But I’d had enough. Because this situation was sad, more than anything. You don’t pick on the defenseless, and right now, we had a crowd of dumb bullies. The guys roared with laughter as Holly tried to concentrate on pouring the next glass of champagne. Her eyes shimmered with unshed tears, chin trembling slightly.
And that was that. I wasn’t gonna let these guys get away with it.
“All right! Knock it off,” was my rough command. “Shut the fuck up and let her be.”
All conversation stopped for a moment.
“What’s wrong with you?” wheedled Gregory. “We were just having some fun.”
Daniel joined in.
“Get that stick out of your ass, Thorn,” he giggled. “Seriously, she’s just the flight attendant. What’s it to you?”
But that was the thing.
This woman belonged to me.
I bought the airline, and that included all the personnel. Holly’s employment contract was part of the deal.
“Shut the fuck up,” I growled dangerously, blue eyes shooting pure fire. “You fuckers better keep it real.”
Willy wrinkled his nose. “She’s just a maid!” came his whiny protest. “Why does it matter? She’s gonna take out the trash and clean this place up. No big deal.” Lasciviously, the pudgy man ran his eyes up and down that curvy form, undressing her in his mind.
And unbelievably, these guys still didn’t get the picture. Because Daniel leaned forwards then, flashing what he thought was an irresistible grin.
“Why don’t you let us play with her a little, Thorn?” he whimpered, leaning forward to touch the beautiful girl again. “Why not? We’ll give her back to you good as new.”
Holly froze as the men edged closer like a pack of fucking hyenas, panting and hungry.
“Come on, little girl,” wheezed Tom. “Get ready.”
Daniel casually poured himself a glass of champagne and replaced the bottle on the cart. He flopped back into his chair, legs swung over the armrest.
He patted his lap. “Best seat in the house, baby.”
“Ooh,” whistled Gregory. “Take mine instead.”
Because sure enough, he whisked his blazer aside and there was a giant tent in his pants. Actually, giant isn’t the right word. The bulge was more like a tiny molehill, a little bit of nothing that was laughable at best.
So I shut it down quick.
“No more in flight service,” was my statement. “Holly, thank you for your time. Please return to the front of the plane for the rest of the flight.”
And with a grateful glance my way, the brunette rolled the metal cart back up the aisle, giant ass swaying.
Of course, the beta males whined upon seeing a beautiful female depart.
“Really? That’s how you treat the help?” Steven sniffed, pushing his glasses up his nose.
Daniel waved his hands, like a child throwing a tantrum. “You pay her money. Why is this wrong? It’s not like she doesn’t get a salary.”
But at least Gregory had some sense.
“Come on, Thorn,” he wheedled. “We were just kidding around.”
Fortunately, we were interrupted. Because Daniel wrestled the bowl of nuts away from Tom, pecans flying all over the carpet.
I grunted, unable to believe my eyes. These guys really were children. Messy children at that. The carpet would have to be vacuumed and deep-cleaned after we landed.
Rolling my eyes, I gave in. They were kids, and deserved to be treated like kids.
So I stood, rising to my full height within the cabin, dark hair almost scraping the roof.
“Come on. Now that we’re cruising, let’s take a tour of the plane. Wouldn’t you enjoy that? Doesn’t that sound like fun?”
No matter that I basically resembled a kindergarten teacher now. Because the boys jumped up, clapping their hands, faces bright with excitement.
“All right!” one crowed.
“This will be fun!” chirped another.
And en masse, we made our way to the front of the plane first. Fortunately, Holly was nowhere in sight.
The divider door to the galley kitchen opened with ease, revealing gleaming full-size fixtures. You could cook a gourmet meal here for sure. Plus, there was a small bathroom off to the side, fitted with a porcelain sink and toilet. None of that grimy metal shit for Elite Air.
“Here’s the bathroom for passengers,” I rumbled. “Meaning you guys.”
