Falling For My Enemy

by Cassandra Dee

  But unfortunately, I was getting minimum wage. Even less than that because my uniform had to be dry cleaned constantly from all the grease. There was nothing to lose, and taking a deep breath, I nodded.

  “Nine sharp,” were my words. “I’ll be here.”

  Just like that, it was done. After signing a few more forms, Helena escorted me to the elevators.

  “We look forward to working with you, Miss Nelson. Take care now,” she said, face impassive.

  I nodded, stepping into the lift.

  “Yes, thank you again,” was my slow reply. “I look forward to starting with Elite Air.”

  But things just kept taking me by surprise. For example, the uniform was startling. Getting fitted was surprisingly simple. The fabric was better quality than most of my clothes, and none of the stitches popped unlike my Burger Barista uniform. Usually, I had to keep a tiny sewing kit handy for emergencies at the fast food restaurant, but that wouldn’t be necessary with Elite Air. Instead, the company had a tailor who looked me over carefully, and then stitched and pinned before presenting me with a navy blue dress.

  Wow.

  The outfit wasn’t your usual stewardess fare.

  Well, it was, but somehow it was much more flattering than the dowdy cardigans and knee-length skirt typical of the industry. Instead, the blue dress emphasized my bust with a modest v-neck, nipping in at the waist to show off my twenty-three inch span. Seriously cute.

  But it was the shoes that got me. When the seamstress pulled out four-inch stilettos, I almost fell through the floor.

  “I’m supposed to wear those while I work?” was my dumbfounded question.

  She nodded, a knowing smile on her face.

  “The men like it. You’ll like it too.”

  My eyes continued to bug, because how was I going to stand in those things during long cross-country flights? I’d get a crick in my back, and my knees would ache. Was this really practical?

  But hey, I was getting paid a lot of money to wear stilettos. With a weak smile, I took the shoes and stashed them in my bag. When I got home, it was time to practice. I walked across my tiny apartment floors for hours, making like Miss America. Sometimes, I even air-kissed to an imaginary crowd, bowing and waving. It was fun, if a little unsteady.

  But the next morning, just as I was about to shower, my phone rang. Fumbling for the handheld, I looked at the screen.

  Helena’s number flashed. Oh no. Had she had second thoughts? Maybe I wasn’t hired after all? With dread, I picked up.

  “H-hello?” was my stammer.

  Her businesslike voice filled my ear.

  “Hi Morgan, Helena here. There’s been a change in plans. We’ve scratched your flight for Chicago. Instead, you’ll be on a special flight with some of our most important passengers.”

  The woman’s pen was audible, scribbling something or other.

  “Due to the last minute change, we’ve upped your salary to one hundred and fifty thousand. Is that acceptable?”

  I nearly dropped the phone. Was she serious? A hundred and fifty thousand for a newbie airline stewardess? But my mama taught me well because the words were immediate.

  “Yes, of course,” came my reply. “I’d be happy to change itineraries. No problem.”

  Helena made a pleased noise.

  “Good. This will be a scenic flight. The plane will take off from JFK, circle around for an hour or two, and then land back at JFK once more.”

  My eyes opened wide with surprise. Really? Did people who own private jets do this often? Burn jet fuel just for the hell of it?

  But maybe it wasn’t so crazy. After all, New York City is astonishing from the air. The Statue of Liberty. The Empire State Building. The Freedom Tower. These were just a few of the things that made my hometown the place to be.

  I nodded furiously.

  “Of course, that sounds fine. I’ll be there.”

  I could almost hear Helena’s perfunctory nod.

  “Good. This flight will be in the afternoon. Pack a bag, and we’ll put you in a nearby hotel afterwards. Please make sure you have office attire along with your uniform just in case.”

  I froze. Office attire? And just in case of what? Besides, I didn’t have any clothes that were “smart professional.” My stuff consisted of a Burger Barista uniform plus some ragtag items from Target and Walmart. But this wasn’t the time for that conversation. Instead, I just nodded once more.

  “Sure, will do, Helena. Is there anything else I should be prepared for?”

