by Wendy Owens
“What?” she asks quickly when she sees my expression.
I don’t want to tell her that I think it’s amazing she has a single, no frills bag. Kitten would have had her dozen Louis Vuitton suitcases and bags despite my restrictions on her. In fact, she would have tried to turn the trip into a vacation for her and her anorexic socialite replicas.
“Just impressed,” I reply, leaning in and wrapping my left arm through the straps of her bag.
“I can get it,” she exclaims lunging forward.
I straighten up, our heads colliding, resulting in blinding pain.
“Damn it,” I moan, dropping her bag and grabbing my forehead.
“I’m so sorry,” she breathes, rubbing the collision point on her head rapidly.
She looks mortified, and I force a smile and low laugh despite the pulsing pain. “I insist,” I say, lowering a hand and scooping up her bag, tossing it over my shoulder, cautious of her location the entire time.
Kenzie drops her hand to reveal the red spot on her forehead… God, are her eyes jade-colored? They are. They’re incredible. The light in my studio and at the restaurant must have muted their brilliance.
“I probably should have told you before you hired me that grace is something I do not possess,” she jokes.
I stiffen, making my tone serious. “But then I never would have hired you. I mean hell, you’re handling thousands and thousands of dollars’ worth of sensitive equipment.”
Her gorgeous eyes widen, and I realize my sarcasm was not as evident to her as I hoped.
“I’m kidding,” I clarify.
“Oh,” she cracks an uneasy smile.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
“Yeah, you had me. You were a little too convincing.”
“Sometimes I forget exactly how dry my humor can be.”
She hesitates, studying me for a moment. “Yeah, I guess you could call it that.”
I’m staring at her. Stop staring at her. You’re her boss, I remind myself. Clearing my throat, I say “Well, they were just fueling up the jet and waiting on flight plan approval, so we should probably head on out to board.”
“Don’t I have to check my bag first?”
I shake my head. “No, it’s a chartered flight.”
“Oh,” she gasps, and it’s obvious this is a new experience for her. Sometimes I forget that the experiences I’ve had as a billionaire’s child aren’t the norm. Not that this flight will be anywhere near the extravagance my father’s private jets are.
“It’s not as exciting as you think. I carry so much equipment it’s cheaper to charter a flight sometimes.” I explain. “Also, I hate connecting flights when I have anything more than a carry-on. Inevitably, something never makes it to the destination.”
She’s watching me now, her eyebrows lifted, a slight smirk on her face, “I never said I thought it was exciting. You know, I have been on a plane before.”
“I’m sorry,” my voice is surprisingly high pitched. “I just thought you—”
She’s laughing at me now. “I’m just giving you a hard time.”
My cheeks burn and the drumming of my heart thumps in my ears. People don’t tease me. They call me sir. They ask for favors thinking I have the ear of my father, which I don’t. They want things from me. They don’t lightheartedly tease me.
I give her a tight smile and toss her bag over my shoulder.
“Seriously, I can get that,” she says in a panic, pulling the oversized duffle from my shoulder before I can react. It’s more than half her size, but she doesn’t seem to care.
I shrug and motioning toward a Starbucks I ask, “Coffee?”
She delivers a quizzical smile before nodding. Silence grows between us, and I want more than anything to fill it. I have never minded silence before, but for some reason, I feel compelled to not let it linger with her. Is this what it feels like to be nervous?
I attempt small talk, which I quickly figure out can be much worse than the silence.
We stand in line, and I remind myself not to stare too long at her. The silence is less awkward if I’m not caught staring. We order our drinks, and I begin to over scrutinize if I sounded ridiculous with my grande mocha, sugar-free syrup, coconut milk, no foam half-caf latte after she simply orders an Americano.
I let out a breath of relief when her phone buzzes and she lifts it to read a message. Her nose wrinkles briefly before the corners of her lips pull down into a frown. She quickly shoves the phone back into her pocket without responding to the message.
