Page 12 of An Unlikely Deal (Lucas & Ava)
Anger reenergizes me. I push myself up. I need to get back on my feet and keep living my life. Fuck Lucas. Fuck him and his money and his gifts and his entitlement. I’ve been fine without him, and I will continue to be fine without him.
I flush the toilet, rinse out my mouth, splash some cold water on my face. I’m still pale, except for the red splotches on my cheeks. My eyes look listless, and now that the lipstick’s worn off, my mouth is almost ashen.
This won’t do. I look weak and pathetic. And the wine stains on my shirt and jeans just add to the air of slovenliness.
I change into a fresh set of clothes—a fitted pink button-down shirt and black jeans—and reapply my makeup. I’m not great at applying cosmetics, but I know enough to make myself look okay, like I haven’t just been ambushed by the former love of my life.
Lipstick goes on last. I finally settle on a bright red. It’s bold and aggressive, just the color I need to feel like myself again.
That done, I toss everything into my suitcase. I don’t have the mental energy to organize everything neatly like I did when I arrived. But it doesn’t matter. I’ll have to wash most of it when I get home anyway.
I drag my rolling suitcase out of my room, my chin held high. The entire time I’m checking out and requesting the concierge to grab me a cab, nobody approaches. My eyes scan the lobby, but I don’t see anyone except a few Chinese tourists lounging by the tables closest to the Latest Recipe restaurant.
In spite of that, the base of my skull tingles as I climb inside the waiting taxi. Relax, girl. Lucas is gone. Stop being paranoid.
I look back to make sure. There aren’t any cars following us.
See?
He probably decided I was too crazy and split. Now
that I think about it, my reaction was a bit over the top. Knocking the wine over and breaking the glass? Almost fainting? Running out of the place like my clothes were on fire?
I acted insane…which turned out to be perfect. Nothing repels a man better than a woman who looks like she’s off her meds.
By the time I reach the check-in counter at the airport, I almost feel normal again. I slide my passport on the scratched and worn surface toward the airline representative. She takes my ID and types a few things on her computer, the keyboard clacking loudly. A frown tightens her forehead.
“Miss. Um… There seems to be a problem.”
Shit. “Is the flight delayed?” I really want to make my connection from Incheon to Osaka.
“No, but… You are not on this flight. Are you sure you’re supposed to fly today?”
“Yes.” I pull out my phone and show her the email I received with my flight information. “See?”
“Mm.” She nods. “But our system does not have you as flying today or…any day.” She purses her bright pink lips. “Let me check something. I’ll be right back.”
She spins her wheeled chair, gestures at a middle-aged Thai man in an ill-fitting dark brown suit and gives him a thirty-second spiel in Thai. He listens, nodding a few times, then talks into his radio.
Come on. I have to be on this flight. I have to get out of here today.
Finally, the man comes over. “There’s been a change in your itinerary,” he says, his English slightly halting but still confident. “Do you mind if I take you to the new gate?”
“Sure. Please,” I say, relieved.
“Don’t forget your passport.”
“Right.” I grab it from the counter and walk with him.
He takes me past the main international terminal’s security and immigration control. We get to a small, private area where a glossy black SUV is waiting. “Please get in.”
Unease trails a cold finger down my spine. “What is this about?”
“It will take you to your new jet.” He smiles winsomely. “There’s been a change of plane.”
I eye him. My imagination says he’s part of an elaborate plan to kidnap me or worse. But the logical part of my brain says he’s just an airport employee doing his job. He has a plastic security badge with his headshot and name clipped to his jacket, and the lady at the check-in counter obviously trusted him.
Get real. I’m just not important enough for anyone to go to this much trouble. This is what I get for having low blood sugar—nonsensical thoughts. I should save them for my stories, although I haven’t finished any.
