Charley would want the opportunity to glance out the window. The thought makes me narrow my eyes toward the front of my plane in search of her.
All I see is a flurry of glimmering hair in varying colors as the other models flounce around the plane. I recognize most of them from the casting process or from previous photo shoots. I don’t think I’ve actually held a real conversation with any of them, though it’s not from their lack of perseverance. The moment I take my seat, a few of them hop up and make their way to toward my row like piranhas.
“Morning, Jude,” a pretty redhead sings as she angles her body toward me. I have to fight the urge to pull out my phone and ignore her greeting all together. Don’t feel bad for her. I’ve seen her jump from bed to bed on every shoot we’ve worked on together. She’s not interested in the “morning”; she’s interested in having a quickie in the plane’s restroom. The girls keep talking but their words filter through the air unheard, as if my ears don’t recognize the frequency in which they speak. I nod and offer simple greetings, but it’s impossible to ignore their lingering gazes. A few of them even glance at my carry-on bag on the vacant seat, but I smile civilly and cut the conversations short. The last thing I need is for Charley to board right as one of them is trying to sink their claws into me. I don’t need any more cards stacked against me when it comes to her.
They eventually wander off, and as the plane continues to fill, I smirk, pleased with myself for not ordering that car service after all. If I had, Charley would have been here ten minutes ago and she could have picked a seat anywhere on board. Now there are fewer spots available and the odds that she’ll have to sit by me are looking better and better.
That is until I see Ryan board the plane a moment later with Charley in tow. Motherfucker. She’s tilting her head back and smiling up at him; a perfectly beautiful smile, except it’s aimed at the wrong person. Ryan’s assistant, who boarded right after them, taps him on the shoulder and mutters something in his ear. He nods, taking out his cell phone, leaving Charley to wave goodbye and look up toward the aisle of the plane.
Her blue eyes find me and I watch her swallow slowly. She hovers in the middle of the aisle, frozen, until she realizes that she’s blocking everyone’s path. She blushes and murmurs an apology before hiking her bag higher on her shoulder and starting to walk toward the back of the plane, directly to me.
I stand as she approaches, taking in her sexy jeans and tight white, long-sleeved shirt.
“Morning.” I try to keep the smile off my lips, I really do, but I still feel the ends of my mouth curling up.
She narrows her eyes sharply in response and I know I’m not in the clear yet. I gesture over to the window. “I saved you a seat.”
Twisting her head around, she takes in her other options. Most of the crew has paired off and a few of the models are chatting casually. Ryan’s sitting with his assistant, which leaves Charley to choose between sitting by me or the chubby lighting director.
“But if you’d rather…” I goad, leaning in so that my breath tingles across her skin.
She rolls her eyes and brushes past me to get to the seat. I thought she was sexy on the phone, but seeing her pissed in real life feels like a wicked challenge I can’t wait to take on. Her butt brushes against my thigh, barely grazing the front of my pants. I inhale and clench my fist. Surely she didn’t do that on purpose, or she’s playing much dirtier than I was expecting.
I grab my carry-on bag and shove it under my seat as she sits down and gets comfortable. I can smell vanilla lingering in the air she just occupied, and I wonder if that’s the scent she chooses for body wash as well as lip gloss. I’m still fixated on that thought when she leans in, whispering so quietly that no one else can hear. “I don’t hate you.”
The words aren’t what stir my heart; it’s the tone she uses, as if she were murmuring sweet nothings into my ear instead of a white flag. I lick my lips, needing to adjust myself so I can sit more comfortably, but I don’t want to give her the satisfaction. The past few weeks have been hell. I can’t remember the last time I’ve gone this long without sex. I feel like I’ve reverted back to a fourteen-year-old. The slightest touch from Charley and I’m a f**king goner.
Eyeing her out of the corner of my gaze, I see a slight smile gracing her lips. I don’t know how long she’ll be like this: open and receptive, but I’ll take it slow. Bennett told me about their conversation last night; I know I’m walking a thin line with her and I’ll be damned if I step over the edge until she’s good and ready.
We sit in silence until the jet taxis down the runway and takes off. She’s leaning on the palm of her hand and focusing on the expanse of pre-dawn darkness outside her window when I lean over.
“It’s always darkest just before the dawn,” I offer quietly, knowing a girl like her would appreciate the imagery in the proverb.
After a long pause, she asks, “How long until I see the light?”
“Sooner than everyone back on the ground. The plane is taking us to a higher perspective, so we’ll rise to meet the sun.”