An urge builds deep inside the pit of my stomach. I can’t stop thinking that I should ask her if everything is all right. But I don’t. The man on the other side of the counter hands me my order; I notice my name is misspelled, as usual. I’m confident this is something they train their employees to do at all Starbucks.
“Umm …” she starts, then hesitates.
“What is it?” I ask her.
“I kind of have a really stupid question.”
“Okay,” I draw out the word.
“I Googled what currency I would need in Africa, and it said I would be fine with American money. Is that true?” Kenzie inquires.
“If Google said it, it must be,” I joke, but she doesn’t laugh. “You’re fine. They also accept the Euro everywhere.”
“Lord Voldemort,” the man calls out a moment later.
“Oh, that’s me,” Kenzie says and steps forward, retrieving her order.
I laugh, and she simply smiles in return.
We make our way through security, then we’re escorted to where our plane awaits us. Taking our seats, her phone buzzes again. I watch as her head tilts and her eyes narrow. This time, she turns the power off before putting the phone away.
Debating if it was rude not to ask, I finally managed the words, “Everything okay?”
“Huh,” she breathes, frowning at me, then shakes her head. “Oh, it will be.” She tucks her hair behind her ear and gazes out the window. I suddenly remember the project binder I prepared and retrieve it from the hidden pocket inside my backpack.
“Before I forget,” I say leaning forward, “these are some notes about our client and what they’re looking for from this shoot.”
Her frown quickly shifts upright again as her hands grasp the black three-ring binder and she began to flip through the pages. It takes approximately five seconds before lines begin to form on her forehead.
“Is something wrong?” I inquire.
She forces a smile and shakes head. “Nope.”
“I know this is all new for you. If there’s anything in there you don’t understand, just let me know, okay?” I offer.
She glares at the words on the pages for another minute. “Thanks, I got it.” I can see the information is making her feel pensive. I swallow, my mouth is suddenly very dry. I contemplate explaining the information in the binder further, but then decide to let her digest it on her own first.
Kenzie’s interesting, that much was obvious to me rather quickly. Her duffle bag tells me she’s not high maintenance. Based on her Starbucks order, a sense of humor isn’t lacking. She must be brave to take such a leap of faith on a new job halfway around the world, but what really intrigues me about her are the things I don’t know. There’s something inside her that’s so bright, I have trouble not staring.
The flight takes off and rather than try to fill the silence and risk exhibiting the habit of putting my foot in my mouth repeatedly, I close my eyes and opt for a nap.
WHEN I AGREED TO FLY to Africa for this job I never thought to Google how long the flight would take. Had I actually investigated this matter, I’m not sure I would have eagerly agreed to the twenty hours of travel. However, the flight gave me ample time to pore over the project binder from Aiden and jot down the million questions I would need to research on my laptop once we arrived.
Anna’s the one who obsesses over things, insisting on perfection. I’m the fun loving, fly by the seat of your pants friend. But t
his … this is different. This job feels like it’s a chance at something—a new beginning that’s all mine and I don’t want to mess it up.
We arrived at our hotel in Gaborone City, in Botswana, just after dawn. For some reason, I imagined shanties or straw huts along dirt roads. Instead, my ignorance was revealed when we were greeted by strip malls along the well-lit paved highways that were littered with billboards advertising drive-thru restaurants, social events, and the latest tech gadgets.
Aiden suggested I rest up. I agreed, but there was no possible way I could sleep. Despite my exhaustion, I’d spent the last four hours skimming an e-copy of the very helpful “Photography For Dummies” that I’d purchased.
Our assignment is simple and straightforward. A nature magazine has an article releasing next month about the black rhino. Our job is to capture images of the endangered species in its natural habitat—images that will inspire readers to donate to the rescue fund.
After a quick two-hour sleep break and change of clothes, I make my way down to the restaurant in the lobby. My stomach is churning angrily from the lack of food it’s received in the last day. The texts I got from Ben just before we left on our flight still nag at me, but I refuse to allow them to consume my thoughts.