Gregory nodded, ducking his head into the lavatory. “It’s nice. But I don’t need lavender-scented soap.”
My eyes rolled. Jeez, this prick was so fucking clueless. Most likely he didn’t need soap because he didn’t wash his hands after using the john. Disgusting.
But I ignored his comment.
“Come on,” I continued. “Let’s see what else there is.”
I shut the bathroom door and stepped into the kitchen proper. The execs marveled over the spacious set-up. The cabinets were stainless steel, and the countertops were a bright artificial granite, sufficiently lightweight yet glamorous. A full silver tea service perched on the counter, unused.
Incredibly, Gregory managed to locate a bag of fancy pecans from somewhere.
“You’re hiding the good stuff!” he whined. “I want this, not the mixed nuts selection.”
Seriously, could these guys get any worse? I ignored them, striding to the back of the plane, this ragtag band nipping at my heels.
And sure enough, once the door to the private bedroom was opened, a hush of awe descended.
“Wow!” whispered Greg, halfway through cracking a nut. “Wow wow wow!”
“I wish I was you,” whimpered Tom. “Man this place looks so luxe.”
Because there was a king-sized bed dominating the[MJBB3] back wall. Oh yeah, even on this private jet, we were doing lame full size or even queen. We were going all the way with max capacity.
The covers were Egyptian cotton, the duvet monogrammed with “Elite Air” in gold thread. A small nightstand held a built in vase with fresh, cheery marigolds. Plus, there was a docking station for a laptop and a secondary screen secured to the wall. A small barstool chair with a half-back was secured to the tiny desk with clips for takeoffs.
Tom peeked around the corner into the bathroom. It was small, but the luxury was in your face, with cedar wood paneling and a marble floor. An upright soaking tub doubled as a standing shower. The sink was a glass bowl with a waterfall faucet. The smart toilet, shipped in from Japan, doubled as a bidet. Efficient cabinets under the sink allowed for toiletries to be stowed.
“Wow,” whistled Gregory. “Wow wow wow.”
At this point, his mouth was hanging open, half eaten nuts visible.
“This is like an air yacht,” Tom whistled before stepping back, eyebrows almost off his forehead. “Incredible.”
Daniel flopped onto the bed like the place belonged to him.
“Yeah, Thorn! You gotta hook me up with one of these babies for Ibiza. I need this to impress the ladies!”
Internally, I was thinking “no way.” But on the outside, my expression remained neutral.
“Yeah maybe,” was my cool reply. “We’ll see.”
And the guys erupted into hoots and hollers then.
“Ibiza, here we come! South of France! Saint Tropez! Ladies, we hittin’ it big time!”
Oh shit. Oh shit shit. Flying in a circle above New York with these losers was already bad enough, but even worse was the thought of actually going somewhere with them, much less a trans-Atlantic trip. No way.
But I kept mum as the others danced and jigged, leaning against a fabric wall.
Because there was still that girl.
My thoughts wandered to how I could make that little stewardess squeal. It’s wrong, I know. We only just met, and she’d been humiliated by my buddies, groped and pawed by a bunch of skanky hyenas.
But I couldn’t shake Holly from my mind. Because that curvy figure would look gorgeous swallowed up in the plane’s bed with the co
tton sheets tossed haphazardly to the floor.
What kind of sounds would she make?
Her uniform didn’t leave much to the imagination, that was for sure. That tiny waist was mind-blowing, flaring into a dramatic hourglass figure. Her breasts had bounced so naturally when Willy was prodding her, proving that there was no padding on that shit. I imagined ripping the buttons off her navy outfit and watching those tits explode from her blouse.
Oh yeah.
We were getting’ down now.
Because I’m a dirty fuck, and Holly was gonna get it soon.
But still, it was the contrast that struck me. Her face was absolutely angelic, the skin almost glowing. And yet that body was made for nastiness between the sheets.
Suddenly, the intercom came on again.
“Passengers, please take your seats,” droned the pilot. “Prepare for landing.”
