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A lingerie bag.
I didn’t see these when Jet paid for the luggage. But he must have bought them today because they have a Harrodstag on.
I walk over to the drawers, sliding the top one open, and lift out the pale pink panties with the gold waterlilies on. My lucky pair.
Tracing the delicate fabric, I take a deep breath and start filling the first silk bag.
New York, here I come.
Chapter 8
Jet
Ava sucks in asharp breath as a call button illuminates across the aisle, accompanied by a softding.
“Just a call bell,” she murmurs, pressing her back into her seat.
Her fingers drum up and down on the armrests of her first-class seat beside me, stealing my attention away from the report I’m reading on my phone that Hayden’s sent through.
“Are you going to talk to yourself the whole flight?”
She glares at me. But the force fades immediately, and she looks away, her eyes darting after the flight attendant who’s walking past with a package in her hands.
“What’s she carrying?”
“An infant life jacket,” I say, resuming my reading.
“Why does she need that? That’s for water, isn’t it?”
“It’s for if we ditch.”
“Ditch?”
“Land on water,” I confirm.
These new figures Hayden has sent through are concerning to say the least. Callaghan better be ready to make a deal because there’s no way I can leave him alone until he does. I’ll follow him when he goes to take a dump if that’s what it takes.
“Planes don’t land on water. They crash.”
I look up into Ava’s rounded eyes.
“Correct.”
I rub a hand around my jaw as I signal the flight attendant. She comes over with a silver tray and I take two champagne flutes off, placing them onto the small table between the seats.
“So nice to have you onboard again, Mr. Grant.” She gives me a sexy smile before she moves away.
I know the rumors that circulate Atlantic Airways. That I fuck my flight attendants, then gift them luxury holidays to keep it out of the press. But I’m smarter than to shit on my own doorstep. And recently I’ve been too busy trying to save their jobs to have time to give my dick any action.
Ava rummages around in her purse and produces a bottle of pills. Her hands shake as she tips two out into her palm. She picks up one to place it back inside, then changes her mind and throws both into her mouth, knocking them back with half of her champagne.
“What arethose?”
“Nothing.”
“Ava?”
She ignores me, so I reach down and swipe the bottle from her hand before she drops it inside her purse.
