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Chapter One
Moira
The cramped confines of the airplane cabin press in on me as I settle into my seat, cursing myself for not planning this trip better. When I woke up this morning, I wasn't planning on making this trip at all. Sure, I know one of my good friends is getting married, but if it makes a difference, she's my least favorite friend and I hate flying.
Because of the short notice, I'm sitting in the business class section having bought the last available ticket, wondering if I should have asked a friend to let me on their private jet. Instead, I'm folded into the seat like a lawn chair, trying to figure out how they expect human beings to fit in this dismal space.
I resist the urge to start thrashing my arms and legs, as if I can physically make this space bigger with my will and anger. Instead, I plant a small smile on my face, reminding myself that I have been through so much worse, this should feel like a vacation compared to some of my life experiences.
With a deep, calming breath, I run a hand through my fiery red hair, feeling the strands slide silkily between my fingers. Despite pulling them straight, they pop back into large wavy curls as I scan the cabin, feeling detached from reality and the people around me.
An older gentleman hasn't stopped staring at me since I boarded, and I can tell by the look on his face that he's trying to figure out how to approach me to tell me that I look like someone he knows, despite the thirty year difference between our ages. I'm no stranger to men's attention. Winning the genetic lottery of having bright red hair, brilliant blue eyes, and a beautiful face, I constantly find myself being studied, approached, or bothered by people.
But instead of considering it a gift, being attractive feels more like a curse. I can never be sure I’m getting ahead in life on my merits or because people naturally want to open more doors for me. And yes, it matters. I don't want to get ahead because I'm pretty. I want to get ahead because I'm intelligent, ruthless, and willing to put in the work. Winning on looks alone feels like a loss.
And I definitely put in the work. My name is Moira Steele, billionaire, savage leader, a leader in my own right. I’m not a hashtag, I’m not a pushover, and I’m sure as heck not putting up with anything from anyone.
I rule with an iron fist.
And if I leave behind a trail of shattered egos and broken hearts, so be it. It's not like the people in my life have been particularly gentle with me. The whole reason I swore off men was because...
I quickly shut down those thoughts, waiting for the older gentleman to approach me, but before he can, an attractive, dark-haired man drops into the seat beside me. He doesn't say a word, but when his light brown eyes meet mine, I swear he’s told me everything I need to know.
He doesn't belong here either. I can tell by his expensive suit, the way he holds his head, the incredulous look in his eyes that likely mirrors my own expression. How do they expect people to fit in these seats?
I shift, feeling uncomfortable in my seat even though the flight hasn't started yet. With a sideways glance at my companion, I remind myself of my mantra: My life, my rules.
No, it doesn't mean I'm suddenly going to go full Karen and demand the seat next to me, because the seats here are too small. No, it's a simple reminder that I get to live my life on my own terms, and I’ll work hard to protect that privilege.
All men are monsters. All they want to do is destroy; I give this one beside me about five minutes before he decides to start trying to talk himself into my bed. He’ll likely start by offering me alcohol to get me to loosen up. Joke’s on him; I could probably drink him under the table. To my surprise, he doesn't even glance my direction beyond the first meeting of our eyes and his initial slight smile. Instead, he pulls out his phone and checks his notifications before putting the device back in his pocket.
I still give him five minutes.
With a deep breath, I ignore everything the flight attendant says. If I pretend I'm anywhere else but here, maybe the fear of flying won't hit me like a ton of bricks. A friend had offered me a Valium to keep me calm on the flight, but I'd refused, not wanting to be without my wits.
After a while, she finally stops talking and I breathe a sigh of relief. Out the window I see the world beginning to flow past, and I close the shade, not wanting to see the movement. My unwanted companion’s elbow touches mine on the arm rest and I stay firm, refusing to give up the spot to him. He moves and I glance toward the closed window again, and my mind drifts from the flight to my plans.
I can't help but feel a pang of irritation at the thought of my friend willingly surrendering her independence to a man. Of course, if any friend was going to, it'd be Olivia. She's a hopeless romantic with a heart too big for her body. And she’s weak. How is it possible for a woman to be swept off her feet by some pretty promises and well-timed words? Doesn't she know that she's at his mercy once they're married? That her brain is going to overlook red flags and that she's going to suffer from the sunk cost fallacy where she's put so much time in that it's not worth leaving even if he turns into a total nightmare?
I swore to myself I'd never put myself in a position to let a man take control of my life again. But I guess she didn't learn from my mistakes unfortunately, because here she is forging ahead with a bad decision.
Though to be honest, my resentment of men isn't all from previous bad experiences in relationships. No, my deep-seated dislike starts at home, of course.
Our other friends keep trying to tell me that Olivia is happy and I should be happy for her. But they're the same friends that have also sworn off serious relationships, so clearly they appreciate the dangers. Lost in my musings, I'm almost startled when the man next to me shifts. I glance sideways at him, only for our gazes to meet. Unwilling to be the first to back down, I hold his stare until he gives me that slight, neutral smile again and looks away, a polite look on his face.
I can't help but wonder what kind of animals Olivia is going to have at the wedding. The only thing that's stranger to me than her need for a man in her life is the fact that she likes to rescue animals and turn them from sad, pathetic creatures into lovable pets. Sure, it's a beautiful thing to do, but given her lack of ambition and status, shouldn’t she spend that time trying to level up in life instead? And I don't mean by getting married.
I suddenly realize that more than five minutes have passed and yet the man next to me hasn't said a single word to me. I should be relieved and happy that I was wrong, but instead I'm perturbed. I don't like being wrong, and I'm certainly not used to it when it comes to this specific circumstance. Glancing at him again, I notice that his eyes seem to be closed, and I wonder if he's trying to fall asleep with his head upright.
There's something so calm and composed about him as I study the hard lines and plains of his face. He certainly is handsome, and a glance at his hand tells me he's not married - not that I care. Maybe he's one of the smart ones. Something stirs within me, but I suppress the odd sensation. There's no way I'm about to open myself up for someone to wreak havoc in my life - no matter how calm or balanced or quiet they appear.
I've made that mistake before and I promised myself never again. Losing myself back into thoughts of Olivia, I try to figure out why I agreed to come to this wedding in the first place. Not only do I strongly disagree with marriage as a whole, I don't enjoy these kinds of events. Why would I want to sit and watch two people promise to ruin each other’s lives until the end of eternity... or divorce, whichever comes sooner?
The gentle vibration of the airplane leaves me unable to breathe for a moment and I think harder, trying to unravel the thinking behind Olivia’s plan. I hated the way she'd gone about asking me. Instead of just sending an invitation that I could refuse to RSVP to, she'd called me on the phone to tell me how much it would mean to her if one of her very best friends were able to come. When I jokingly asked her which friend because I'm certain Valerie would show up, she'd sighed and said no, I’d like for you to come, Moira. And now here I am, on a plane, wedding bound.
I steal another glance at my unwanted companion. The gentle hum of the aircraft provides a slight soundtrack to our unspoken connection, and I notice the subtle grace in his movements as he lifts a hand, a single outstretched finger tracing a curve in the air as if he’s a composer listening to music. But he’s not wearing headphones, so perhaps he’s just nuts.
Struggling to get comfortable in my seat, I try to redirect my thoughts. But even as I internally curse Olivia for forcing me to come to her wedding, I can't help but notice that the man's presence, though unassuming, is a magnetic force that draws me in. Maybe I should have taken that friend up on the offer of Valium.
