Faking Forever (First Wives #4)(4)

Wedding photography kept her from boredom.

This week, it would pay for a much-needed vacation in a destination where she’d never been before.

As what appeared to be the last passengers filed into the plane, Shannon glanced at the empty aisle seat next to her. Not a normal occurrence in first class. Most of the time someone in the back attempted to upgrade their ticket for a fraction of what it cost her to guarantee a seat with more legroom and free drinks.

She opened the shade on the window after the attendant took her empty glass.

“I told you, I’ll be there on Tuesday.”

Shannon glanced up to find a man in a three-piece suit shoving a carry-on bag into the compartment above their heads while talking on his cell phone.

“No, no. I’ll take care of it.”

Trying not to stare, Shannon turned back to the window. All the while hearing every word the man said. As everyone within ten rows probably could.

Rude.

A briefcase landed on the seat beside her, making her glance over.

Tall, dark hair . . . probably close to her age, if not a little older. She didn’t make out his features as he shifted his phone and wiggled out of his jacket.

The flight attendant was right there, taking it from him and hanging it up in a forward closet.

Mr. Phone didn’t even thank the woman.

“Ladies and gentlemen. The cabin doors have been closed, and we’re asking for all of your electronic devices to be placed in airplane mode and all larger electronic devices to be stowed for takeoff.”

Several sets of eyes turned toward the man who flopped into the seat beside her.

She looked again and was met with a hand, a phone, and a partial profile.

“I’ll take care of it. Just make sure the contracts are on my desk Tuesday morning.”

“Sir?” The flight attendant approached Mr. Phone as the plane started to back away from the terminal.

“What?” he paused long enough to ask.

Someone in the seats in front of them said, “Oh, please.”

The attendant faked a smile.

That’s when Shannon spoke up. “Tell your Tuesday appointment you’ll call him when you land.”

Mr. Phone slowly turned his head toward Shannon.

Golden brown eyes narrowed against his tanned complexion. Strong jaw and a full mouth that opened ever so slightly. He was beautiful.

“I’ve got to go,” he said to whomever he was speaking with, and promptly hung up.

Shannon blinked several times and the attendant walked away.

“How did you know I had a Tuesday appointment?”

“Everyone on the plane knows.”

Mr. Phone looked around while the nearby passengers skirted their attention away from him.

“Was I loud?”

And clueless!

She considered softening her response. Then decided to be herself and not the perfectly polished version she’d spent most of her life showing the world. “Yes. You were.”

He was working his seat belt when his phone rang, startling everyone around them.

For a second, she thought he was going to answer it.

“Airplane mode. You know, the image of a plane in your settings,” she said as if he were three. No, scratch that, three-year-olds probably knew where that was on a cell phone these days.

The phone kept ringing. “Right. But this is—”

“Sir?” The flight attendant returned, her smile gone.

“Right.” He silenced his phone, played with it for a few seconds, and then set it on the armrest separating the two of them.

Once again, Shannon focused her attention out the window and pulled in a deep breath. She paused, tilted her head slightly, and purposely breathed through her nose.

What was that?

Not cologne.

She sniffed again.

Definitely not man perfume. No, this was something completely different.

She shifted in her seat, crossed her legs in the other direction, and took the opportunity to turn her head toward the flight attendant as she demonstrated all the safety features of the airplane. When she did, she caught Mr. Phone tilting his head back and closing his eyes.

Shannon leaned in, just a hair, and silently sniffed the air.

This was going to drive her crazy. She ruled out food scents. No, he didn’t smell like he’d just had a succulent meal that had no choice but to filter through his pores. Not earthy . . . like musk or pine.

She sniffed again and Mr. Phone shot his eyes open.

She sat back quickly, not that she was very close, but still.

“Are you sick?” Mr. Phone asked.

Mortified, Shannon narrowed her eyes. “No.”

“You sure?”

“Yes.”

“Good. The last thing I need is some bug right now.” He closed his eyes again.

“Well, you won’t get one from me.”

“Good to know.” And just like that, Mr. Phone fell asleep. The plane hadn’t even lifted off the ground and he was out.

Thirty minutes later, Shannon had a second mimosa in her system . . . which was uncharacteristic, considering the time of day. But something happens when you board a jet and someone starts pouring liquor into tiny glasses. It didn’t help that most of the passengers in first class were filling up on Bloody Marys, mimosas, wine, and cocktails. The destination almost mandated that you start the party early. With the exception of Mr. Phone—who still slept—and her, the other passengers were all wearing casual clothing and appeared to be on their way to beach vacations without a care in the world.