I straightened.
“Come on. Time to strap in. We’re done.”
And it was like herding a bunch of cats, these guys zigging and zagging, reluctant to go back to their seats.
Daniel pouted, craning his neck to look back at me. “Can’t you just tell them to circle around again? We’re having so much fun!”
I shook my head and pushed Willy away from the closets. Was he literally digging around, seeing what he could find?
“No, that’s all you get. You want your own flight to somewhere, then buy a ticket.”
The guys groaned but obediently shuffled back to their seats then. Holding back a sigh, I set my empty champagne flute in the cup holder built into the side table, only to be interrupted once more.
“Are there any good movies on here?” Tom picked up the remote and tried to turn the television on.
Gregory bit his lip. “I don’t think we’re supposed to turn stuff on while the plane is landing.”
Willy snorted. “That’s what they tell you, but it’s a bunch of bullshit! See if the latest Bond movie is on there. I wanted to see that on the theaters, but this flat screen will be just as good,” he smirked.
What the hell?
What was wrong with these losers?
The thought of killing them crossed my mind for the umpteenth time.
I grabbed the remote from Tom and shut the television off. It sank back into the floor, slow and graceful.
“Stop. We don’t need a movie. It’ll only be a few minutes until we land.”
And finally, these guys settled down, keeping their hands to themselves. Slowly, the bird descended from the sky like an angel floating on wings, coming to a gradual halt on the tarmac. We taxied for a bit, before hearing the hiss of the engines as they shut off.
“That was awesome!” Daniel unclipped his seatbelt and jumped up. “Thorn, you are seriously the man!”[MJBB4]
Tom nodded, setting his empty glass on the side table.
“Take us again,” he wheedled. “Remember, you promised. Ibiza.”
“Yeah!” Willy squeezed out of his chair. “I’ll go with! Don’t leave me behind.”
With a tight smile on my face, I shepherded these losers out. Not a moment too soon because Gregory scanned the plane as if giving a last look.
“Maybe we could be best friends, Thorn? And then you could take us on another ride?”
That was laughable. Hopefully, I’d never be trapped in an enclosed space with these fools ever again. And slowly, we made our way out of the cabin and onto the gleaming metal stairs.
Like most flight attendants, Holly stood at attention near the doorway with a brave smile. Needless to say, that smile didn’t reach her eyes as she waved to the men.
“Goodbye, thank you for flying with Elite Air!” was her dulcet farewell. “Come fly with us again.”
Gregory literally purred at her, his eyes suggestive.
“I hope you’re on our flight to Ibiza, sweetheart. We’ll party hardy then, baby[MJBB5].”
And Daniel was even more shameless, handing her his business card.
“Call me,” he directed. “I have money.”
Holly accepted the business card politely, but her fingers trembled.
“Thank you sir,” was her quiet reply. “Come again.”
But the girl did something brave then. She took a deep breath, as if mentally fortifying herself, and squared those narrow shoulders. Then the professional smile slid in place again as she turned my way.
“It’s been a pleasure Mr. Evans. I hope you enjoyed your trip.”
I gave her credit for that. This poor thing had been harassed up, down and all the way around for forty-five minutes straight. Fat, paunchy guys had grabbed her breasts, squeezing them painfully.
And yet she was professional still. The brunette knew how to make the best of a bad situation, and I respected her for that.
This girl deserved a raise.
A bonus at the very least.
Something very special … straight from me.
So I shot her a cool look.
“Meet me at Elite Air offices tomorrow, five sharp in the evening,” was my harsh command.
She gasped slightly, eyes wide, but then smiled politely.
“Of course, Mr. Evans. Have a great day.”
And that was that. I pulled myself away and stepped out into the fresh air. Well, as fresh as a New York airport can be with the pollution and smog. But still, it felt nice to be outdoors once again, and immediately a small man scampered up.
“Mr. Evans,” he bowed courteously. “Please, let me show you to the gate.”
