That Sexy Stranger

by Nadia Lee

  Probably static electricity. He ought to use some fabric softener.

  Back out in the main room, I yank my coat roughly off the chair. It gets caught, and the chair topples over. I debate righting it—I should right it—but I can feel the weight of Luke’s gaze on my ass, so I just walk out. It’s only after pressing the call button for the elevator that I juggle the box of toys and shrug into the coat. No need to flash everyone in San Mateo.

  Once I’m back in my rental, I grip the steering wheel and bang my head against my knuckles a few times. I don’t know why Luke and David decided to switch rooms, but what just happened proves one thing:

  Evil does exist. And right now, Good is down by one.

  Chapter Three

  Even though I slept badly last night, I still go for my early a.m. run, since there’s no way I’m letting that man—Luke—disrupt my routine. The only thing that could stop me would be weather bad enough to ground planes, and the Bay Area isn’t suffering from anything like that this morning.

  My tailbone’s slightly sore as I pound the pavement, and I wonder what could have… Then I remember how hard I landed on it last night. Ugh. I pump my limbs faster, as though by speeding up I can outrun the humiliating experience.

  And maybe forget the oh-so-disturbing dream I had last night. It was legit crazy, starring me, Luke, David, and his ex.

  I was in David’s suite in a nun’s habit—don’t ask—but instead of David, Luke walked in, big and lean in his navy suit. And he ran that hot, dark gaze all over me, even though the outfit I had on wasn’t some kind of “nun costume” women wear to seduce their boyfriends. It was the real deal, the exact thing you’d see at an abbey.

  Still, Luke looked at me as though I were in the black corset and fishnet stockings. Well. I was wearing them underneath the habit—I just kept them hidden. I know, it makes no sense.

  Then David walked in, his gaze fiery, and said, “I love the black on you.” That made me happy, and I started to walk toward him—but Luke pulled a wand out of his jacket and turned my outfit into a shade exactly midway between highlighter yellow and lime green. He’s probably a dabbler in dark magic; it’s got to be against the rules for sorcerers to be in a suit.

  David immediately flung a hand over his face and screamed, “My eyes!” and ran to his ex, who was in the same black corset I had on in real life yesterday, and Luke laughed the evil villain laugh. Instead of being angry with him, I flung off the habit to show him my corset, which was now the same ugly shade of yellow-green. I’m still not sure why my dream-self did that, because my subconscious couldn’t be thinking I had hots for him. It’s usually more intuitive than that.

  Luke didn’t recoil like David. “I don’t care what color you’re in. I want you.”

  As Luke reached out to cup my chin, I woke up…and couldn’t get back to sleep.

  I hate it that I can’t just forget this dream—I almost never remember them—and I especially can’t stand it that Luke’s intense expression as he spoke of wanting me refuses to just…go poof and vanish from my mind. Maybe the dream’s really a warning that Luke’s a follower of Sauron. Who says The Lord of the Rings is fake? Our lives could be the fake ones that people from Middle Earth are reading about in books.

  Ahhh, nuts. I’m not even making any sense. Although I’m tired from the lack of sleep, I’m also pretty wired. There’s a small prickling of energy all over my skin. I pick up the pace and run the rest of the way at a speed that makes me want to heave at the end of the hour.

  One quick shower and protein-rich energy bar later, I finish packing. The ill-fated bustier, thong, stockings, shoes, and toys go into the bottom of my suitcase. I can’t wait to get home so I can do something relaxing, like play video games. Or burn all the stuff I bought specifically for this trip. It’s probably cursed or something. Otherwise how could David switch rooms with that horrible man, and why didn’t Erin know about it? Isn’t it her job to know? Jan would’ve known. But then, she’s very detail-oriented and—as David’s cousin—privy to all sorts of gossip.

  I arrive at the airport with two hours to spare. I whip out my credit card and swipe it to get my boarding pass from one of the kiosks, but it errors out. Huh. I try one more time, and it fails again. What the hell?

