"Well, I don't believe you," he continues, and I start to imagine how I could strangle him when he falls asleep.
"Well, that's your problem," I bark in response as I finally face him.
The aroma of his cologne hits my nostrils, and my head starts spinning from the smell of his freshly cleaned suit, shaving gel, and cologne. This scent is unrepeatable. I would never confuse it with someone else's.
Cristopher gives me a satisfied smile, the one he always has when he gets what he wants. He wants to get me to talk to him, and now I'm talking. I turn to face the window again. I can't stand this hating game between us, not today.
"You said you have a migraine, but every time you do, you always wear a lavender patch on your neck to help you deal with it," he points out. I turn to face him again, surprised that he’s noticed that. "Also, you never wear perfume when you have a migraine because it only makes it worse, but today you are."
I stare at him as he speaks, unable to believe what he’s saying. I always thought of him as a man who cares about nothing but money. I would never have expected him to notice things like perfume, especially on me.
"How do you know all of that?" I ask in surprise, already regretting it. I don't want to start a conversation with him.
He leans a little bit closer and says with a lower voice, almost whispering, "I like how you smell when you wear nothing."
I swallow, and a slight shiver covers my skin. It feels like it's getting harder to breathe.
Is he...flirting with me? Telling me how good I smell when I don't use perfume? No, he can't be; I'm absolutely not his type. He dates long-legged, blond, anorexic models.
But if he's not flirting, what is he doing?
"Don't get me wrong, I love your perfumes, especially the ones that I picked out myself." He pulls away, leaning against his seat, and I am finally able to take a breath. "But your natural aroma is much more delightful."
A long pause comes after as we keep staring at each other; I'm still wearing my sunglasses, but it seems like he can see my eyes through them anyway.
I thought those presents were chosen by his secretary, not him. Does he select gifts for all of his employees? But he has hundreds of them; he wouldn't have time to do that.
I realize that I'm staring at him with an open mouth; that's why I add quickly, "Thank you."
He doesn't pull away, staring at my lips. And I involuntarily look at his...
The airplane starts to shake with turbulence, and I rapidly grab the armrests for balance, gasping loudly.
I hate flying. I didn't want Christopher to know that because I don't want him to see any of my weaknesses, but I'm terrified of airplanes, especially private jets like this one because they're smaller than the regular ones.
"So that's what it's all about," he says quietly, finally pulling away from me, as if giving me space to breathe. "You were quiet because you were scared."
I look at him again. I thought he was gonna make fun of me. And his reaction surprised me. For the second time today.
Yes, let him think I was quiet because I was scared, even though it's not true. Usually, when I'm terrified, I start chattering loudly as if to hide my anxiety under my words.
And then, unexpectedly, Christopher reaches out his hand and puts it on top of mine, his soft palm covering my cold fingers. I lower my gaze and stare at our hands, unable to move.
"I got you," he whispers, brushing his thumb over my wrist, trying to make me let go of the armrest.
I can't let go. The armrests are the only things that calm me down during turbulence; I always grab them when I'm scared on the plane.
But for some reason, my body relaxes, melting under his touch, and I slightly unclench my grip.
Christopher takes my hand into his palm and intertwines our fingers together.
"Just breathe," he whispers again, his voice kind and calming. "I'm with you."
I want to argue, to pull my hand out of his, to tell him not to do this again. But I can't. It all feels so good. Too good to be true.
That's why I'm doing as he says: I lean into my seat, relax my head on the headrest, and close my eyes.
Chapter Five