  Helena sounded tired now, as if speaking to a child. “We need you dressed and on the plane by noon. Don’t be late.”

  And just like that, there was a click. She was gone.

  The enormity of the situation hit me then. I had my first flight in two hours! I had to get my stuff together pronto, but there was nothing to get together, really. Again, my clothes consist of jeans and basics, plus one nice skirt that I keep around for parties. Definitely not professional.

  But it is what it is.

  Come on, came the voice in my head. You can do it, Morgan. To the tune of one hundred and fifty thousand dollars, you have to do it. Think of Mom.

  Squaring my shoulders, I nodded resolutely. I was going to make this happen. I’d landed a plum opportunity that could save us from bankruptcy.

  So yes, I was going to be the best stewardess Elite Air ever had.

  4

  Morgan

  Ten hours later.

  Oh god. It’d been the flight from hell. I dragged my little overnight suitcase behind me, letting it bump along the uneven ground. My flipflops slapped the concrete because I couldn’t take the stilettos anymore. No way, no how.

  In fact, bandages were sorely needed. Was there a convenience store nearby? And since when is beauty worth this kind of pain?

  But at least I was finally at the hotel. It was a five star palace with a gorgeous lobby. Chandeliers hung from the soaring ceilings, and soft piano music wafted in the background as important businesspeople walked by, chatting and laughing.

  But unfortunately, no amount of training can stop guys from being guys. Because the clerk at the front desk smiled lecherously at me as I checked in. His lingering gaze made me wish I had thrown a sweatshirt on over my uniform.

  “Have a great stay, gorgeous.”

  What? Can you refer to customers as “gorgeous”? Isn’t that sexual harassment? But I was too tired to protest, trudging my way to the hotel gift shop.

  My eyes searched the shelves. There were about a million kinds of travel-sized shampoos and soaps, and of course knick-knacks with “I heart New York City” emblazoned all over them.

  Band-Aids, Band-Aids. New York has to have Band-Aids!

  “Looking for something in particular?” a voice interrupted.

  I looked up. A friendly middle-aged woman stared at my ankles. The red, chafed skin looked painful, and knowing pity filled her eyes.

  “Yes, I need bandages for my feet.” I gestured downwards. “It’s been a long day and I had to wear really high heels that I’m not used to.”

  She turned around and grabbed a metal tin from a shelf and plunked them on the counter.

  “I hear you, sweetie. That’ll be five-ninety-two.”

  Five ninety-two for a tiny box of bandages? This was highway robbery! My head protested with sticker shock, but I was too tired to protest, instead fumbling in my wallet before mumbling, “Thank you.”

  “No problem,” she said sympathetically. “Have a good night.”

  With that, I stepped back into the lobby.

  More hotel guests had arrived, the circular rotunda thronging with people. My headache pounded. I sighed.

  If wearing stupid uncomfortable shoes would help me keep this job and live a better life, then so be it. Even if I twisted an ankle, it was still better than spilling coffee on myself and coming home smelling like a fryer.

  Fortunately, the high speed elevator was fast. Within seconds, I was at my floor, the doo
r dinging open to reveal a bland hallway and rows of doors. I swiped my keycard, revealing a small but luxurious room.

  Thank god. A bath would help soothe my feet and my nerves.

  Moving quickly, I stripped off my uniform and hung it up in the little closet. Uck, was it the uniform’s fault? Did I look too sexy in it?

  But lowering myself into the tub, my head fell back. I couldn’t blame this on an inanimate object. I could only blame it on the men themselves.

  Because the passengers had been disgusting. Fat, paunchy, sweaty dudes, their stomachs sticking out from over their waistbands.

  But that wasn’t the least of it. Because I don’t looks-discriminate. We’re born with what we have, and a nice package on the outside doesn’t mean that you’re any good on the inside.

  But these men were terrible, inside and out. My eyes welled at the memory. That one with the balding pate had grabbed my boob, squeezing hard. Another one had groped my bottom, even going so far as to slide his hand up my skirt.

  Without Stone Evans, I would have been dead meat. I would have been the collateral damage from a flight gone wrong.