  Don’t tell me there’s something wrong with my reservation. If nothing else, just get me on the plane…even if it’s going to end up in aviation brutality as they try to remove me. That way I can at least sue them.

  The kiosk flashes a message, telling me to see a customer service representative. I instantly gird my loins. Being asked to see an airline agent is like being told to go to your high school principal’s office for reasons unknown. This cannot end well.

  There’s a huge line for economy, but I find a shorter one for online check-in and go there instead. It’s staffed by a uniformed woman with poofy yellow-brown hair, a nose like a hawk’s beak, and thin lips coated with the most vivid shade of red. The lipstick’s slightly smeared.

  I hand her my ID, and she taps on the computer. Suddenly her thin eyebrows rise, wrinkling her forehead, and I swallow, waiting for her to start the aviation brutality.

  Instead, she beams…except with her smudged lipstick, she looks a bit like the Joker now. “Ms. Jamieson, are you checking your bag?”

  “No. Carry-on.” I would love to check it so some asshole TSA agent could steal my ill-fated outfit and toys and take on the curse. But it’s strict corporate policy not to check bags unless the trip’s longer than five business days.

  “Excellent.” She grins again.

  Why is she doing that? It’s creepy. But I don’t want to look like a jerk, so I smile back.

  She gives me my ID and boarding pass. I glance at it to make sure everything’s correct.

  Seat 1A. First class.

  I check the name. Samantha Jamieson. Yup. That’s me. And all the other details of the flight check out.

  “Is there anything else I can help you with?” she asks.

  I want to ask her if this can seriously be right, but think better of the idea. One should never look a gift upgrade in the mouth. If there are any problems, the gate agent will let me know, right?

  Since she upgraded me, I feel like I should say something about her lipstick. But maybe she won’t appreciate it and toss me back in economy. After all, this upgrade depends on her whim.

  I tell her no, then go through security and wait. I’ve never flown in the front of a plane before. The flight will be about five hours, spanning four time zones. But, you know, I could use a bit of pampering after last night’s humiliation. Regrouping will probably be probably better in first class.

  Since I have over an hour to kill before boarding, I boot my laptop to check email. There are three new messages from Gerald in my personal Gmail account. Snorting softly, I delete them unread—I have no time to waste on a guy who thinks he’s too clever for fidelity. The timing worked out, too. He got caught red-handed at a restaurant with another girl he met on some online dating site three days before David broke up. I have firm rules about cheating and lying, and they are no secret to the guys I date—I’m a full disclosure girl—so Gerald has no one to blame but himself, even though he seems to believe it was either a misunderstanding or totally my fault, depending on how long you let him yap.

  Besides, I had my crazy maze dream two days before I caught Gerald with the girl, so I know he and I are a hundred percent through. It always comes before a relationship’s about to implode, and it’s always the same. I’m dressed in a thin, gauzy white dress like some kind of virgin sacrifice—which is ridiculous, since I haven’t been a virgin for years—and am lost in a maze. But I always find my way out before the dream’s over, and when I do, I see a guy’s silhouette shrouded in dense fog.

  Since it’s a dream and it’s supposed to be annoying and not make any sense, I never, ever see the guy’s face before I wake up, although my subconscious is convinced he’s a hottie. Why else would I have wasted my time and energy
on looking for him, right? I mean, although I’m always trying to leave the maze in my dream, it isn’t too bad as mazes go. It has delicious free food stations along the way, excellent free mobile reception with the LTE network for my phone, and tons of great free cafés and coworking spaces with super-comfy Embody chairs. And there’s never a line at any of those places when I’m peckish, and they’re never, ever crowded. I’ve never seen a hospital there, but I’m healthy as a horse, so I probably don’t need one. At least not in the dream, anyway.

  Pushing thoughts of Gerald and the dream away, I submit my expense report electronically, along with scanned receipts. I spot a new email from David that just landed in my inbox. Subject: “Items from Last Night.” Marked: Important.

  Did he hear about the incident in his suite? Does he regret the lost opportunity? He probably does. Who wouldn’t regret missing a chance at finding his destiny?

  Worry not. I’ll give you another shot.

