You’re standing in my row, blocking my light and bothering my neighbor. That makes it my business. Derek’s smile was back, but it was tighter now, harder. Whatever, man. Just being friendly. He raised his glass towards Sarah. Think about it, beautiful. First class is a lot more comfortable than this. He walked away, but not before his hand brushed Sarah’s shoulder as he passed. She shuddered.
Thank you. she whispered to the man beside her. He was already pulling a worn paperback from his jacket pocket. Don’t thank me yet. Men like that don’t give up easy. An hour later, Sarah understood what he meant. Derek Lawson didn’t approach again. He didn’t have to. He had other ways of making his presence felt. First came the champagne.
A flight attendant appeared at row 14 holding a glass of golden bubbles like it was a peace offering. Compliments of the gentleman in 2A. He hopes you enjoy the rest of your flight. Sarah’s stomach turned. Send it back. The flight attendant’s smile faltered. Ma’am, it’s already been paid for.
I said send it back, she did. But 15 minutes later, there was another offering. A note, this time handwritten on first class stationary. I like a woman who plays hard to get. Makes the chase more interesting. Seat 2A is waiting whenever you’re ready to upgrade. DL. Sarah crumpled the note in her fist. Problem? The man beside her, Marcus.
She remembered he’d said his name was Marcus, had lowered his book. His pale eyes tracked her hand, the crumpled paper, the tension in her shoulders. It’s nothing. Didn’t look like nothing. Sarah hesitated. Every instinct told her to handle this herself. She’d been handling things herself for years. Since Eric left, since her father died, since the world made it clear that nobody was coming to save Sarah Mitchell, so she’d better learn to save herself.