“So we’re literally ‘rising and shining’?” she asks with a sly smile, sliding her gaze toward me to see if I appreciate the nuances of her humor.
I can’t help the overwhelming smile that grips my features.
“Was I right to think that you prefer the window seat?”
She nods.
“I’m a daydreamer,” she murmurs.
I mull over her revelation. “That doesn’t surprise me one bit. Were you always like that?”
She chews on her lip in thought, angling toward me slightly. “More so in the past few years. I think that’s why I like to run and paint. I run to get a break from my overactive imagination, and I paint so that I can use that same imagination. I don’t think I’d be able to function without a combination of the two.”
I can see the beautiful heaviness of her soul when she explains things like that. “I know what you mean. I’m a runner as well.
She smiles. “I kind of guessed from the soccer game,” her eyes linger over my chest and abs, “and other things.”
My hands grip the seat beneath her blatant appraisal of my body. Does she realize how obvious she is? How much she’s turning me on?
“Have you ever done a marathon?” I ask, trying to ignore our volatile chemistry.
“No, but I’ve been thinking about it lately. Maybe I’ll work my way up to one.”
I slip my leather coat off. The cabin is much warmer than the hanger was. “You should. It’s an amazing feeling when you cross that finish line.”
“Have you done the New York Marathon?”
“And Boston. I’m not sure which I prefer.”
She raises her eyebrows. “Impressive.”
I nod, wanting to turn the conversation away from me.
“Bennett told me you guys got dinner last night?”
“Yeah.” She drags her hand through her hair and twists it into a little ballerina bun, highlighting her elegant cheekbones and neck. “I’ve been nervous about the shoot, so I was happy for the escape.”
Why was she nervous?
“Since it’s your first cover?” I ask.
She bites her lip. “Yeah. I’m just not sure what to expect.” Her voice lowers to a whisper, but everyone’s immersed in their own conversations, so she shouldn’t be overheard. “I honestly feel a little out of my league,” she says, turning back to the window. My stomach sinks. She’s the most beautiful thing in the world and I hate that she can’t see that at times. She knows she’s pretty, but she shouldn’t be intimidated by the models on this plane; they don’t hold a candle to her beauty.
I turn my body toward her so that my knees hit the side of her chair.
“On my first shoot for a fashion magazine, I didn’t have a clue what I was doing. They hired me because of work I’d done for National Geographic and Time Magazine, but when I got to the set, I almost turned around on the spot. I wasn’t ready to enter this world. Models are an interesting subject to photograph, and I’ve worked with my fair share of crazy ones,” I lean in closer, “some of which are on this plane with us.”
She laughs and then curves her body toward me, bringing her knees to her chest and leaning her head back against the leather seat so that I have her full attention.
I continue, “But I just focused on doing my job and it worked out.”
“That sounds easy enough.” She nods, but her eyes still shine a dark, murky blue, and I know she’s wrestling with another thought.
A moment later, she explains, “I’m also nervous about the fame. I almost wish I could just be in the background of the shots.”
Wanting a private life isn’t peculiar, but for some reason I don’t think Charley’s hiding from the spot light for reasons quite so transparent.
“You don’t have to do the cover if you don’t want to,” I offer. “Hell, you don’t have to do the photo shoot if you don’t want to. You can be my assistant.” I wink at her and am rewarded with one of her heart stopping grins.
“It’s okay. My agent, Janet, put it in perspective for me. The money I’ll be making will allow me to paint uninterrupted for a while, and that’s what I’ve wanted all along.”
Smart girl. “Would you ever want to exhibit your work?”
She mulls over the thought. “I’m not sure. When I first started, it was a deeply personal process. I never dreamed of sharing my work with anyone. But what’s funny is that to an outsider they’re just abstract paintings. They have no clue what I was experiencing while I was working on them.” She draws soft circles on the arm of the chair. “It’s not as if I painted a self portrait or anything.”
A few moments pass as I chew on her words. “I think it could be a good step. Sometimes sharing things with the world can feel… freeing.”
She soaks in my words as she studies the tan leather seat. The cabin’s quieter now as conversations dwindle. It’s still only half past six in the morning and everyone starts turning off their overhead lights and reclining their chairs in hopes of catching a few more hours of sleep.
“I’m too wired to sleep just yet,” Charley whispers, scooting closer to me so that her voice doesn’t carry across the quiet cabin.
“I brought a mystery book with me if you want to read it?”
Her eyes light up. “Yes!” She leans forward under her chair, reaching to pull a book out of her bag.
“Here, we can swap for the flight. I’ve read this before.” I glance down to see Jonathan Safran Foer printed on the spine.