She glanced at him, did a double take, then settled into her seat with a smug grin plastered across her face.
The engines roared to life and a flight attendant stopped between their seats with complimentary glasses of champagne. “My name is Stacey. I’m here to make sure you have a first-class experience on British Airways. Can I get you anything else before we take off?” She gracefully bent her knees and set the glasses on their trays.
“I’ll have a gin and tonic,” his Guccified neighbor said and let her eyes take a slow walk from the top of his head to his chest before turning back to flight attendant. “He’ll have coffee, black, with a splash of Bailey’s in it.”
For a split second, Geoffrey, who’d been about to order a cup of chamomile tea, wondered why this woman would think he wanted coffee, especially on a red-eye. Then he remembered. The bloody Tattler article. He opened his mouth to change his order, but the flight attendant had already moved on to the couple seated behind them.
“I’m Blythe.” Blythe held out her hand and pressed it, and her chest, toward him. “I saw the spread about you in Tattler.”
“Did you?” Geoffrey grasped the tips of Blythe’s fingers and shook them, being very careful not to accidentally graze anything else.
He guessed from her accent she was from Manchester. He also guessed she’d be throwing herself at him for the rest of the flight. Even if she hadn’t ordered his drink, she still wouldn’t have stood a chance. He’d caught a glimpse of what looked like a Manchester United tattoo on her ankle, and he loathed Man U—every self-respecting Tottenham Spurs fan did.
“I don’t actually drink much coffee.” He moved as far from her as possible, which wasn’t far. “Or Bailey’s, for that matter. I’m not sure where the boys at Tattler got that idea.”
From him, that’s where.
It had been a stupid question, so he’d given them a stupid answer. Who in the world cared what he liked to drink at teatime?
Well, other than Blythe, who apparently cared enough to remember that “fact” six months after the article about him had come out.
The lights dimmed and the plane began moving backward as the flight attendant made her way back to him. He raised a hand, motioning her forward. She bent forward to ask, “Can I help you, Sir?” at the same time the pilot asked the flight attendants to be seated for take-off.
“Tea—chamomile, when you have a moment,” he said.
“Of course. As soon as we’re airborne.” She was about to sit when another flight attendant stopped her.
“We’ve got a puker,” he whispered loudly enough that Geoffrey could hear. “She’s preggers, and the smell of the loo set her off. She needs to lie down.”
Blythe peeked her head around the two attendants and held up her phone. “Do you mind opening the blind so I can get a pic as we take off?” she asked Geoffrey.
Geoffrey pushed up his blind but kept his attention on the attendants’ conversation.
“We’re packed,” Stacey whispered. “Where’s she supposed to lie down?”
Blythe’s phone clicked, and Geoffrey didn’t need to see the picture to know it was of him and not the scenery.
“Pardon me.” Geoffrey stood and tapped Stacey’s shoulder as she and the other attendant walked toward their jump seats. “I overheard... the lady can have my seat.”
Stacey glanced from Geoffrey to his first-class seat, not hiding her surprise. “Are you sure you want to do that? It’s in coach, sir.”
The airplane picked up speed, and Blythe’s phone clicked again. She’d have a year’s worth of Instagram posts by the time they touched down in London.
Geoffrey leaned close to Stacey and whispered, “Please. You’d be doing me a favor.”
“He’ll be doing us a favor too,” the other flight attendant chimed in. “If she’s laying down, she can sleep. If she’s sleeping, she won’t be retching.”
Stacey nodded. “Okay. Let’s get them switched. But after we take off.”
“Thank you.” Geoffrey breathed a sigh of relief and sat down again. He breathed another sigh of relief when Stacey asked Blythe to put her phone away during take-off. In the meantime, he’d have to do a little damage control.
“Blythe.” He leaned across the aisle and rested his hand lightly on her arm. “I hate to be a bother…” He gazed deeply into her eyes, firing up his best smolder. “but if you happened to get me in any of those shots, would you mind deleting them?”
“Oh.” She turned toward him, leaning forward to give him a view of everything her low cut t-shirt offered and fluttering her fingers up and down his hand. “I just assumed you were part of the scenery.”
He pulled back but kept a smile on his face. “Well, feel free to keep those for yourself, but if any show up in the public sphere, you’ll be hearing from my barrister.”
Blythe’s smile disappeared as she sat up straight. “Of course.”
“Thank you.” Geoffrey faced forward again as the plane lifted off, and the momentum of it pressed him into his seat. He closed his eyes and made a mental note to have Ardis keep a lookout for any mentions about him on social media. The last thing he needed was a crowd when he landed. Usually flying commercial wasn’t a problem, but every once in a while, he got a Blythe who ruined it for him.
By the time the plane leveled off, Blythe hadn’t said another word to him, and he was starting to regret offering up his seat. But then Blythe put her hand on his shoulder.
“As long as I’m keeping these photos to myself, can I get a selfie with you?” She asked.
At the same moment, the curtain separating first class from the rest of the plane opened, and Geoffrey heard Stacey’s voice.
“Right this way, love,” she said, and Geoffrey turned to see her steering a woman holding an airsick bag over her mouth toward him.
