Page 2 of Hostile for the Holidays

But first, I’m going to peek around the post to make sure the coast is clear.

For a moment, I think about taking another flight, but that won’t work.

My sister, Sadie, would kill me if I didn’t get to Cedar Hollow today. She’s been texting me for the past two days about all the wedding stuff that needs to be done. How stressful it is going to be to fit Christmas and her wedding into the next ten days.

I resisted the urge to tell her that Christmas was already scheduled, so it’s not like it came out of nowhere when she picked New Year’s Eve as her and Tom’s wedding date.

Knowing I can’t avoid getting on the plane, I set my leather travel bag on my carry-on and stealthily make my way to the gate. As I board the plane, I put on my oversized sunglasses hoping they will act as an invisibility cloak and make it impossible to recognize me.

I’m certain Jasper will be in first class, so I just need to make it past that section of the plane and then I’ll be in the clear. I pull the latest issue ofVanity Fairfrom my bag and discreetly hold it in front of my face. I’m moving quickly through the aisle, refusing to make eye contact with anyone, and just when I’ve cleared first class, I slam into the back of the person in front of me, dropping my magazine.

“I’m sorry,” I apologize as I reach down to grab the magazine. As I stand, my eyes lock on the man in the red sweater in front of me. In my attempt to avoid Jasper, I ran straight into him.

What the hell? Why isn’t he seated in a cushy oversized chair and being served a glass of champagne?

His full lips offer up a sly grin. “Stella St. James, as I live and breathe.”

I swallow hard at the sound of his deep baritone, but refuse to let the husky charm of his vocal cords affect me. Or that perfectly arranged smirk that is somehow both enigmatic and friendly at the same time.

But there’s nothing friendly between me and Jasper.

“Jasper Jensen, please die and decay,” I mutter.

“Glad to see you’re still keeping things interesting.” He laughs, nodding at the sunglasses I’m wearing. His laugh is the sound of my childhood and teenage years, only a few octaves lower now that he’s a full-grown man.

I ignore him, focusing on the passengers in front of us loading their carry-ons into the overhead bins and taking their seats, but his presence puts me on edge. I’d expected him to stop in first class, you know, the whole billionaire thing, and now I’m wondering why he’s even on a commercial flight. He must have a company jet.

My curiosity overrides my instinct to not engage with him.

“What are you doing on my plane?” I ask, my tone accusatory.

“This is your plane?” He turns around to smirk at me. “Stella Skyways? I had no idea.”

“You know what I mean. Why are you in New York? I thought you lived in LA.”

“Keeping tabs on me, Stell?” His smile is so confident, I want to smack it right off his face.

The shortening of my name sends a rush of adrenaline through my veins.

Stell from Hellis the nickname that Jasper gave me in middle school. He used it whenever he thought I was being dramatic or over the top, which in his opinion was often. In turn, I called himJasper the Disaster, but it didn’t have the same effect of riling him up like his nickname for me did, because truth was, he wasn’t a disaster. He was a straight-A student, all-star athlete, and popular guy who excelled at everything he did.

“You wish.” I barely refrain from sticking out my tongue, because it doesn’t matter that I’m twenty-eight years old, Jasper makes me feel like I’m seven and I’ve got to hold my own on the playground.

“I was here for a business meeting, and now I’m flying home for the holidays. Is that okay with you, Stell?”

I wait for him to addfrom hell, but it doesn’t come.

We move forward down the aisle, and I wait for him to stop at his seat so I can pass.

He doesn’t stop. He keeps moving. And as we get closer to the back of the plane, my stress level is peaking.

With his proximity my initial flight instincts shift into full-on fight mode.

“By the way, your sweater is ugly.”

“Thanks.” He turns back to smile at me. “My ninety-year-old grandmother crocheted it for me.”

I reconsider my comment because that’s really sweet but Jasper doesn’t deserve an ounce of kindness from me. He made sure of that our senior year in high school when he spread a rumor that I was in training to become a nun and going to join a convent after graduation. I didn’t find out about it until I was dateless for prom and asked Jamal Lancaster to go with me. He declined because he said he actually wanted to have fun and not be going with a nun.

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