Ah, of course. Concierge service. A golf cart whizzed up, ready to take us to our destination because walking on the tarmac was too plebian for a bunch of rich guys like us.
So quickly, we piled in and sped off, the gleaming plane growing small in the distance.
But still, my mind wandered back to Holly.
The curvy brunette was all mine.
After all, I bought and paid for her, along with this fleet of aircraft.
Sure, her employment contract didn’t get into personal services.
But it was about to become real … and there were no two ways to it.
CHAPTER THREE
Holly
Oh no. Mr. Evans ordered me to meet him at the office tomorrow. Was I already being fired? On my first flight with Elite Air?
Oh god.
No.
What have I gotten myself into?
Because I did my best given the situation yesterday. What else could I do? I was an eighteen year-old girl, outmanned and outflanked on every side. The guys were at least twenty years older than me, licking their chops like hungry wolves circling a vulnerable lamb.
Plus, everything about this job has been strange from the get go. It all started with the interview that brought me into this mysterious world.
Because I was a new flight attendant, fresh from a six-week training course. So no, I couldn’t exactly call myself a flight attendant yet. More like I was a flight attendant wannabe.
But there’d been an ad in the paper, and I’d circled it excitedly with a red pen.
Looking for Sensational Flight Attendants to Work For Private Carrier. $100k Annual Salary Plus Benefits.
One hundred thousand dollars! That was double what the commercial airlines offered. So immediately, I dashed an email off to their listed contact, attaching a photo. It was weird that they required a recent photograph, but no big deal. I was using my student ID.
And my inbox pinged not fifteen minutes later.
We’re interested, the email read. Please arrive at our offices at 10 sharp tomorrow morning for an interview.
What in the world?
I had some errands to run, but no matter. This interview was way more important. My best friend Katrina came over that night, helping me prep for the interview by lobbing sample questions my way. Things like:
“How do you trigger the emergency lights?”
“Are there extra tankards of jet fuel on board the Airbus 242? If so, are they accessible to flight crew?
What kinds of precautions must be taken when handling jet fuel?”
So nervously, I stepped into the Midtown Manhattan office building the next day. Sure, I could spew answers like a Jeopardy contestant, but that didn’t mean the job was mine.
Breathe, came my internal voice. Calm down. Relax. You got this.
But my interviewer was scary. Really, really scary. She looked like a school teacher, graying-brown hair pulled up in a severe bun. Plus, there were lines around her mouth that came from frowning all the time.
Oh god.
She hated me on sight.
I could feel it.
“Good afternoon, Miss Nelson,” the woman said frigidly. “I trust you read the handbook I emailed you?”
I nodded hesitantly.
“Yes, thank you. I was able to read most of it last night.”
Of course, that thing had been five hundred pages long. But there was no sense in getting into the details. This was an interview after all, and I had to present myself in a good light.
The woman nodded frigidly.
“Great. Then you understand that this is a private airline that requires a certain level of discretion?”
I nodded again, trying not to fidget.
“Of course, ma’am. I don’t want to make anyone uncomfortable. I’m sure it’s hard for famous people. They just want to have some peace and quiet.”
Helena nodded, pleased.
“Precisely. You will also need to exercise a certain amount of leniency with the clients as well. Typical rules do not apply to this airline.”
I straightened up in my chair. What did that mean? But I’ve learned in my short life that it’s easier to give people what they want. Especially during an interview.
“I understand,” was my quick nod. “It must be hard. Famous people play by different rules because they different restrictions. Of course.”
Helena lifted an eyebrow and shot me another look up over her glasses.
“Our clients may or may not be famous,” she said dismissively. “It makes no different to someone such as yourself. All we ask for are discretion and the ability to … ah, be flexible.”
But the woman gave me no time to ask more. Instead, those piercing eyes flitted down as she scanned through her daily planner.
Claiming His Virgin In the Ring Page 11
