"Can you please take a few more?"
He stared at me, irritation evident on his face. "I don't think you want that."
"Please? Don't be such a grump. Just a few more."
He lowered the phone. "A grump."
Shit. I'd only met this man a couple minutes ago and was already insulting him.
You need this job, Natalie. Keep your sassy mouth shut.
"Just one more picture, please?" I wasn’t positive, but I may have seen the corners of his mouth lift.
Good, he doesn’t hate me.
"If you insist."
“I do.”
I smiled widely, and to my astonishment, he chuckled too while snapping a picture.
Well, what do you know? I’m finally getting to him.No one could resist my sunny personality for too long.
He walked with determined steps up to me, handing me the phone before we entered the plane. There were only four seats, and he instructed me to sit opposite of him for weight adjustment on the plane. It was small and nothing like the luxurious ones I'd seen in movies, but it was still the most glamorous way I'd ever traveled.
After strapping myself in, I giddily looked at my pictures, and it immediately became clear why Jake Whitley had chuckled. It wasn't because I was getting to him in any way, sunny personality or not. It was because after the hair accident, I had lipstick smeared all over my face. I lowered my phone. He was looking straight at me, clearly barely holding back his laughter.
"You could’ve told me."
"I asked if you were sure. You insisted. After you called me a grump."
I pocketed my phone, looking at Jake Whitley in a new light. He wasn't just difficult. He was more than that. I had a feeling I had my work cut out for me for this weekend.
Five minutes later, we took off. After the amazing experience in the lounge today, I’d fully prepared myself for the best flight of my life. The opposite was true. As soon as we took off, I realized I preferred big planes. I could feel every single tremor in this one.
I’d taken a seat that was facing backward to the direction of the flight. I was beginning to feel a bit nauseous. My stomach began bobbing up and down dangerously. I looked around desperately, fearing I might have to throw up.
"What do you need?"
"One of those paper bags."
"Are you going to be sick?" he asked, and for the first time today, he didn't sound like a smug asshole. He actually seemed concerned.
"Yes."
"Do you have motion sickness? Why did you not notify my assistant? This can become very unpleasant and messy."
I stood corrected. He was still an ass.
“I didn't know I had motion sickness. Only seems to happen on small planes and when I'm in terrible company.”
He handed me a paper bag the next second. Just in time.
I’d reached a new embarrassing low within half an hour of meeting him—first the lipstick and now puking right in front of him. Since I'd eaten my weight in food in the lounge, I needed more than one bag.
After I was done retching, I held them tightly in my hand so the smell wouldn't permeate the plane. I was feeling absolutely miserable. I couldn’t even muster the energy to take them to the bathroom.
My head was swimming, and I felt like I might throw up again any second now, even though I wasn't sure I had anything left.