by Avery Aster
Her bags hit the floor again and she quickly unlocked her door, pocketing the key. She bent and retrieved the envelope, turning it over, her confusion only deepening. Her name on the envelope was handwritten in a delicate script, flowing and elegant. She could almost swear it looked like it had been written with a quill pen.
This was no note from her landlord or the superintendent. Curiosity piqued, she slid a finger beneath the flap and extracted a thick, folded creamy sheet of paper. She unfolded it and began to read.
Leila’s eyes widened in disbelief as she read the note. This had to be a joke, someone’s idea of sick humor. She read the note again, her brows drawing together. It couldn’t be.
“Bad news?”
Leila jumped, startled, clutching the note to her chest as she turned. Her neighbor, Jordon Richards, was standing behind her, peering over her shoulder.
“Jordon. No, um…not really. Just…it’s an invitation.”
“Oh, to a party?” His eyes lit up and he favored her with what she thought he probably considered a charming smile. “How fun.”
Much to her consternation, Jordon leaned against the wall next to her. They’d gone out once, for drinks in the hotel lobby next door. Leila had been taken by his boyish good looks; high cheekbones, blond hair, perfect teeth. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and carried himself with all the confidence of a real man, so it hadn’t taken much for her to get caught up in the perfect gentleman.
Or so she’d thought. She’d eagerly agreed to drinks, carrying the fantasy that maybe she’d finally found the man of her dreams, living right across the hall from her of all places. Perhaps her luck was about to change and a real relationship would blossom.
But Jordon had turned out to be as boorish as they come, interested in only talking about himself and his many successes. The drinks devolved into a walk outside, even though Leila wasn’t dressed for a midnight ramble, where he insisted on telling her just how lucky she was to be on a date with him. She’d finally gotten him to take her home, desperate to escape. Sometime early in the evening, she’d decided he would not be invited into her apartment for a nightcap. But Jordon had other ideas. He’d pressed her against the wall outside her apartment, swooping in for a goodnight kiss that turned into an uncomfortably long and intimate one, far too intimate for Leila’s liking.
She’d wiggled out from beneath him, pleading an early day at work before finally disappearing into her apartment. She had tried to avoid him ever since.
“So, are you going?”
Leila blinked at him. “Going? Oh, um…no, it’s not to a party. It’s, ah, business related.”
“Oh, what a shame. We could have had a good time together. I would have been happy to go with you.” He detached himself from the wall, moving closer, shifting his body so that he had her pressed against the door of her apartment. His cologne overwhelmed her as he leaned closer, his hot breath fluttering over her neck.
“I had a good time, Leila. We should go out again. Or, we could always stay in.” He ran his hand up her arm, squeezing her with long fingers.
“Jordon, really. I just got home…I’m tired.”
“Then staying in would be perfect.” He leaned in closer still, his mouth coming down on hers as his hand moved from her arm to slide across her breast, squeezing hard.
Leila stiffened at the touch of his lips on hers and the rough touch of his hand, appalled by his audacity. As his tongue probed her tightly clamped lips, he thrust his knee between hers, parting her legs, rubbing his thigh against her body.
The crack of her hand against his cheek was surprisingly loud and more painful than she would have imagined. Jordon jerked back instantly, his eyes going dark, brow furrowed.
“What the hell, Leila?”
“I…I’m…” An automatic apology rose to her lips, but that wasn’t really what she wanted to do. Fumbling behind her, she opened the door to her apartment, reached down, and grabbed her bags, backing through the door. Jordon took a step forward, but she slammed the door before he could get inside.
She looked at the closed door a moment then quickly reached out, turning the lock. There was a thud from the other side, possibly Jordon kicking the door, and a muffled curse. Leila took an instinctive step backward, her hand on her throat.
Then there was silence and she ventured forward after a moment, peering through the peephole. She caught a glimpse of Jordon entering his apartment and heard the resounding slam of his door.
Leila turned, heading for the couch. She collapsed onto the cushions, leaned back, and closed her eyes. This day had just gone from bad to worse. Jordon was one more example, proving once again that Leila was a failure when it came to men. Someone at the conference had suggested, rather strongly, that her inability to craft a believable romance might stem from her own lack of experience. She’d wondered at the time if someone had read her journals or her mind but dismissed that line of thought as completely absurd, bordering on paranoia.
It had occurred to her though, more than once, that not being lucky in love might impact her writing. Even though the dictum of write what you know was often touted as the first rule of writing, romance or otherwise, she didn’t take that to heart. After all, there were many popular crime and thriller writers who had never carried out a jewelry heist or killed anyone, and their books were wildly successful.
With a sigh, Leila realized she was still clutching the now crumpled note in her hand. Smoothing out the paper on her knee, she read through it one more time.
It was an invitation, not to a party, but to an exclusive weeklong writing retreat. The invitation came from not just anyone, but from Cheryl Bullard herself. The note went on to explain that while Ms. Bullard realized Leila’s experiences at the convention may not have been all that positive, she had recognized something in Leila’s writing, a certain creative spark that, with intensive and personal attention, would help Leila blossom into the romance writer Ms. Bullard knew she could be.