  But thankfully, the big man had saved me. He was absolutely gorgeous from the moment he stepped foot in the plane, looming like Superman come to life.

  Tall.

  Dominating.

  Blue eyes that flashed, hair that was pitch black.

  Plus, he was clearly the boss of the other guys. They cowered in his presence, begging for more rides on his private planes.

  Oh god! Came the realization. This guy was my boss. He was the guy who actually held the purse strings.

  Immediately, I resolved to do my best. Whatever these gross passengers put me through, I was going to be professional about it.

  But it was just so hard. The lewd comments. The dirty paws that fondled my every curve. The insinuations and overt come-ons.

  I hated every second of it.

  It wasn’t until Stone excused me that I took a deep breath, glancing at the alpha gratefully.

  I was saved. There was no more on-board service during the flight, and I could hide away in peace. It’s crazy, I know. But the harassment had been over the top, and in the privacy of the small galley, tears rolled silently down my face.

  It was only after the plane rolled to a stop on the tarmac that I came to my senses. There was work to be done, and I could be fired if I didn’t do my job. Hurriedly, I straightened my outfit and stood in the exitway, summoning a cheerful goodbye. Most of the men barely noticed me, except to make a few lecherous comments once again. However, Mr. Evans fixed me with a stare.

  “Nine a.m.,” he said in a smooth voice. “Tomorrow morning. Meet me at the Elite Airlines corporate offices in Midtown.”

  What could I do but agree? I nodded slowly, a frozen smile in place, but my mind whirled. What did he want from me? Oh god, was I going to be fired? I’d pretty much screwed up this maiden flight, after all. I deserved to be let go.

  But somehow, I knew it wasn’t that. There’d been something in that magnetic azure gaze. Something powerful. Something compelling. Something calling, Little girl, come out and play.

  Oh god, oh god. Stone Evans was so handsome, and much better looking than the high school jocks whom I used to moon over. Those guys were idiots by comparison, with overly-loud laughs and acne scars. They were so proud to be seen in their letter jackets, even if they were bench warmers on the JV team.

  This guy, by contrast, was the real thing. He was a hardened alpha male. A man in his forties, at the top of the business world. Most likely a billionaire. Slowly, I sank into the tub, bubbles coming up to my chin.

  “Mr. Evans,” I whispered into the small space.

  Hearing the name aloud sounded too real, sending a fresh wave of embarrassment through me. But it was different and exciting. I began to knead my breast with one hand, pinching the nipple, while dreaming of the handsome male.

  Because what would it be like with Mr. Evans?

  Would he be tender and gentle?

  Or we he devour me like an animal, raw and real?

  Oh god. My other hand slid below the waterline, finding its way to my sopping slit. An engorged clit greeted me, already hard and aroused.

  Ah!

  “Morgan, you’re mine,” Mr. Evans would growl. “All fucking mine.”

  The possessiveness shocked and titillated me.

  Was I ready to belong to a man like that?

  For one night, yes, definitely.

  I’d take whatever Mr. Evans offered.

  I’d kneel at his feet, a student ready for her training.

  And shamefully, my body burst then. It wasn’t the warm water lapping at my curves, or even the frantic movements of my hands.

  It was the thought of the powerful alpha.

  Stone Evans.

  My boss.

  My savior.

  And even … my lover?

  Oh god, it was too good to be true, my curves shaking and undulating with pleasure. Because I wanted to belong to him. I wanted to be his, our bodies wrapped around one another as he owned my sweetest spots.

  Yes, Stone!

  Yes, Mr. Evans!

  Take me!

  I’m yours.

  But everything comes to an end, even the best fantasies. As if on cue, my stomach growled. Oh no. I hadn’t eaten since breakfast, skipping lunch altogether. And now, it was time to get some calories.

  Standing up, my skin gleamed with a mixture of soap and bath oils. Oooh, it felt sensational for sure, plump assets out in the open.

  But I’ve never been one to miss a meal, so resolutely, I wrapped my body with the damp towel and stepped out of the bathroom. And pulling on my floral print pajamas, I dialed room service.

  “Can I help you?” the bored voice on the other end answered.

