"No," I tell him. "We're staying at the same hotel but separate rooms."
Though they are right next to each other.
"I'm still envious," Randy says. "I mean, you're in the same hotel in a city far, far away where no one knows you. Anything could happen."
He gives me a broad wink.
"Oh, stop it," Jess tells him. "Stella isn't like you."
"Yup," I agree. "Not gonna happen. You know Ethan is my boss. Our boss, actually."
"So if he wasn't your boss, you'd let him fuck you?" Randy asks me.
The question takes me by surprise and I struggle to answer. No. I know the answer. I just don't want to admit it.
"You're blushing," Randy points out. "Which means you would. Don't be bashful, I would too. For that matter, so would Jess."
"Hey, I'm not like you, either!" Jess complains.
"But he is our boss, which means I wouldn't," I say firmly.
End of topic.
"And I have to go," I add as I glance at my watch. "You know me. I have a ton of things to do."
"We know," they answer at the same time.
I send them a smile before picking up my tray. I deposit it in the appropriate cart before heading to the elevator. After a quick stop at the restroom to freshen up, I go back to my desk.
I really do have a lot to do. I have to make adjustments to Ethan's schedule. I have to print out documents to bring with me. I have to brush up on my French and German, too, and do some research on the best sights around Zurich. And the best chocolate shops.
But first, I have to go through all these papers on my desk. I don't want to go away knowing I've left a lot undone, or come back to find my desk buried under paperwork.
When I reach the bottom of the pile, I stop. My eyes fall on a familiar-looking notebook.
Very familiar.
Right. I left my journal on my desk. I was going to grab it and shove it inside my purse before anything else, but I got sidetracked with other stuff. Then Ethan called me into his office, and after he told me he was bringing me to Switzerland, the journal completely slipped my mind.
I grab it now. Once it's safely inside my purse, I let out a breath of relief.
There. No harm done. Once I get home, I'm going to put it on my nightstand, never to leave my apartment again. Nope, I'm not bringing it to Switzerland. Definitely not. After all, I'll have better things to do than scribble my thoughts in my journal. I'll just take mental snapshots of my trip and write them down when I come back.
A smile forms on my lips.
Last Friday, when I was writing in my journal, I felt so alone and lonely, like my life had no meaning. Now, I feel like my life has just begun.
I draw a deep breath as I stare at the wallpaper on my computer screen, which I've already changed to an image of the Matterhorn.
Switzerland, here I come.
~
The flight from Chicago to Zurich takes a little less than nine hours.
I spend the first half hour marveling at the inside of Ethan's jet - well, it's owned by the company, actually, but this one is for the exclusive use of the CEO. It's a Gulfstream, or so Henry, the lone flight attendant on the plane, tells me. It's supposed to carry only eleven passengers, so I thought it would be small and cramped. Boy, was I wrong.
Sure, it definitely looks like a dwarf on the outside compared to the gigantic commercial planes, but inside there's enough space for a kid to run and kick a ball around. And that's just the seating area. There's a dining area with a bar, a kitchen, a bathroom with a shower and a conference room.
More than the space, it's the atmosphere of luxury that has me gasping and gaping in awe. The soft leather seats that come with neck massagers and convert into flat beds. The thick, burgundy carpet. Ambient lighting. My own 15-inch TV. Then there's the service designed to make one feel like royalty. Henry isn't just a flight attendant; he doubles as a butler and caters to your every whim. He even asked me if I wanted a bath to soak my feet in. The champagne. The chocolate and caviar.
They all make me wish I was going on a vacation and not a business trip. It's ironic, being able to afford all these privileges and not being able to enjoy them. But hey, I'll take the business trip.
I take my laptop out and get to work. I still have some last-minute stuff to finish. I notice Ethan has already done the same. When his fingers aren't gliding across the keys, he has a hand on his chin, his eyes fixed on his screen and his eyebrows furrowed. It's a fascinating sight, one my eyes can't seem to stop straying towards. But after Ethan catches me staring, I put in more effort to concentrate on what I'm doing. I'm here to work, not to stare like a teenager in the front row of a concert of her favorite band.
Work. Work. Work.
Eventually, I find my rhythm. I get so absorbed in my work, in fact, that I forget I'm on a plane. I only remember when Henry taps my arm, telling me that dinner is ready.
Dinner? I glance at my watch. It's a little past eight now, which means we've been in the air for three hours. That much time has passed already? Frankly, I'm not hungry. Or so I think until I catch a whiff of the smells from the kitchen and my mouth waters. Okay. Maybe I am a little hungry.
Ethan gestures to an empty chair. "Please sit."
I obey. Ethan occupies the seat in front of me.
As Henry pours wine into my glass, I realize this is the first time we're eating together. Alone. We've attended luncheons and dinners aplenty, but each time, the room was filled with at least twenty other people. This time, it's just him and me, which means I'll be the center of his attention for about twenty minutes, with no gadget to hide behind and no way to run.
I can feel my stomach coiling into knots.
To make matters worse, there's a porcelain plate and far too many utensils in front of me. What was the rule again? Start from the outside and work your way in?
I have eaten at fine dining restaurants before but again, not alone with Ethan. Somehow, that little fact is clouding my brain and making me feel like a kid on her first day in a new school.
Get it together, Stella. It's just dinner.
With your hot boss.
Shit.
"How are you finding the flight so far?" Ethan asks me.
I swallow the lump in my throat and put on a smile. "Great, actually. It's so smooth."
"I know." Ethan beams with pride. "She's worth every penny."
I'm guessing she's worth a lot of pennies.
"You've been on a plane before, right?"
"Sure," I answer. "But I've never been in a private jet. I've only ever flown economy. And yes, the food's bad."
Ethan grins. "Well, don't worry. I can assure you that the food here isn't bad."
Before I can reply, Henry sets down a bowl of soup with shrimp, mushrooms, an assortment of green garnishes, and a milky orange broth. The smell of the spices from the curry mixed with the coconut and the herbs and the seafood drifts into my nostrils. I pick up my spoon without thinking, then put it down when I realize Ethan hasn't picked up his.
"Please dig in," Ethan urges. "It tastes even better than it smells, I promise."
I scoop out some of the broth and lift my spoon to my lips. The moment I taste the soup, my palate starts to sing. Every component just comes together like an orchestra of flavors inside my mouth. Ethan's right. It does taste even better.