He stood and moved aside to allow the woman room to sit in his seat. She pulled the bag away from her face long enough to mumble, “thank you so much,” before gagging and pressing the bag back to her mouth.
“My pleasure,” he said as he moved past her. A sound of surprise from Blythe drew his attention back to her. She glanced from the heaving pregnant woman to him, her mouth drawn into a pouting pucker. The kind that never looked as good in real life as people thought it did in pictures.
Geoffrey tipped his chin to Blythe, then followed Stacey through the curtain. He’d never actually sat in coach before, but it couldn’t be worse than sitting next to Blythe for the next ten hours.
He changed his mind as he passed business class and realized Stacey wasn’t stopping. In fact, she was headed toward the rows of seats where people were sitting shoulder to shoulder and some of the taller travelers had their knees pressed into the backs of the seats in front of them.
“How far back are we?” he asked Stacey before nearly tripping over someone’s foot jutting into the aisle.
“Last row.” Stacey glanced back at him, and her smile faltered at the look on his face. “It’s very kind of you to do this, Lord Chatsworth.”
“Geoffrey, please. I’d like to keep a low profile.” He pulled the bill of his hat down and tucked his chin into his chest.
“I understand, Geoffrey.” A satisfied grin slid across her face as she pushed her shoulders back as though he’d just pinned a medal on her chest. It wasn’t the first time he’d seen the same reaction from someone he’d encouraged to call him by his first name. He never understood why it made people feel so special.
He looked past her to see how much further they had to go. When he saw the only empty seat in the very last row, he felt slightly sick. There would be no reclining comfortably for him.
Then the woman next to the window in his row glanced up at him. Even in the dim light from five feet away, the intensity of her eyes struck him: blue so dark they nearly matched her black hair. He didn’t usually go for women with short hair, but the way her bangs feathered across her brow only made her eyes more striking.
Geoffrey chanced a clo
ser look as he approached, and Stacey motioned toward the empty seat next to her. She was definitely pretty, and he had a hard time not staring.
The very round man in the aisle seat stood to let Geoffrey in without bothering to take off his headphones. As Geoffrey took his seat, the woman acknowledged him with a nod before putting on a pair of heavy-framed glasses so severe they looked like they could have belonged to Mrs. Birch, the last—and worst—of his long line of nannies. As he sat down next to her, she turned all her attention to her computer screen.
“If you need anything at all, just press this.” Stacey pointed to a button above Geoffrey’s head. “I’ll be right up front.”
Before Stacey could turn to go, the lady next to Geoffrey stopped her. “Excuse me. Could I get some water?” If her voice hadn’t given her away as an American, her teeth would have. They were too perfect.
“I’m sorry, ma’am. You’ll have to wait until drink service starts,” Stacey answered, not looking very sorry at all.
His neighbor’s eyes widened in disbelief, making her look even more beautiful than before. “But you’re right here, steps away from the drink cart.” She waved her head to the area behind them where, as if they were Stacey’s mean girl back up, the flight attendants in the galley peeled into laughter.
Stacey’s mouth formed a tight smile. “I’m assigned to first class. You’ll have to wait.”
“Pardon me, Stacey,” Geoffrey said as the flight attendant turned to leave. “I’m actually quite thirsty myself. Could you bring me a bottle of Perrier?” His eyes darted to the woman next to him before he could stop himself. “Perhaps two?” Stacey’s practiced smile fell. “I anticipate being very, very thirsty.”
“Certainly Lor—”
His eyebrows went up.
“—Geoffrey. Whatever you need.” She turned around and walked to the galley, reappearing seconds later with two small bottles of Perrier. She handed them both to him,
Geoffrey didn’t break eye contact with her as he twisted the cap off one of the bottles and held it toward his thirsty neighbor. “Thank you, Stacey,” he said in his most regal voice.
Her lips puckered, and she didn’t reply before turning her back to him and walking quickly toward first class.
It was then that Geoffrey noticed his neighbor hadn’t actually taken the water he offered her. He turned to face her and held it closer, assuming she hadn’t realized what he’d just done for her.
“Thank you, but no,” she said, apologetically. “The carbonation bothers my stomach.”
“Oh.” Geoffrey slowly pulled the water back. “I’m sorry. I should have asked for still.” He replaced the cap on the water and looked for somewhere to put it. “Quarters are a bit tight, and there don’t seem to be any drink holders.”
“You can set it here.” The woman moved her laptop to make room on her tray, offering him the briefest of smiles, even though he could have sworn he’d seen her roll her eyes before making her offer.
As Geoffrey set down the water bottle, he noticed the picture on her screen, and his interest was piqued.
“You’re a fan of Tobias Whitney?” he asked leaning toward her to get a better look at the picture. When she moved toward the window, he quickly sat back, embarrassed he’d obviously encroached on her personal space. Usually he was on the other side of that scenario.
“I’m Geoff, by the way.” He offered his hand. “Fellow Whitney admirer.”
She took his hand for the briefest moment before turning back to her screen to examine the image of the painting. “I’m no admirer. He’s a hack.”