The first one angry and short. Have a nice life.
The second one is the one I can’t seem to shake. I can’t just stop loving you. Please just be safe, wherever you’re going.
Angry Ben I can handle just fine. I’m a pro at that. It’s when he goes and says something like the second text that haunts me; that makes leaving him so difficult. It’s that Ben who makes me wonder if I’m making the biggest mistake of my life.
“Morning,” I hear Aiden’s familiar voice behind me. He looks well rested though it’s not surprising since he slept nearly the entire flight over here. “Have you eaten yet?”
I shake my head. “Just heading to get something, actually.”
“Great, I’ll join you,” he says with a smile. I want him to quiz me about aperture, ISO, and shutter speed—any question that would allow me to flex my photography knowledge in his face. “Sleep well?”
I lift my fingers to the puffy darkened circles under my eyes and then quickly back down to my side as I follow him into the restaurant. “Great,” I lie.
“I know the jet lag can be killer,” he adds as he slides into an empty booth.
I turn my attention to the menu, which is littered with large bright pictures of the food items available. I’m thankful I don’t have to think much about the food options and order a breakfast sandwich of some sort and coffee. Aiden orders his food, and we sit in silence for a moment. I can feel him watching me.
I look up to see a comforting smile staring back at me, and suddenly before I can stop myself, my tired brain allows my mouth to erupt into total conversational diarrhea. “So I was reading up about the Black Rhinos. Did you realize that a mother is often pregnant with them for fifteen to sixteen months?”
He shakes his head but doesn’t offer a verbal response. This is probably where a rational person would quit talking, but I’m sleep deprived, and therefore not very rational at the moment.
“I mean can you imagine? My best friend Anna just had a baby and she pretty much bitched about being pregnant every time we spoke. Of course, she was one of those people who got lucky enough to have morning sickness last the entire pregnancy. And then there was the fact that her morning sickness was more like all the damn time sickness.” Shut up Kenzie! You have sleep brain going on.
“What did she have?” he asks, and I wonder if he’s simply pretending to be interested because I’m quite certain this isn’t a topic most men care to have discussions about.
“Oh, a girl,” I added, smiling. “I just got back from visiting them in England.”
“Really?” I’m still wondering if he’s pretending to be interested, but apparently I can’t seem to shut up no matter how hard I try. This has always been something I do when I get nervous. “So, your best friend lives in England?”
“Yeah, I mean, I guess. Sort of.”
“You guess she’s sort of your best friend, or she sort of lives in England?” he asks, his soft blue eyes focused on me.
I shake my head and huff. “The England part. It’s quite a long story. She was engaged, he was a total slime ball and cheated on her, so she decided to quit her job and fly halfway around the world to have an adventure.”
“And while she was there she decided to have a baby?” No, he’s not pretending. I can see that now. He’s confused.
“Well, no, she was pregnant when she left.” Why can’t I just shut up already?
“Wait,” he seems even more confused. “With her cheating fiancé’s baby?”
“Yes, but in her defense, she didn’t know she was pregnant when she caught him cheating and decided to leave town. It was right before the wedding, so when it happened, she went bananas.”
“I see.”
“Okay, I know it sounds bad, but she’s really amazing, and she didn’t deserve what happened to her.”
He leans in and whispers, “I never said it sounded bad.”
“No,” I start. “You didn’t. Anyway, she decided after she caught Jack with the neighbor across the hall—”
“Ouch.”
“Exactly!” I exclaim, surprised at how easy it is to talk to him. It’s almost like talking to Anna; of course, that could be the result of foggy brain. “So she worked as a book editor, and she decided to leave her job and fly to England where she was going to … I don’t know … something about walking in the steps of Jane Austen.”
“Got it, makes sense so far.”
“It does? Because it made absolutely no sense to me when she did it.”
“I get it. Sometimes the only way to recover from the toxic people in your life is to get as far away from them as possible.”
