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I was still gawking when the driver alighted and greeted Dad and me. Then proceeded to drop my luggage in the trunk. When he was done, I knew it was time to leave.
Giving Dad one last hug, I climbed inside the backseat of the car. I let my body melt in the plush leather of the seat as my heart became heavy.
This was it. The journey to make both my parents proud.
I had never experienced so much comfort on the road as I closed my eyes.
We got to the airport, and, in my head, I was ready for the hassle of onboarding.
I knew he would definitely not settle for anything less than a first-class seat for himself but for me, there was no telling what he would do.
Turned out that I was worried for nothing. There were no business or economy class seats.
In fact, there were no first-class seats either. The driver went past the terminals through what seemed to be different from the normal route− a VIP terminal. But not before speaking to a charter service personnel clad in a suit.
We continued onto the tarmac until we reached Mr. Thorne’s private jet. He really didn’t know how to keep a low profile.
I walked into the plane with the last of my luggage, and, my God, the words 'luxury' and 'extravagance' couldn’t fully describe it.
Plush cream carpets sank beneath my feet, and the seats looked like they were sculpted from clouds. Polished wood gleamed, accented with gleaming gold fixtures.
And the space! I mean, where was the rest of the plane? There were no cramped rows, no overhead bins, just this enormous open space.
A plush leather couch beckoned, big enough to sleep there. There was even a small table with– was that a vase of fresh flowers? In here, it was less a plane and more a flying mansion.
An air hostess… or whatever you call attendants on a private jet, came up to me to get my bags. And I was left to admire the spectacle stress-free.
I walked towards the back of the plane and there he was, seated comfortably at one of the round tables. A cup of coffee and newspaper in hand.
“Good morning, Mr. Thorne.” I greeted, ignoring how the sleeves of his grey shirt were rolled up to the elbow.
“Morning,” he replied without lifting his eyes from his newspaper.
Again, I ignored how deep his voice sounded and focused on his rude attitude.
I didn't know what I expected but maybe a bit of professionalism. His side profile looked even more attractive from this angle. Sharp jaws were tantalizing enough t—
No, Evie. This is your new client.
If I wanted to build the right professional relationship, then it would start here.
I cleared my throat before speaking. “Thank you for considering me for the job.” My gratitude was met with silence.
“You know, I never dreamed of this day where I would be here… on a private jet. On my way to achieving my dreams. My mother used to say—”
“And what exactly do you think you’re doing, Miss Norman?” He finally lifted his gaze.
“I'm just trying to say—”
“I don't care about what you've dreamt or what you want to say.”
His reaction caught me off guard and I was shocked, to say the least. Maybe I wasn't entirely caught off guard but it was just a harmless vote of tha—
“I would suggest that you remember why you’re here and know your place. Is that clear?”
I pressed my lips into a thin line. I was trying to be the mature one here if he didn't have the balls to.
“Is. That. Clear?” He asked again. Slowly.
