Page 26 of Return Billionaire to Sender

“Oh, stop,” Coralee scolds, shaking her cute brown bob. “We’re not the rabble.”

“Li’l bit?” Lawrence says with an impish smile.

I don’t know what to say about the rabble thing so I just smile. “I’m Elle from Bexley Partners.”

“Oh, we know,” Walt says. He has a friendly, weather-beaten face and a huge Adam’s apple. “Malcolm’snewcoach,” he says, emphasizing the words with extra drama. He bites his lip, as if to keep from laughing. “We hear that you’ll be helping Malcolm learn to beanicer, kinder, gentler person.” The phrase “a nicer, kinder, gentler person” not only gets extra emphasis, but also a widening of the eyes.

They’re all smiling like it’s the funniest thing ever. I smile back, just to be nice, and I adjust my tie, wishing I’d come more casual. The two guys wear casual sports coats and jeans; Coralee and Nisha are in casual jackets and some kind of space-age pants that look like business pants from afar, but up close they are really stretchy like yoga pants, and on their feet are comfy space-age boots. This is what business people wear for travel, I think. And probably for their downtime in the hotel.

Coralee has pale brown hair in a bob and piercing gray eyes. She declares that she plans to sleep. “Don’t let me go on Twitter.”

Nisha, pronounced knee-sha, groans. “I’ll keep you off of there.” Nisha has close-cropped dark hair and shiny pink hoop earrings and a cute pink briefcase, which makes me incredibly thankful that Tabitha made me bring her brown satchel, boring as it is. Otherwise I’d have my beat-up old bag, and I’d immediately be busted.

We arrive at the Teterboro airport, a private airport across the river from Manhattan. Mr. Blackberg’s plane is a gleaming white jet with a silver nose. It’s parked inside a giant airplane garage, and walking in, I feel like I’m walking onto an action-adventure movie set.

I follow my new coworkers up the mobile stairway and into the plane, feeling like a stowaway in a forbidden world.

The plane is like a really nice living room with velvety gray armchairs and comfy-looking couches arranged around various tables. Tasteful maroon accent pillows are strewn about; they match the fun little window curtains as well as the panel that separates the front and back areas.

I try not to react, but I so wish my friends could see, because…oh my god!

The flight attendant leads us right on through into the back section, which features a lovely and intimate little lounge, also with maroon accents. Malcolm sits, tumbler in hand, ice cubes clinking.

My gaze collides with his. He seems to be sizing me up, dangerous and elegant predator that he is. His lazy gaze lowers to my neck. The weight of it makes my pulse race, makes me feel warm and strange.

My belly whooshes withsomething like fear, or maybe just adrenaline.

“Back to the lady ties, I see,” he says.

I put my hand to my neck. “Yes,” I agree.

The flight attendant helps us stash our luggage in a back compartment. I can feel him watching. I’m sure my hands are shaking.

We settle into our seats up front. Lawrence and Coralee are on one side. I sit across from Nisha. Walt’s behind us.

“So he rides back there?” I ask Nisha. “That’s his half of the plane?”

“It depends, but generally he keeps to himself on trips,” she says. “He would never socialize with the team, which is…” She ends her sentence with a half-smile and a little shrug, which seems to mean that it’s a good thing.

I watch out the window as we line up at the runway, as we get up speed and lift into the air. People are tapping away at their computers.

“I have a sixty-minute session with him on this plane,” I say to Nisha as we rise above wispy clouds. “It’s scheduled for transit time, and this is transit, but I’m not sure…”

She waits for me to finish the sentence.

I’m not sure how to. Do I go back there and tell him it’s starting at a time of my choosing? Or does he choose the time? Am I waiting for him to appear? I’m here by court order. How much power does that give me?

“Not sure of what?” Nisha asks.

“How this works,” I say, “vis-a-visyour company culture. I want to be respectful of your company culture in terms of scheduling.”

“Oh.” She nods. “Walt has his calendar.” She twists around in her seat. “Walt, when does he have his coaching blocked out?”

“Never. It’s four hours of prep time,” Walt says.

“Elle gets him for an hour of transit time,” Nisha says.

Walt’s frown is big like his Adam’s apple. “Hmm.”

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