“Miss, do you need a towel?” the attendant asks, his face pinched in concern.
I nod. “Yes, please,” I slur.
Malfoy slams his computer shut, and even in my inebriated state, it startles me enough to jump.
“Excuse me, sir,” he asks the flight attendant, his voice smooth. “Is there any chance you have another open seat in business? Perhaps the empty one in front of us?”
My mouth drops open, and the flight attendant glances between us uncomfortably. “I apologize, I assumed you were...” He looks behind him. “One second.” He scurries away.
Malfoy sighs loudly and packs up, zipping his computer into his bag and unbuckling his belt.
“This is ridiculous,” he mumbles, standing. The attendant shuffles back, two mini bottles of champagne in his hand.
“I’m so sorry, we don’t have any more seats available in business,” the attendant says, his voice in the same apologetic pitch and tenor all customer-facing jobs use. “I apologize if there’s been a misunderstanding. The booking agent had you booked next to each other because your tickets were reserved together. If that’s not correct, I can fix it in our system, so it doesn’t happen again.”
He hands us each a mini bottle of champagne and actual glass flutes—straight from first class. I glance at his name tag—Nico—and give him my sweetest smile.
“It’s fine, Nico. There was obviously a booking error,” I mumble, reaching for the champagne. “I would never associate with someone so rude.”
Malfoy watches me with narrowed eyes, studying me. “I think you’ve had enough, don’t you think?”
I glare at him. “Why does it matter to you?”
He gives me the tiniest smile as Nico sets our glasses on our trays, scurrying away quickly.
“Do you need professional help?” he asks, his voice mockingly gentle.
I wish I could say his demeanor has turned me off of him entirely. I’ve never encountered such an asshole in real life, but damn if he isn’t completely alluring and magnetic in some strange way. Not only is his navy suit meticulously fitted—tailoredjustso—but his shoes are shiny, his watch is a Rolex for god’s sake, and his hair is the kind of hair he spends money on but doesn’t want you to know he spends money on. It’s the color of flax, golden and shiny—and though it’s short and neat, it has a slight edge to it, with the top being a bit longer and more unruly than the rest. He also has some golden scruff with grey hairs mixed in, plump, peach-colored lips, and the most stunning set of eyes I’ve ever seen. They’re almost turquoise—such a light, greenish blue—with circles of yellow in the middle. His angled brows frame his face, and I wonder if he is naturally this fit, or if he pays someone to hone him into the perfect male specimen.
My intuition tells me it’s good, old-fashioned exercise, which is even more fucking annoying. He runs a hand through his hair as he awaits my answer. My eyes catch a glimpse of a bracelet made of small, onyx beads on the same wrist as his watch. It doesn’t fit his aestheticat all.I file that peculiarity away for another time.
“I need help getting you to mind your own damn business,” I retort, turning away from him.
He sighs and leans away from me again, and I feel myself laugh.
“It’s like you’retryingto be a dick,” I say, raising my eyebrows and crossing my arms. “Did you go to the Hogwarts School of Jackasses and Bastards?”
His lips twitch ever so slightly, and he cocks his head. “I’m sorry, the what?”
My cheeks flame. I went too far. “I take it you’re not a Harry Potter fan, are you, Draco?”
He leans over, his menacing face less than a foot away from me. “What did you call me?”
I swallow, overcome with the scent of citrus. It makes my mouth water. “You—you remind me of Draco Malfoy.”
I see his fists clench once and then release, his steely stare penetrating me. “Enjoy your drinks.” Standing, he grabs his things.
“Nico said there weren’t any more seats in business,” I retort, giving him an indolent smile.
“Yeah, well, I’m about to upgrade to first class.” He walks away, essentially wiping the smile off of my face.
I see him sweet talking one of the female attendants, who nods and twirls her hair around her index finger as he laughs at something she says. Suddenly, she turns to look at me, and I hunker down in my seat, drinking champagne straight from the bottle like a possessed hunchback.
Smooth.
To my horror, she takes him to a seat directly in front of me, and as he shimmies into the window seat, I realize with a sick feeling that Nico was wrong.
As I’m about to go find Nico—this is war, after all—Malfoy reclines his seat roughly, and the bottle slides off my tray table and into my lap, nearly soaking me for the second time.
