Mr. Beautiful

This one seemed too perfect.  I couldn't remember the last time I'd felt desire like this.  How long had I just been going through the motions?  I couldn't have said, but I had a moment of absolute clarity as I stood staring at her.  I had been disinterested in way too many personal aspects of my life for far too long.  I couldn't bring myself to be upset about that, because I wasn't disinterested now.  On the contrary, I was fascinated at a glance.

Neither of us moved until I heard Bram's damned voice booming at me all the way from the jet bridge.  "James Cavendish!"

Bram was a bit obnoxious.  He was an old-time CEO at heart; from back in the day when being in charge meant you could do whatever the hell you wanted.  Nowadays it was just the opposite.  Being in charge meant that you had to be professional around your employees at all times, but Bram had never gotten that memo.  I knew he'd be drunk before we took off, even though this was a business meeting.  I would tolerate him, though and hear him out.

I could remember when he would come over to our house for dinner when I was a kid, before my parents had died.  He and my father had been close.  Because of their bond and those memories of my father laughing at his loud jokes, I'd always humor the obnoxious old bastard.

The loud voice of her boss galvanized the lovely woman into action, and it was only as she shifted that I realized she'd been holding a dripping bag of ice for our entire stare-down.  There was a tiny puddle of water between us.  I watched as two more drops gathered on the bottom of the bag and then fell to hit the ground.

I grinned.  At least I wasn't the only one who'd forgotten that the rest of the world existed.

"Excuse me, Mr. Cavendish," she murmured in a soft voice.

I shifted to the side, then turned to watch her as she made her way to the back of the plane.  She was just handing the bag of ice off to another flight attendant when Bram moved in to block my view of her.

He grinned at me, waving his arm for me to take a seat.  I could tell just from glancing at him that he was already well into his cups.  It was going to be a very long flight.

I felt like I'd just had a lobotomy as I made my way into the nearest seat.  I couldn't think straight—couldn't focus at all, not on one solidified thought, let alone whatever Bram was going on about as he followed me.

I sat near the aisle, making Bram nearly stumble over my long legs to get to the window seat.

I nodded at whatever the hell he was saying, trying not to crane my head around to see what that woman was doing.  I thought of her soft voice and how she'd called me Mr. Cavendish.

She'd sealed her fate with that alone . . .

She was wringing her hands when she approached our seats.  Other than that small tell, though, she seemed to have regained her composure.  I didn't like that.  I wanted to ruffle that composure again.

"Welcome aboard, Mr. Walker, Mr. Cavendish.  What can I get you to drink?"

"Crown Royal on the rocks, sweetheart," Bram told her with a big smile.

"Just a bottle of water," I told her, not liking Bram's greasy smile.

"May I take your jackets?" she asked.

We both shook our heads no.  I watched her walk away, admiring the view.

"I see you're enjoying my airline," Bram said with a chuckle.

I gave him an arch, and not entirely friendly, look.  "It wasn't your airline I was enjoying."

He shrugged.  "Same thing.  I have a whole fleet of girls like Bianca."

Bianca, I thought.  I had a name.  It was a start.

My mouth twisted.  "Not possible.  You show me one more girl in her league, and I'll give you a million dollars."

His eyes narrowed on me.  He suddenly reminded me of a shark scenting blood in the water.  "Actually, I was getting to that.  I'm glad you brought it up.  I need a bit more than a million, son."

I sighed heavily as he went into the expected spiel about his airline.  I tried to listen, but in actuality I was focusing on the galley at the front of the cabin, catching glimpses of Bianca as she worked.

I cursed myself for the bad seating choice and studied the cabin to find a better one.

Another flight attendant passed by our seat, heading toward Bianca.  It was a brunette, and Bianca towered over the shorter woman.  They had a brief, friendly-looking exchange.  I only caught small snippets of what they were saying.

"Sure, take one," I heard Bianca saying in breaks from Bram's long dialogue. "I only have the two up here.  I'm more than stocked."

"Thanks, Bianca," the other woman said, sounding relieved.  "It's always so nice when the first class galley has their shit together.  Half of them hoard the carts whether they need them or not."

"No problem.  I'll help you take it back," Bianca told the woman, and I caught a glimpse of her smile.  It was a small smile, just a slight upturning at the corners of her mouth.  It was meant to reassure because the other woman was obviously stressed out.

I tried to put my finger on why I was so affected by that little smile.  It's her eyes, I thought.  They got to me.  They held such a mixture of kindness, tragedy, and reserve.  They were soul stealing.

You didn't get eyes like that without hardship.  You didn't get eyes like that without anguish.  She was a stunningly beautiful woman, but that was just the surface.  I was so certain there was depth there and that intrigued me.