“Thank you.” I take the glass from him and sip from the edge, bubbles popping under my nose as cool liquid slides down my throat. Before I can come up with another blubbering response, he speaks.
“We’ve got about ninety minutes left until we land. Did you still want me to drill you with questions for your interview?”
Did he say ‘drill’ me? Because my answer is whole-heartedly, YES. I cover my mouth as a giggle escapes and bob my head.
His brow creases. “Is that a yes?”
“Yes,” I state, much louder than is required. “Let me just get my laptop.” I stand and wait for him to rise, then move into the aisle. He opens the compartment he helped me place my bag into earlier and motions at the contents.
“It’s this one, correct?” He places his hand on a large, black, leather computer bag with small LV initials embossed throughout the material.
“Yes,” I acknowledge, accepting it as he passes it to me. “Thank you.” I move to squeeze past him to take my seat when a sudden jolt sends me careening into him, a yelp of fear leaving me as my bag drops to the floor between us.
“I’ve got you.” His arms capture me with little effort, steadying my body against his, my heart punching against my ribs as I draw in a deep breath. “It’s just a little turbulence.”
The plane continues to bounce, my panic increasing as I clench my hands around his biceps to anchor myself. “A little?”
His hands slide down my arms, his grip tightening as he guides me back to my seat, giving me a soft push into it when we reach it. He bends and retrieves my bag, setting it in my lap as he stands tall. A ragged breath leaves my lips as I heave a sigh of relief. “Thank you.” I turn to look at him. “Again.” Then I giggle, my nerves getting the best of me.
“It’s nothing,” he concludes, waving off my behavior as he lowers into his seat with ease. “Put your seatbelt on.”
I struggle to find my straps, then click them into place as I watch him do the same. The plane continues to bounce through the air, my nerves matching the frenetic tempo. Sensing my terror, his hand grabs mine and closes around it securely. “We’re going to be fine. Think of it like driving down a bumpy, country dirt road.”
I nod, my palm sweating against his. “If you say so. I think I much rather prefer nice, smooth cement.”
He lets out a guff of laughter, which is drowned out in the next second by an announcement from the flight staff, asking us to please buckle up and raise our tray tables for the remainder of what is expected to be a bumpy ride as we travel around a storm.
“I thought he said it was going to be a smooth flight?” I lament to no one in particular, my voice full of fear and just short of trill.
“Chloe, tell me about the job you’re interviewing for so I know what kind of questions to ask.” Fin’s deep voice, smooth and calm, reaches and pulls me out of my turbulence-infused meltdown.
“What?” I stare back at him, my mind a total blank.
“What’s the position? For your interview?” he repeats, his hand still around mine.
I look down at our entwined fingers, his warm skin a comfort against mine, finally bringing me to my senses. I blow a long breath out of my nose, then meet his gaze with a forced smile. “It’s for the VP of Media Relations.”
His brows rise, his head tilting a smidge. “Impressive.” He gives me a quick smile, releasing my hand to cross his arms over his chest. “Tell me why the job should be yours.”
I begin my rehearsed response with enthusiasm, continuing to answer each question he throws my way, absorbing any advice he offers as we go.
“Okay, last question.” He looks me straight in the eyes. “You ready?”
“Give it to me.” I nod.
“Dinner with me.” His gaze remains locked on mine. “Tomorrow after the interview. Say yes.”
I reel back in surprise. “That’s not a question.”
“You’ll be great at yo
ur job.” He chuckles. “There’s no question about that.”
“You’re asking me to dinner?” I repeat his request, disbelief the only thing I’m certain of at the moment.
“We can celebrate you getting the job.” A confident grin slides into place.
“I haven’t got it yet.”