Listen, Mrs. Vanderhovven stepped closer, invading his personal space. She smelled of overpowering Chanel number five and gin. I don’t know what affirmation program got you a discount ticket or whose credit card you stole to buy it, but this is the real world. In the real world, people like me sit here.
People like you sit in the back. Now get up before I call security and have you dragged off. Marcus looked deep into her eyes. He saw the absolute certainty of her privilege. She truly believed she could move him like furniture. Are you threatening me? Marcus asked softly. I’m educating you, Mrs. Vanderhovven spat.
She looked at Jessica. Well, are you going to do your job or do I need to call your manager? Jessica panicked. She signaled to Brad. Sir, grab your bag. You’re causing a disturbance. We cannot depart with a hostile passenger on board. Hostile? Marcus chuckled, a dry, humorless sound. I haven’t raised my voice. I haven’t moved. She is the one shouting.
Your refusal to comply is an act of aggression, Brad said, stepping up. Brad was large, ex-military, maybe with a jaw that jutted out. He put a hand on Marcus’s shoulder. A heavy hand. That was the mistake. Marcus glanced at the hand on his shoulder. Take your hand off me. Stand up,” Brad commanded, squeezing harder.
“Now strike two.” The tension in the cabin was thick enough to choke on. The other first class passengers were watching with a mix of horror and fascination. Some looked uncomfortable, shifting in their seats, but nobody spoke up. Nobody wanted to cross Eleanor Vanderhovven. Marcus stood up.
