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If I was fair, it was two.
Because angel. The Bastard.
I barely held my ‘eat shit and die’ smile.
He didn’t call me that because I was angelic.
Obviously. He was being ironic.
He thought I was the devil, and as far as he was concerned, I sure as hell was.
But that wasn’t why it burned. It burned because it was a very old nickname, from back in the day when we were just dumb kids in love and he’d actually meant it.
Once upon a time, I’d been his angel. The reminder was yet another reason I’d have loved to wring his neck.
“More champagne?” I asked him, holding up the bottle, wondering if the other passengers would notice if I quietly poured it over his head.
He looked away, and I saw his lip curl up in disdain.
That made me grind my teeth.
It was shitty champagne, cheaper than he was used to, and he couldn’t hide his distaste.
God, he was a snob. It was one of the things I hated most about him. At the top of a very long list.
“Oh. The brand too low class for you? You poor baby. You should put it up on your blog: spoiledrottentrustfundbrats.com.
Here was the part where he was supposed to make a biting crack about me being from a trailer park, or pointed out how far I’d fallen that I was slinging drinks on an airplane, or asked archly about how my failed acting career was going.
That’s how this little play worked.
Only he didn’t.
He just raised suddenly tired, sad eyes back to me and said, “We need to talk, Scarlett.”
That set me off. Here he was, wasting my time, and he wasn’t even giving me the reaction I wanted.
Scratch that.
Needed.
“Oh yeah sure,” I said flippantly, fake-distracted eyes traveling away from him to skim leisurely around the rest of the cabin, letting him know that he was barely worth my attention. “Go ahead. Talk.” I snapped my fingers. “Be quick about it. There’s still time for you to get your privileged ass off my plane before we close the doors.” My voice was dismissive and bored.
“Not here,” he ground out. I could tell by his tense tone that I’d gotten to him.
Score—another hit for me and my fake nonchalance.
I knew how to push every single button he had.
I’d keep pushing them until my fingers fell off or he left.
I saw one of my other crewmates, Demi, giving me a strange look from the coach cabin.
Dammit, I’d forgotten for a second that I was working. I had at least a hundred things to do in the next five minutes. I didn’t have time to indulge in this hatefest just then.
“Excuse me,” I told Dante coldly, not even looking at him again, and strode away.
CHAPTER