The rest of the note held instructions for Leila to arrive at the helipad atop the Norris-Marcum building, not far from her apartment. There she would be taken to the location of the retreat, which would be held in secret. Everything she needed would be provided, including her attire for the week. She was to bring only her passport. The note also held assurances that arrangements had been made with her employer, granting her immediate leave.
Leila sat for a moment in the late morning light, stunned, trying to imagine what it would be like, traveling to some remote location, spending a week with Cheryl Bullard herself. Leila’s heart stuttered in her chest just thinking about being alone in the same room with the romance mogul. The woman’s novels were epic, deeply romantic and sensual, her characters so alive on the page that when Leila set down one of Ms. Bullard’s books, she was incapable of writing for days, her thoughts scattered, her mind constantly going back to the scenes in the book.
The note listed three o’clock that afternoon as the departure time. Leila glanced at her watch. It was just before two. If she took a shower, changed clothes, and grabbed her cosmetics bag from her luggage, she might just make the deadline.
Leila shook her head; it was all madness, some horrible prank. Things like this just didn’t happen. Or they only happened in fiction. This was real life…her life.
A loud bang on her door and the harsh voice of Jordon Richards on the other side brought her bolt upright on the couch. She couldn’t hear the words, but the tone was belligerent, angry, and possibly drunk. Then the voice faded down the hall and was gone. The thought of spending a week away from Jordon was the deciding factor.
“I’ll do it.” Her voice sounded more resolute than she really felt, but saying the words out loud seemed to give credence to the whole crazy idea. Worst case, she’d waste cab fare for a round trip and be no worse for wear, albeit horribly embarrassed for being so gullible.
But a tiny voice said she’d regret at least not taking the chance. Leila wasn’t a daredevil, but she’d played it
safe all her life. Maybe an adventure was what exactly she needed.
Chapter Two
Leila paid the cab driver and climbed out, clutching her purse and a small carry bag. She glanced up at the massive building made of steel and glass, shimmering in the bright New York sun. The note had said everything would be provided, including clothes, and she wondered if some kind of role-playing would be involved. It seemed odd, but then again, there was nothing about any of this that seemed in any way normal.
Grabbing the chrome handle of the large glass doors, she pulled it towards her. To her surprise, the lobby door was locked. A security guard responded to her knock, opening the double doors and ushering her inside. The lobby was empty, the reception area dark. It was Sunday, she mused, and no one was working.
“Ms. Connors?”
She nodded, startled that he knew her name.
“This way, please.”
The guard ushered her to a bank of elevators. Once inside a car, he inserted a key, turned it, and the elevator took off at a dizzying speed, whisking them smoothly to their destination.
“Follow me.” The guard led the way down an elegant carpeted hallway, soft lighting accenting framed paintings along the wall. Leila glanced at the artwork, surprised to notice many works by the old masters. But she was almost trotting as she tried to keep pace with the guard as he strode down the hallway, his long legs making it difficult for Leila to keep up.
At the end of the hall, he unlocked a nondescript gray metal door. Pushing it open, he held it for her. She hesitated, blinking as she stepped into the sun, almost blinded by the reflection from a neighboring building. She heard the sound of the door closing behind her and she turned, now facing the outside of the metal door. From the other side, she heard the sound of the key in the lock.
“Ms. Connors? This way.”
She turned toward the voice, finding a man in a pilot’s uniform standing by her side.
“Yes…I mean, thank you.”
He walked toward a helicopter set on what looked like the very edge of the roof. Leila followed, clutching her purse and bag tightly, her heart beating faster. The flight to Austin and back had been enough of a challenge. But flying in a helicopter was almost enough to make her turn around and run. Except that her only escape route was through a locked door. The pilot turned, holding out his hand, and she had the doomed sense there was no turning back now.
Just do it, Leila. The voice in her head was commanding, providing her with the last bit of courage that she needed.
“Watch your step, please. You can stow your bags beneath your seat. I’ll help you with your harness after I board.”
She drew a shuddering breath, accepted his hand, and climbed into the helicopter, taking the seat next to the pilot’s. The helicopter seemed absurdly small, and she struggled to cram her bags beneath the seat. Maybe this was the explanation for the no luggage clause for the trip.
“Here. You’ll need to wear these as well. Once we’re in the air, it’s the only way we can communicate.” The pilot was settling himself beside her, holding out a large headset. She slid them over her ears as he reached across her body, fastening the harness securely around her.
The pilot began flipping a complicated series of switches and Leila turned away, looking out of the cockpit window, taking a small measure of comfort that the man appeared to know what he was doing.
“Excuse me, but where are we going?”
“Sorry, ma’am. I can’t answer that.”
“Can’t?” Or won’t?” Leila’s heart leapt in her chest. Was she being kidnapped? Was this really some elaborate scheme by someone? Would Jordon be that crazy?
“My instructions are to fly you to a small private airfield just outside the city. You’ll be met there by your guide, and that’s all I know.”
He gave her a sympathetic smile and shrugged. “Don’t look so worried. From what I do know, you’re in good hands. The payment for this leg of your journey was made by a very prominent and well-respected writer.”