  “Hello,” came my hesitant voice. “I’d like to order dinner please?”

  “Yes, what can I get you?” it droned.

  I bit my lip. With a hefty paycheck, I could now afford the nicer things. No more free burgers at work. No more stolen fries or milkshakes sipped quietly in the back room. Taking a deep breath, I ordered their most expensive prime rib.

  “Medium rare,” was my quick refrain. “Plus some Pepsi please.”

  I know, I know. Pepsi and steak aren’t exactly the healthiest things on Earth. But you know what? I get tired of eating salad with no dressing, tofu and wheat bread all the time. People sometimes stare at my figure, hinting that I should cut down. But food has always been my thing, and tonight I was going crazy.

  Steak and cola it was.

  Pulling out my phone, I texted Evelyn. Unfortunately, my friend didn’t reply immediately. Oh Evelyn. She was probably out with one of her “older gentleman friends” as she liked to refer to them. I called them “dirty old dudes,” since they were about sixty years old most times. Ick, right? Evelyn’s eighteen like me, so there was literally a forty-year age gap.

  Plus, Evelyn was always trying to hook me up with one of her geezer boyfriend’s friends. Gross. I couldn’t imagine the idea of dating a man so much older than me. I mean, balding with tufts of white hair poking from his ears, and a giant paunch? No thank you, even if he was King Midas himself.

  But Stone Evans had to be older. He was clearly in his forties. He just wasn’t ancient, like Evelyn’s guys. How old was Mr. Evans exactly? Forty-two? Forty-five?

  It didn’t matter. The guy kept himself in tip-top shape, that muscular form powerful beneath a perfectly cut black suit. Everything about the man screamed virility, masculinity, as well as kindness. Because he’d been nice to me, allowing me to slink off with my drink cart instead of facing additional harassment.

  Suddenly, I stopped myself.

  I’m being ridiculous, mooning about my boss. He probably thinks I’m just a kid. I bet he has a beautiful wife or girlfriend. Or even worse, both. I bet they both looked like super models for sure, sleek and trim.

  Meanwhile, I was a plump teen girl, with no
worldly experience, who acted like a bump on a log.

  Who was I kidding?

  This guy was way out of my league. He was in outerspace territory frankly.

  A knock at the door jolted me from my thoughts. Then I remembered the food and jumped up off the bed.

  “Just a second,” came my holler, grabbing some money from my wallet.

  A waiter entered, wheeling in a huge silver dome on a metal cart. With flair, he set up a little table for me in my room, complete with a rose in a bud vase. And then voila! The steak was revealed, juicy and bubbling.

  “Do you need anything else?” he exclaimed with a bow.

  I shook my head.

  “No, this is great. Thank you.” He handed me the receipt to sign. I scribbled my signature and handed it back with some cash for tip.

  “Perfect, madam. Enjoy the rest of your evening,” he nodded graciously.

  And I dove in once the door closed. Don’t keep a girl from her food because she might rip off your head. Especially this girl, who was as hungry as a mountain man.

  But the steak was lackluster, frankly, like it’d been cooked on a home stove instead of an industrial grill. Disappointed, I broke open the little ketchup packets to add more flavor.

  Blegh. Not good.

  But at least I was full.

  Where was Evelyn? I glanced at my phone idly again. Probably out with one of her geezer boyfriends, someone who looked like Santa Claus but without the merry smile.

  I’d rather die than date someone triple my age. Her last boyfriend had to be seventy if a day, wrinkly with a bald pate. I’d asked Evelyn his age, but she’d been vague, waving her hand.

  “Old guys are just as good as young ones,” Evelyn sang. “Plus, they have so much more moolah,” she smirked, rubbing her fingertips together in the age-old gesture for cash.

  Sighing, I finished my meal. Evelyn would always be Evelyn. But hey, who was I to judge? Age is just a number, right? Besides, I was currently fantasizing about Stone Evans, who had to be double my age, so it was the pot calling the kettle black.

  Finishing my meal, I pushed the cart out into the hall for the workers to clean up and set the deadbolt. Throwing myself onto the soft mattress, I checked my phone once more. No new messages.