“Yeah, I guess.” I’m staring at him, realizing my mouth is hanging open, then I snap it shut. That’s exactly right. Ben is toxic for me right now. Africa is about as far away as I could get.
“And what, once she was there she just decided England was too beautiful to leave?”
“More like the inn keeper was too beautiful to leave,” I joke.
“Ahh, so she found love on the other side of the pond? And do you approve of the new Mr. Right?”
I think about his question, remembering the fear in Holden’s eyes when he thought there was a chance Anna wasn’t going to wake up. Then, when she did wake up, in that one look, I saw a deeper connection than I’d ever seen between her and Jack. “I do, actually. I miss her, don’t get me wrong, but I’m glad she’s happy.”
“Hmm…” He watches me for a moment, absentmindedly running his finger around the rim of the coffee mug the waiter just delivered to us. My mouth feels dry as I drink in his dimpled smile. I wait desperately for him to finish his thought when his phone begins to ring. I grin when I hear the tone is one of my favorite Incubus songs.
He glances at the face and gives a guttural groan of frustration when he sees the caller ID. “Will you excuse me?” he asks, standing and exiting the table.
He’s been gone for a while. I can see him across the restaurant in an abandoned corner by the wall of windows. His hand gestures are animated, and his shoulders are slumped. I try not to stare, but it’s nearly impossible.
The waiter drops off our food and looks curiously around when he sees the empty chair across from me. I catch the waiter as he spies Aiden across the room. The look of trepidation on the poor man’s face assures me I am not reading the conversation wrong. Whoever Aiden is talking to, he’s not happy about it. I can’t help wondering if it’s the famous Kitten. I smirk, thinking of a little harmless fur ball, batting around an oversized ball of yarn. Why would anyone allow themselves to be called Kitten?
I take a bite of my breakfast sandwich and though there are several things on it I have trouble identifying the flavor of, it currently is one of the most satisfying bit
es of food I have ever put in my mouth. My stomach erupts in a churning volcano of acids as the first bite slides down my throat. I nearly choke on the next bite when I see Aiden is heading back to the table.
He looks at my plate, and I suddenly realize how rude I am for starting without him.
“Sorry,” I say, small bits of bread spraying out of my mouth. “I was starving.”
He wrinkles his nose, shakes his head and takes a seat. “You’re fine, it’s not you.”
I finish chewing the bite in my mouth and swallow hard, taking a swig from my water glass next to the coffee. “Everything okay?” I finally manage.
He’s obviously distracted. I hold my breath, waiting for him to recount the repugnant conversation he has just been subjected to. Instead, he ignores me, motioning for the waiter and hands him a credit card. “I’ve got this. And can you wrap mine up to go, please?”
The waiter takes the card and smiles in acknowledgment before turning and scurrying off to do as he was told. Aiden’s annoyed glare keeps me silent. I take another bite, making sure I am chewing with my mouth shut, something I am not always known to do.
“The front desk has our equipment locked in one of their luggage rooms. Can you run through it and do a check on everything?” he asks impatiently, a clear shift in his demeanor.
“Check?” I ask, unsure exactly what he’s referring to.
He sighs in frustration and shakes his head, “just make sure the batteries are all charged and things are clean and look ready to go.”
“Oh!” I exclaim, realizing it’s something I can easily take care of on my own. “Of course.”
“I need to make arrangements for our transportation. Have everything ready to go by noon,” he says, standing as the waiter returns.
“So we’re not staying at the hotel?” I inquire.
“You can leave most of your stuff here, but bring enough with you for a few days,” he explains. The waiter hands him his receipt and the food he just packed up. Aiden delivers a half smile to the man then looks back at me and reiterates as a question, “noon?”
“I’ll be ready,” I assure him, fighting the urge to ask a million questions. Questions like, Where are we going? Where will we sleep? Why will we be gone for three days? Are you sure you hired the right person? What was the deal with that phone call?