  My heart pounds as I click on it. Detailed bullet points on new feature requests fill my screen. I deflate faster than one of Michelle’s soufflés. Seriously? These pass for important? Okay, maybe…since we need to sort and finalize the three critical features for the next release…but come on.

  I take a moment to console myself. David probably can’t communicate his anguish about last night using the company IT resources. Our policy dictates that every email we send and receive on the company server is viewable by the Sweet Darlings Inc. internal control team. I need to find a graceful way to move our correspondence over to our personal accounts. Or maybe texting. It’s seriously the best way to communicate, instant and personable without being overwhelmingly personal.

  Once boarding starts, I get to go on before the other passengers. The gate agent smiles and welcomes me onto the plane. A flight attendant offers a glass of bubbly when I take my seat and buckle in. I down it in one swallow—the glass is tiny, sample-size, really—and she immediately gives me another.

  Wow. I could get used to this.

  The second champagne goes down as smoothly as the first. Although my job pays well, I’m twenty-two and not picky about my alcohol. I’m going to get my seat’s worth. Who knows when I’ll get upgraded again?

  First class is completely full except for the seat next to me, and economy’s filling up fast. Passenger after passenger trudges to the back of the plane as time goes on. I’m on my fourth champagne when I start to feel a mild buzz. I don’t have to go in today—the plane lands too late—so I don’t feel too terrible when the flight attendant gives me a fifth and says, “Have you decided on what you’d like for lunch?”

  “Huh?”

  She pulls out a menu—an actual paper menu!—from a pocket next to me. “Here you go.”

  “Thanks,” I say smoothly, as though this is nothing unusual or exciting.

  But holy cow. They’re going to feed me! I check the offerings. Hmm. It’s not your usual chicken-flavored rubber or pasta paste. There’s steak—made with real beef, not some mysterious meat-like substance—and chicken lasagna. Oh, and it comes with a salad and appetizer. And ice cream. Woohoo! I’d like to have both entrées, but that would probably be pressing my luck. I settle on the medallion steaks and potatoes. I’m hungry after my anemic breakfast.

  I hear a final cheery “Welcome aboard” and the solid, metallic thunk of the door closing. I’m sort of sad that we’re about to take off—which means I now have less time to take advantage of all the first-class amenities—but I’m also itching to get going. First class or not, a plane is a plane, and I want to stretch out in my bed and get some decent sleep.

  I sense the final passenger placing something in the overhead bin above me. Then I look up and let out a yelp as though a snake just fell on my head.

  Luke gives me a blinding smile. Dumbfounded, I take in his presence. This is much, much worse than some cold and scaly serpent slithering down my shirt.

  He’s in a gray cashmere sweater, old jeans, and Nike running shoes. The casual outfit seems a bit incongruous for the kind of guy he is—well-off and arrogant. He should be in a diamond vest with Stalin’s face tattooed on his cheek.

  “Good morning,” he says.

  It used to be. “What are you doing here?”

  “Taking my seat, of course.” He plops down next to me and buckles in. The flight attendant brings him a glass of bubbly, which he accepts with murmured thanks.

  I realize my jaw is hanging open and shut it. Then I gulp down the rest of my drink to buy myself some time to think. It takes a moment, but I finally regain my full faculties. “That can’t be your seat.”

  “It is. 1B.” He shows me the boarding pass on his phone, complete with his full name. Luke Madison.

  “But… What are the odds that I’d get upgraded specifically to sit next to you on a five-hour flight?”

  He grins. “Next to zero, which is why I arranged it. Actually, I had my assistant arrange it.”

  See? He doesn’t even try to hide it. “Do you usually stalk and harass prostitutes?” Just as I say that in my most mocking tone of voice, a thought crosses my mind. How did he find out who I am? Did he talk to David? Oh my God. My cheeks heat, and it has nothing to do with the alcohol.

  Luke smirks. “A first-class upgrade is stalking and harassing?”

  You talking to David is! I’m opening the emergency door and jumping out the plane as soon as we reach cruising altitude. Wait. Why should I die? I’m still young, and I haven’t done anything. I’m pushing Luke out…without a parachute.

