Page 21 of The Billionaire's Fake Fiancée

“She’ll be fine,” Tabitha says.

“Well, congratulations.” She looks between me and Tabitha. “I’m really happy for you.”

Does Tabitha truly have an injured grandmother? Clark said something about some backgrounder he filled out on my behalf, and she must’ve filled one out too. I recall something in my inbox. I should’ve looked at it.

I realize I’m staring at her. Does a fiancé say something at this juncture? “How is she today?”

“As good as can be expected.” She squeezes my hand.

I nod.

“Let me show you the ropes,” Cassie says, thankfully ending this conversation. “This plane is a Versace 1120-E. We like you to take the forward upright seating during takeoff. Stan and I have the front row for proximity to the kitchen.” She leads her to the work seats, waving her hand. “Mr. O’Rourke likes to use this area as an office.” Cassie shows her the Wi-Fi and safety stuff, brings her through to the next section, the rear lounge area.

At one point, Tabitha looks back at me, pointing at something and mouthing something behind Cassie’s back.

“What now?” I grumble.

“The couch,” Clark whispers from behind me.

I head back to the bar to get a drink while Cassie shows her the bedroom and bathroom. “What,” I say. “It’s a fucking couch.”

“Give her a break. It’s a couch on aplane,” Clark says. “You were probably impressed the first time you saw a couch on a plane, too.”

I frown. To be honest, I can barely remember. I was so caught up in a haze of anger and distress. Buying luxury things back then, it was just about punching my way out of the dark hole I grew up in, a fuck-you to the world for busting my balls nonstop. I never really enjoyed the stuff.

The staff goes back to their posts, and Tabitha and I take our seats across the table from Clark in the forward section, ready for takeoff.

Tabitha stares at me like she has an important communication.

“What?” I say.

She looks over to make sure Cassie isn’t near, and then she circles her pointer fingers around, indicating the plane, I suppose. She makes a face of shock, eyes and mouth open wide. When I don’t react, she opens her mouth even wider and jiggles her head around.

I simply stare. I refuse to reward her drama with a reply.

“Excited face,” she says.

“Could you not narrate your faces?”

“Fine,” she says. “A-plus. Is that better? Your plane gets an A-plus. It’s amazing, Rex.”

“I’m so relieved,” I say.

She buckles in as we taxi to the runway, not catching my sarcasm, or maybe ignoring it. “Here we go,” she says.

“Indeed,” I grumble, casting through Google trends.

“Don’t your electronics need to be in airplane mode?” she asks nervously. “We’re about to take off.”

I give her a look. “It’s my plane.”

“But I thought it interfered with piloting communications.”

“Nope,” I say.

Clark leans forward. “The airplane mode rule is just an FCC thing to protect against radio interference to networks on the ground. A lot of people flying over cell towers with their phones on might crowd the networks.”

“What? All this time I thought it was a matter of life and death!”

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