Her Improper Affair. Shea McMaster
of subtle hazing, but as males, they’d been accepted faster. The men respected them and the women had flirted with them. For Courtney, the men would be patronizing and the women catty or dismissive. As many a female executive had suffered, any rise in a male dominated corporate world was often interpreted as sleeping their way to the top. Hard work was discounted by a pretty face in front of sharp brains. Courtney not only had the pretty face and figure, but the shining new family connection. Had she been raised in the company, starting at a far younger age, her road might have been smoother, but there was no use lamenting it.
The girl was in for a shock. Truly, she would be better off staying in California and working with her grandfather in his business supplying items to the world of the west coast vineyards. The culture was far more accepting of a woman in a leadership role.
Oswald sighed and accepted his fate. “Yes. I’ll stay at least a year. Until you’re back in the office and Courtney is settled.”
Court landed a hand on his shoulder. His grin was as wide as any his children might flash. “Thank you. I knew I could count on you. And when you’re ready to make your break, I hope you’ll let me invest in your new venture, whatever it may be.”
Oswald gave him a half smile. “Don’t worry. I’ll be presenting my business plan when the time comes.”
And now that he’d touched Courtney, Court’s request was going to be that much harder to honor, because Oswald had already taken advantage of Courtney’s innocence. Or one her father believed she still held. One Oswald desperately wanted to take wholly for himself. But knew better. Courtney was off limits. And for the next year she’d stay there.
Chapter 6
Birdie dropped her tablet on her first class window seat, then swung her carry-on into the bin overhead.
“Darling,” her father said at her shoulder. “You were supposed to wait for me to do that.”
“Dad, I’m not some fainting flower. Go play white knight to Mom. She needs it more.” She closed the bin and turned to him.
“Whether you’re capable is not the point at all,” he grumbled. “Appalling how your mother raised you. Her and that husband of hers.” The twinkle in his eye told her he was joking.
“Well, you’re her husband now, so go fawn all over her. She eats it up.” The two of them shared a smile, then a laugh.
“Right, you little baggage. Settle in. We’ll come invade your space later. Or the newlyweds will.” They both looked over his shoulder to see Drew and Meilin gazing at each other across the cabin in the back of the section, millions of miles away from anyone else in their minds. “Well, maybe not them. Although I’m sure the grandparents will look in on you, unless you look in on them first.”
Birdie rose up on her toes and kissed his cheek. “Go on with you. I can certainly get myself into my seat.”
Dad took his seat in the next row up, on the aisle. Mom had the window.
Adjusting her belt, Birdie buckled in and picked up her tablet. For once she was going to read something fluffy and frivolous. Other than accepting a diet soda from the flight attendant, she didn’t look up from her book until a man appeared at her row. Darn. They’d sold Oswald’s seat. Or upgraded someone. She’d been looking forward to having the row to herself.
“Excuse me, uh, miss?” The man’s voice was rough, as if he’d smoked three packs a day for the last three decades.
With an internal sigh, she glanced up at him. “Hello. You my seatmate?”
“Um, yes. I’d like to ask a favor if I could.” Birdie noted the gravely mix of upper crust Brit with a few nuances of something not so posh. “Mind swapping seats with me? All I want to do is sleep. I don’t want people bumping into me, and I don’t want to have to move when you get up to…wander the cabin.”
She took a closer look at him. He wore pressed jeans, designer label probably, what looked like a silk T-shirt under a worn black leather jacket. On his face he had at least a three-day growth of dark beard liberally sprinkled with gray. His eyes were hidden under Harry Potter style dark glasses. Or maybe he was trying to look more like John Lennon, or the Prince of Darkness himself, Ozzy, but with a Forty-Niners ball cap on his head, further shading his eyes. Black, long hair curled from under the cap to the tops of his shoulders lightly streaked with more strands of gray.
In one hand he held what looked like a very expensive attaché. If she’d met him on the street she’d think he was some sort of aging Hell’s Angel, but lean and lanky rather than sporting a pot belly. Then again, maybe he was one of those aging rocker types. Like from those strange eighties groups her parents still listened to. Neptune Satellites, Tears for Fears, Prince, and Queen came to mind. With his face hidden, it was a little hard to be more specific. For all she knew, he could be Keith Richards. But wouldn’t he fly charter? Maybe. She’d have to ask Mom as she was more the rock groupie type than Birdie would ever be.
“Okay.” She unbuckled and slid from her seat, tablet in hand. No big deal, she was portable.
He stepped back enough she could get into the aisle. Then it was her turn to step back and let him get to the window seat. Not that they could bother each other much with the near-wrap around backs. Each seat was like a tiny living room. The seat even flattened out for sleeping, and they each had their own TV-like monitor and gooseneck adjustable reading light.
Before she sat again, Dad was there. “Everything okay, puddin’?”
“Sure. My seatmate wanted the window seat. I don’t mind the aisle, so we swapped.” She waved a hand at the man shoving his case under the seat in front of him.
The man barely spared her dad a glance, but Dad seemed to do a double take as he scrutinized the newcomer. Then he shook his head with a little smile. “Remind me later to tell you about my cousin Paul.”
Before she gave him the you’re-weird-Dad look, the man in the seat stiffened, but didn’t look up. Dad just grinned and returned to his seat. Shrugging off his comment, Birdie reseated herself and settled down to return to her book. Thankfully it was an ebook. When stealing a little frivolous reading time, she preferred for no one to see the cover. Most of the ones she chose had covers with half naked people. It was no one’s business what she read.
Since the flight left around four-thirty, it wasn’t so long after take-off when afternoon tea service began.
The man next to her refused anything other than a double Glenlivet. When the flight attendant tried to offer him something else from the tea menu, he nearly growled.
“Listen, I really don’t want to be rude, Regina, love.” Birdie glanced at the attendant’s name tag. Yup. Regina. “However, I’m going to say this only once. Unless I press the little button calling for you, I want to be left alone. No dinner, no tea. Just this one drink, and I plan to curl up like a hedgehog and go to sleep for the rest of this ten plus hour flight. That’s all I want. To sleep. Are we clear?”
Birdie was slightly taken aback by the barely restrained impatience she felt coming off him in waves. Grouchy bear there. But even she could appreciate the sexy Brit accent with the gravelly voice. If Mom could hear him, she probably would have been on her knees looking over her seat back. Still, the man was older than her father. Maybe as old as the man who’d raised her as his own had been. Dear, dear, Daddy Wyatt.
However, the attendant took it in stride without a blink. “Of course, sir. I’ll see you’re not disturbed unless the plane is going down.”
“Appreciate it.” He nodded sharply, then leaned back in his seat, his head once more hidden by the wings of the seats.
“And you, miss?” Birdie now had the attendant’s undivided attention.
Her row mate might not be hungry, but she was. Surprising, really, after the last week. She looked over the menu card. “I’ll have the cucumber sandwiches, a buttermilk scone, and the English Breakfast tea.”