Leila let out the breath she realized she’d been holding, smiling for the first time since…she couldn’t remember.
“Thank you. This is…just all a bit overwhelming.”
“Yes, ma’am. I understand.”
And with that the rotors began turning, the helicopter vibrating around her. Her hands gripped the edge of her seat. Everything became very loud as the helicopter lifted off the ground. The pilot held the machine steady for a moment and then they began rising very quickly into the air.
Leila was fine for the few brief seconds they were still over the building, but as the machine rose higher and the buildings fell away, her heart leapt into her throat and she squeezed her eyes tightly closed. After a few moments, she became aware of the static over the headset, and then she heard the pilot’s voice.
“Ma’am, breathe. You’re fine. You’ll feel better if you keep your eyes open. Enjoy the view; it’s not every day you get a bird’s-eye view of the city.”
Leila opened her eyes cautiously, making sure to look straight ahead. They were flying over the skyscrapers of Manhattan. She watched the buildings passing beneath them and she focused on trying to recognize those that she could. But soon they were over the Hudson River and then she lost track of where they were.
Leila was just getting the feel for the sway and movement of the helicopter when the pilot banked suddenly, swooping down toward a small patch of green. Leila pushed herself back into the seat as the ground seemed to rise much too fast. The green beneath them formed itself into an airfield, dotted with toy-sized buildings and planes.
The helicopter slowed then, and the pilot set the machine gently onto the grass. Leila sat for a moment, willing herself to draw a breath and for her fingers to release their death grip on the seat. The pilot’s voice was in her ears again.
“Ma’am, you can remove your headset now.”
She pulled off the headset as the pilot reached over and undid the safety harness, which retracted back into its housing. There was a noise to her side and then a cool rush of incoming air as the door of the helicopter opened.
“Enjoy the rest of your trip.” The pilot smiled and she nodded in his direction. A hand gripped her elbow and she turned, looking down into the eyes of another man dressed in a crisp navy blue uniform and hat.
“Ma’am, if you’ll follow me.” He helped her down, and she reached back for her bag and purse. The helicopter pilot had turned back to the dials and switches of his machine.
The second pilot was waiting, and she followed him across the grass. Her heart gave a little leap of joy at the sight of a small Learjet on the tarmac. She’d done research on private jets for a long-ago manuscript and remembered all the luxurious details she’d given her hero’s plane. She hoped the real live version in front of her had half the amenities.
“If you’ll have a seat, we’ll be underway.”
The pilot held her hand as she walked up the small flight of stairs into the plane. She hesitated then turned back, leaning down to speak to the pilot.
“Let me guess, you’re not at liberty to tell me where I’m going.”
He smiled up at her. “On the contrary, Ms. Connors. We’ll land in Miami in just over three hours. Also, they’re an hour ahead of us, so you may want to adjust your watch.” He touched the visor of his hat and was gone.
“Ms. Connors? If you’ll be seated.”
This voice was female, and Leila turned. A woman stood there, in a skirt and jacket matching the pilot’s uniform minus the hat, wearing a pleasant smile.
“Thank you.” Leila moved further into the cabin and took in her surroundings.
Everything was covered in cream-colored leather, with four large plush seats surrounding a table. There was a banquet along one side. On the other side of the cabin was a polished mahogany sideboard, echoing the wood trim of the cabin. Leila dropped her bag and purse onto one seat and took the one closest to the window.
“My name is Stephanie an
d I’ll be with you for the duration of the flight. If you’ll fasten your seat belt, we’ll be underway.”
Leila did as she was instructed and Stephanie walked to the front of the cabin, speaking briefly through an open door into the cockpit before closing it. The door was covered in polished mahogany as well and closed with a reassuringly solid sound.
Stephanie took a small seat near the front of the plane and fastened her seat belt. She turned, giving Leila a professional flight attendant smile.
“We’ll be able to remove these in just a few moments. Then, if you like, we have some refreshments. Something to tide you over until you reach your ultimate destination.”
“Miami, right? That’s what the pilot told me.”
Stephanie continued to smile. “Yes, well, that’s where we’re headed now, but no, that’s not your ultimate destination.”
Leila frowned. “I don’t understand.”
Beneath her, Leila felt the plane begin taxiing down the runway. She squeezed her eyes shut and clamped her hands down on the armrests of her seat, bracing herself against the plush leather as the plane’s speed increased and the wheels left the runway.
“Breathe, Ms. Connors.”
Leila opened her eyes. Stephanie’s smile was firmly in place. Despite her thudding heart and sweating palms, Leila found something reassuring in the constancy of that smile. She drew in a slow breath, deliberately uncurling her fingers.
“I’m not fond of flying. Take offs and landings are the worst, and…well, pretty much everything in between is just as bad.”
“You’re not the first, Ms. Connors. But we have an excellent pilot in Captain McKenzie, and in his co-pilot, Captain Walsh.”
“Please, call me Leila. And thank you. I’m sure Captain McKenzie is an excellent pilot. It’s just…I haven’t flown very much until recently.” A nervous laugh escaped Leila’s lips.
“I guess I’m making up for lost time.”
A soft chime sounded and Stephanie briskly unfastened her seat belt, rising smoothly.
