Fifteen minutes later, the bell that cleared us to leave our seats had barely dinged before two passengers from the front of the plane ambled our way, each holding a wineglass.
“Hey, sugars.” Sylvie Sutton, grandmother of mine and maven of monkey business, paused at our row and rested an elbow on the seat back beside her. “They have free drinkie poos in first class.”
“Also the flight attendant is a straight-up Cat-5 hottie.” This, from my Aunt Frannie. “Olivia, do you want his number?”
I placed my laptop on my tray, feeling measurably calmer just by opening a file from work. “I do not.”
My grandmother grinned as she scanned the rest of the cabin. “He’s not wearing a ring.”
Where was that drink cart? “I hope that makes some other woman very happy.”
“Geez, what a killjoy,” Sylvie said. “Kids today. Am I right, Frannie?”
“A generation in need of help. But don’t you worry, I’m going to get his number just in case.” Frannie lifted her wineglass in a toast for one. “As in, just in case I want it for myself.”
The two shared a laugh, and I didn’t bother reminding Frannie she had a boyfriend she adored back home.
Sylvie was the matriarch of our family and the life of any party. That party always included Sylvie’s best friend and my aunt-by-choice, Frannie. The two were retired CIA, and they’d yet to find much in retirement that was as much fun as meddling in our lives.
My grandmother smoothed a hand over her flawless blonde bob and took another sip of wine. “Frannie and I gotta get back to first class. We’ve made friends with the two plastic surgeons beside us, and I’m hoping for a discount.”
“Ta-ta!” Frannie waved her fingers, then followed my grandmother up the aisle. “Don’t do anything we wouldn’t do!”
No chance of that. I returned to the document on my laptop screen and set my fingers to the keyboard, happy to have some peaceful time to work. I could be civil this weekend—for my sister’s sake. But I would also do anything I could to completely avoid Lachlan.
Miller appeared in the aisle a half-hour later. “Olivia, could you do me a big favor?”
I looked up from my work and smiled at my future brother-in-law. “Sure.”
“Can you go sit next to Lachlan?”
In public relations, the key to fixing a problem was to define it. And my problem was named Lachlan Hayes.
“I hate to interrupt sister time,” Miller said, “but I need to discuss an important weekend detail with Hattie.” He cast hopeful eyes at me. “Would you mind switching seats for a bit while I talk to her?”
“Your seat?” I twisted my head toward the back. “Next to Lachlan?”
“That’s the one,” Miller said. “It’s very comfortable.”
Rosie was mouth-open, conked-out against Hattie, so she certainly wasn’t volunteering. “Okay. Sure.” I could be adult about this. “But don’t take too long. Stick to the highlights. Talk in fragments.”
“Lachlan’s harmless.” Miller stepped back as I stood.
“Yes,” agreed Hattie. “But my sister is not.”
ChapterSix
LACHLAN
I’d once createda game character named Bolivia Dutton.
The alien wore a frumpy jogging suit and had snakes for hair, and her elephant-sized butt was a running joke in theMars Warschat rooms.
I’d gone seven years without seeing Olivia, until I’d walked into Flair on the recommendation of my best friend Miller James. Miller had skipped over one little detail—that the woman who’d been the bane of my existence in college worked in the very PR department I’d hoped to hire.
And now here she came sashaying down the aisle of the plane, anger flashing in her blue eyes and her pert nose still as stuck up in the air as it was back in school.
I wish I could say the last seven years had dulled the edges of her beautiful features, but instead Olivia had the nerve to only look more gorgeous. I might’ve disliked her with every inch of my six-foot-two body, but I could still admit the woman bearing down on me looking like she wished my seat would self-eject was prettier than ever.
