This was going to happen and nothing was going to stop me.
I’d pulled it off.
After calling in a last second favor with the car service, I was just going to make it. At five minutes to five o’clock, the limousine pulled along the frontage road to the Van Nuys airport.
“What terminal ma’am?” Armando, the driver, asked from the front seat.
“Terminal One.”
Reaching down, I smoothed the fabric of my dress. If nothing else, I hadn’t eaten much all day so I looked as good as I could under the circumstances. Otherwise, I hoped my still half-wet hair wouldn’t be too off-putting. When the car swung around towards the runway, I reached into my purse and as a last ditch measure pulled out a tube of texturizing taffy. A quick pass through my hair would hopefully stave off the inevitable flyaways that were sure to come.
“Terminal One just ahead, Miss Olsen. It looks as if the plane is arriving right now.”
The driver’s words jarred me back into awareness. My half-empty stomach gurgled as the vehicle began to slow and then, a few moments later, came to a full stop. As the driver got out, I flipped my compact open and took one more look when a final horrifying thought hit me. I felt the slightest twinge of moisture in my armpits.
Oh my God… No deodorant!
And so it was, clammy and disheveled, I would meet a billionaire for the first time in my life. Just then, the door cracked open and the driver’s hand passed through as he reached to help me out. At the last instant, I managed to wipe the palm of my hand across my lap, ridding myself of the moisture I was certain it contained.
“Thank you, Armando,” I said, as I emerged from inside the vehicle.
Though it was noisy, I found myself caught off guard by the relative calm of the airport. As Mr. Sinclair’s plane approached, I cast my gaze down the rows of private aircraft, which extended as far as I could see. The late afternoon sun reflected hues of blood orange and fire engine red off the multi-million dollar fuselages.
There was a sense of order to it all.
Powerful men with expensive toys commanding their slice of the universe, bending it to their will. A smile crept to the corner of my mouth as the largest plane of them all neared our position. Swallowing us with its shadow, the aircraft came to a halt as two men with neon yellow ear protection scampered to brace the plane’s wheels with bulky rubber chocks. Just then, a rogue gust of wind generated by the plane’s final stop blew past my face and sent my hair flying.
A blessing in disguise. Now at least I have something to blame that rat’s nest on.
A time period equivalent to forever seemed to pass before there was any noticeable activity from inside the plane. At last, the cabin door slid open with a hiss. Lifting my hand to shield my eyes from the setting sun and get a better view, I half expected a cloud of stage smoke to billow out as well.
It was quite the spectacle.
“That’s some plane isn’t it, ma’am?” Armando asked.
I nodded. “Yeah, sure is.”
“Have you met him before? Mr. Sinclair?”
I shook my head and began to reply when I noticed a shadow draw across the open portal. I squinted a bit harder, cutting through as much of the sun’s glare as I could when he appeared.
The late afternoon sun cast an angular shadow across his square jawline. Easily more than six feet tall, his muscled, lean frame cut a masculine presence at the top of stairs. For a moment I watched as he scanned his surroundings before angling his view down towards us. After turning his head to deliver what I assumed was some last minute instructions to the flight crew, he flicked his arms at the elbow, repositioning his suit coat with precision. Straightening his tie as he descended, Greyson Sinclair sauntered down the stairwell leading from the side of the plane to the ground, mere feet away from the waiting limo and… me.
As he approached, he gave a curt nod to the driver and then stopped, perhaps no more than a foot from my face. Unsure, and not used to strangers invading my personal space, I stepped back a bit as the hint of smile came to the corner of his mouth.
“Miss Olsen?” he said, as he once more closed the distance between us.
I sensed the sun-warmed metal of the car through the sheer backside of my dress as he moved me towards it with his approach. Unable to side step his advance, I instead thrust my hand in his direction to stop him in his tracks. He paused for an instant, looked down at my hand, fingers ramrod-straight in defiance. The scent of his cologne, a heady mix of pine and musk, wafted into my nose as his eyes drew upwards to meet mine.
The peripheral world around me blurred as I found myself transfixed, completely unaccustomed to such a greeting. When his eyes at last locked with mine, I became aware my mouth had dropped open, enough so he’d notice. The dry air of hot runway sent my tongue towards my lips as I swallowed and gathered what little moisture I could from the narrow space between us.
“Miss… Olsen?” he said once again. Only this time his tone didn’t carry an inquisitive tilt but rather a challenging edge bordering on a demand.
Sensing the hint of impatience in his voice, I smiled, just as Katy had instructed. I flashed the biggest mouthful of gleaming white I could muster and replied, “Yes, Mr. Sinclair, my name is Madeline Olsen but you can call me Maddie.”
Still refusing to shake my extended palm, he instead lifted his hand towards his chin and pinched it between the thumb and forefinger. Small tufts of his hair threatened to shift out of position as a breeze stirred the stillness between us. He narrowed his gaze on me for an instant, nodded in a deliberate manner and said, “When I ask you a question, I expect an answer. Don't let it happen again.”
With that, he broke eye contact with me and nodded towards the driver, who hustled to the car and opened the door for Mr. Sinclair to get inside. I watched as he vanished from sight. My hand went limp as my arm fell back to my side.
Great job Maddie. Really great.
I puffed my cheeks and blew a deep exhale as I turned to follow him inside the car. As I did, I closed my fingers against the inside of my palm.
The clamminess had returned.
4
Getting An Eyeful (Grey)
I watched as the slender fingers of her hand grabbed the inside of the limo door a split second before her leg appeared through a slit in her dress. I could see the muscles in it flex as she made her way inside. Her legs were long, lean, slightly tanned and obviously fit. I don’t suppose I could have hoped for more, especially on such short notice.
As she took a seat across from me, I allowed my eyes to travel wherever they saw fit. Aside from her tempting legs, she had ample tits, a great ass and a helluva smile. She was a damn beauty, that’s for sure. The picture hardly did her justice. This was going to be a good first night. An unexpected and enjoyable end to an otherwise pain-in-the-ass day.
“Mr. Sinclair,” she began, as she raised her hand and draped it across her chest. “I’m really sorry about what happened out there a moment ago. Please believe me when I say I didn’t mean to offend you in any way.”
Just as she finished speaking, the car lurched forward. The tires squeaked on the slick surface of the tarmac and in that same instant, her purse fell from her lap, spilling its contents onto the floor in the process.