Geoffrey sat back like her words had smacked him in the chest. Which they kind of had. Tobias Whitney wasn’t just his mentor, he was his friend. It was under his tutelage that Geoffrey had channeled his own creative drive into sculptures created from discarded metal and electronics. Tobias had given Geoffrey the courage, and the connections, to show his own pieces—under a pseudonym, obviously—in one of the best art galleries in L.A.
Of course, the show had been panned as boring and derivative, but that wasn’t his mentor’s fault. If anyone was the hack, it was Geoffrey.
“A hack?” he asked, the word swirling around in his mouth like bad beer. “Why’s that?”
The woman shot him a look that danced between annoyance and arrogance, then sighed and turned her computer toward him. “Where is the life? Where is the feeling? It’s just lines. There’s no story to it.”
Geoffrey’s lip curved into a side grin. He knew the story behind the painting—could see it even before Tobias told it to him. He pointed to the left corner of the painting. “Look at the convergence of color there. Those aren’t lines; those are emotions. The materials he uses make up the story behind the painting.”
“Oh, I know.” She repositioned the laptop so the screen faced her. “I’ve read everything about it. The divorce that inspired it. The loss of faith that accompanied it… blah, blah, blah.” She flicked her hand in the air as though she were waving away a fly. “Everything that’s been written or said about Tobias Whitney, I’ve read or heard. His art just doesn’t speak to me.” She shrugged and offered him the smallest and briefest of smiles. “But most contemporary stuff doesn’t.”
If it not for that semi-smile, Geoffrey probably would have been offended by her bluntness. Instead, he felt drawn to her quiet confidence and complete disinterest in impressing him. She was completely wrong in her assessment of Tobias’s work, but her honesty was refreshing, and she obviously didn’t know who he was or she might not have been quite so upfront with him.
“What art does speak to you? You clearly know what you’re talking about.” His voice squeaked on the last word, and he couldn’t be positive it was the dry air and not some nervousness on his part that caused it. He took a sip of his sparkling water, letting the burn of the bubbles push back the excitement working its way up his chest.
She turned toward him, her eyes slowly blinking as she seemed to consider whether or not to answer his question. “You really want to know?” Her eyes darted up to his baseball cap, then to his chin where they stayed long enough that he felt compelled to rub his hand over his beard.
It itched. He’d have to shave when he got home, but it offered him just enough anonymity in L.A. that it was worth whatever discomfort it caused.
“You don’t look like the kind of guy who’d be interested in what I like,” she continued. “Most people aren’t.”
“Try me.” He leaned on the armrest between them, only partly because it was the only way to get comfortable.
“Medieval, pre-Renaissance.” She tipped her head to the side in a challenge.
“Ghiberetti? Fra Angelico?” he asked, and her eyebrows lifted. “Or do you prefer someone more obscure like Hildegard of Bingen?”
Now she smiled. “I did my dissertation on her.” She pushed her glasses onto her head and purposefully looked him in the eyes for the first time, sending a spark of electricity through him. “Most people have never heard of her.”
“I’m not most people.” Geoffrey cringed almost as soon as the words came out, even before the woman did. People expected him to act in a certain way, and it wasn’t always easy to not act in that way, even when there wasn’t the expectation that he’d be a flirt.
“I see that,” she answered before turning back to her computer. “I’ve really got a lot of work to do, and I’d like to get some sleep before we land. I’ve got a big presentation tomorrow.”
“Of course…” he wanted to call her something. “I didn’t catch your name,” he said as she put in her airpods and opened her PowerPoint.
Geoffrey thought she’d heard him, but he could have been wrong since she didn’t answer him. Either way, her signal was clear: she wasn’t interested in further conversation with him. That stung.
He tried to soothe the sting by ordering a drink, then gulping it in one swallow. When that didn’t work, he reminded himself what his therapist had cautioned him against. There was very
little Geoffrey couldn’t have, so he had a bad habit of chasing wildly after anything out of his reach, only to find that once he’d caught it, he didn’t really want it at all. It was the thrill of pursuit he wanted.
Geoffrey took a deep breath to settle the nerves that were bouncing up and down in anticipation of a possible chase. He leaned back in his seat and was about to close his eyes but hazarded a glance at the woman’s computer instead. A name on her screen caught his eye.
His name.
Or, rather, his family’s name.
He nearly gasped, but when she forwarded to the next slide and he saw the picture on it, a smile slid across his face instead.
She didn’t need to tell her his name. He already knew it. And, he’d be seeing her again once they got to London, whether she liked it or not.
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The ABCs of Love
Released titles include:
Falling for her Foe: A is for Author
Besting the Undercover Boss: B is for Billionaire
Catching her Cowboy Crush: C is for Cowboy
Dreaming of the Next Door Doc: D is for Doctor
Embracing her Ever After: E is for Engineer
Falling for a Former Flame: F is for Firefighter
Gambling on a Modern-Day Gentleman: G is for Gentleman
Falling for a Former Flame: A Sweet Romantic Comedy (ABCs of Love) Page 18
