She snorts with laughter, hiding it behind her coffee-stained hand. “It wouldn’t be high on my list of memorable cups, no. But it’s airport coffee, what did you expect?”
“If you know where you’re going, you can always find what you’re looking for,” I tell her. “Even in an airport.”
She narrows her eyes. “Where is this magical coffee utopia you speak of?”
“Do you want to come with me and find out?”
She raises her eyebrows. “Wait, really?”
“Why not?” I ask. “You’ve got a five-hour delay, same as me. That’s going to be hard to do without a proper caffeine hit.”
She hesitates. Her thoughts are written in her eyes, clear as day. She finds me attractive, but I’m a stranger. She wants to come, but she isn’t the kind of girl who takes risks.
Olivia is an open book.
And I want to rip her apart—page, by page, by page.
I see the moment she makes up her mind. She squares her shoulders and sets her jaw. “Okay. Let’s go.”
When I stand up, her eyes trail up slowly, growing wider with every inch. She’s not the first woman to ogle me like that. But she is the first one in a while that I’ve given a fuck about.
Just not for the reasons she suspects.
She blinks and looks away the moment she realizes I’m watching her watch me. Straightening her spine, she stands. “Lead the way,” she announces.
I smirk. “I always do.”
I shepherd her through the crowds towards the airport’s private lounge. It’s not the one for frequent flyers or harried businessmen. This one is tucked away behind a nondescript, pockmarked door with no obvious signage.
You have to know people to get in here.
I open the door and gesture for her to go first. She stops at the threshold and wrinkles her nose. “I didn’t know the best coffee in the airport was to be found in the janitor’s closet—oh.”
The words die on her lips when she sees what’s inside. I watch her, mesmerized, as the subtle glow of the lights reflecting off the bronze plaque light up her face like a constellation.
“Um, Aleks? I… don’t think I belong here.”
“What makes you say that?”
“I think you need, like, some kinda exclusive membership to get in. They’re gonna take one look at me and call in the Peasant Removal SWAT team.”
“It’s a good thing you’re with me, then.” I reach into my pocket and retrieve my platinum membership card. “Come on.”
I usher her inward and pull the door closed behind us. The hubbub of the airport fades away at once. It’s quiet and still in here.
We round the corner and come into view of a burnished steel front desk, stretching in a smooth arc. Behind it, a clerk jumps to attention. I show him my card and he bows, then presses his thumb to a scanner just out of sight. There’s a pleasant hum, followed by a door to the left swinging open on silent hinges.
Olivia’s eyes go round as we step further inside.
The lounge is a cavernous, free-flowing space broken into open pods that mimic cozy living rooms. Deep, lush sofas bask in the sunlight, fresh-cut flowers gleam on each table, and mahogany desks bear cups of golden pens.
Off to one side is a sprawling buffet counter. I spy crab and lobster, jambalaya, omelets, half a dozen different soups bubbling in elegant pots. The smell is heavenly.
One of the hostesses notices us and strides over. I’ve seen her before—tall, curvy, with a blouse about three sizes too small and a very conspicuous lack of bra. I can’t recall if I’ve fucked her or not.
“Good morning, sir,” she says, ignoring Olivia completely. “Can I get you anything?”
“Two cups of coffee,” I tell her. “We’ll take it in one of the private lounges.”
The moment she disappears, Olivia sidles up next to me. She’s taller than I realized when I first sat down next to her in the cafe. I’d guess around five-nine or five-ten. The slight hunch in her shoulders tells me that she’s spent most of her life trying to make herself smaller.
“There’s a private lounge inside the private lounge?”
“Follow me.”
The private lounges are smaller rooms situated at the back of the greater hall. The furniture in here is darker, more sumptuous, more refined. A private space for doing private things.
Perfect for my purposes.
I escort Olivia inside one of the rooms. We’ve just sat down when the hostess buzzes in with a trolley of coffee and pastries. Among them are small squares of chocolate cake and multicolored macarons.
“Can I get you anything else?”
“Privacy.”
The hostess hovers, glancing at me anxiously. There’s an invitation in her smile, but to her credit, she takes the hint and leaves, closing the pod door behind her. Smart woman.
Olivia looks at me with an awed expression. “So… you’re important.”
I shrug. “Or maybe I’m just a rich kid who is using his father’s membership.”
She wrinkles her nose. “No. No, I don’t think so.”
“No?”
We’re sitting on the same sofa, but she’s chosen to position herself a good three feet away from me. I’m surprised at how much that annoys me.
I’ve never been one to put up with anything I don’t like. So I move closer to her. She tenses as I slide in range.
“Um, well, no,” she repeats, struggling to pick up her line of thought. “You… you seem like the kind of man… who, um—”
“What kind of man do I seem like?” I press.
She gnaws at her bottom lip, looking distinctly frustrated with herself. “The kind of man who has made it on his own. Am I right?”
I smile. “Very good. You’re observant.”
“It’s because of my job,” she says. “I watch people. I like to see how they act when they don’t know anyone is watching.”
“Oh, but I am aware you’re watching,” I say softly. “Very aware.”
She flushes and jerks forward to pick up her coffee mug so that she doesn’t have to respond to that last statement. But she grabs it so quickly that more hot coffee splashes over the rim onto her fingers.
“God-fucking-shit-dammit!” she says for the second time.
I pluck the cup from her hands. “Interesting phrase,” I remark, trying to contain my laughter. “Haven’t really heard anyone swear like that before.”
She’s bright red with embarrassment. “My brother used to teach me stuff like that all the time when we were little. Mostly to get me in trouble with our parents, I now suspect. But my sister and I caught the habit and can’t let it go. Very unbecoming of a lady, I know.”
Setting the cup down, I unfold a thick cloth napkin and offer it for her to rest her hand in. She does so reluctantly, looking at me the whole time with a nervous tremor in her cheeks. I fold her hand between mine and dab away coffee yet again.
I move slower than I did before. Savoring the moment.
So much has gone into this that it would be a shame to rush through the moment.
“Oh, God,” she groans. “I’m sorry about this. You must think I’m the klutziest girl alive.” She looks up and gets trapped in my gaze.