  “Emergency doors don’t open while we’re in the air,” he points out.

  “I didn’t say anything.” Did I?

  “No, but you’re eyeing the door and shooting death in my direction.”

  “I was thinking about getting off the plane,” I say innocently.

  “So you can sit in a cramped seat next to the lavatory?”

  Given my luck, that would be the best-case scenario.

  “Too late.” He grins. “We’re already moving.”

  He’s right. The plane’s going to take off soon. Unless they suddenly discover a mechanical problem. Please, God! Let there be a mechanical problem! An engine falling off the wing right about now would be perfect.

  “As for how I found out about your schedule, David mentioned it this morning.”

  I knew it! Murder’s too good for Luke. My throat is dry, and I’d rather bang my head against the window until my skull explodes, but I have to know. “Did you tell him about what happened last night?”

  “Should I have?”

  “No!” I say, entirely too loudly. A few heads swivel my way, and I cringe and hunker down in my seat. I should’ve been born a were-turtle.

  “He said his colleague was leaving today on the same flight as me.”

  “But how did you figure out who I was?” I did not give him my name last night. I’m certain of it.

  “You dropped your lanyard.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out my employee badge.

  Fantastic. It must’ve fallen out of my coat last night. I try to take it from his grasp, but he holds it out of reach.

  “Give it back,” I hiss.

  “Nope. I’m planning to stop by your office tomorrow to give it to you.”

  I snort. “Security’ll take it and give it to me on my way out.”

  “What if I’m visiting, say, David…and you come by his office?”

  Tempting, but… “He’s not in tomorrow, and he’s going to wonder how you ended up with my badge.” But I realize I don’t need the badge. I can get a new one made, no problem.

  Sighing, I turn away from him as the plane climbs higher. It’s too late for mechanical failures. We’re in the air, and I don’t have a parachute. Luke probably has one because he’s clearly a minion of Evil, well prepared for his battle with me. Actually, he’s gotta be at least a three-star general of Evil. He’s too sneaky to be a standard grunt.

  Luke leans close and continues in a low, half-admiring tone, “I was v
ery impressed with the effort you put in last night. But I have to tell you…David isn’t worth it.”

  I ignore him. What does he know? I’ve been stalking David’s social media accounts for over four years now.

  On the other hand… If David exchanged rooms with him, they’re probably really tight. I want to smack myself for not looking Luke up as soon as I returned to my room, but in my defense, I didn’t have his last name, and Lukes are a dime a dozen. I guess I could have tried to cross-reference his name with David’s friends list on Facebook, but in my frazzled state, I didn’t think of that.

  Besides, even if I had, it was late and I was too tired. David has over two thousand friends. The love of my life is a popular man. Probably because he’s nice and sweet, unlike the guy seated next to me. If it had been David who’d found me last night, he would’ve been a total gentleman about it. Well, until I told him it was okay not to be a gentleman. But even then, he would’ve never insinuated that I was a hooker because he knows I’m not. And we’d have proceeded to make very filthy and respectful love to each other.

  Say nothing. Don’t rise to the bait. Luke tossed that out because he’s trying to engage.

  Of course. I know that. But…

  It’s not in my nature to keep quiet when I’m curious about something. My friends call me nosy, but what can I do? I’m an inquisitive kind of gal.

  I try to appear bored. “And why isn’t David worth it?”

  “Unlike me, he wouldn’t have appreciated it.”

  “Reeeeaaaally? And you know this because…?” I lower my voice theatrically. “You can read his mind?”

  Luke laughs softly. And to my irritation and horror, he has a nice laugh, the kind that feels warm and sweet rather than…Evil. “No. I don’t have that kind of superpower. But he’s been moping.” He grows serious and looks at me. “Why do you think we switched rooms?”

  “You said he didn’t like his.”

  “Right. Because he and his ex-girlfriend celebrated their third anniversary in that exact suite.”

  Oh… That wasn’t on any of his social media. I wouldn’t have missed such a significant detail.