“What?”
“I’ll help you. Don’t stress. You’ll have me.”
“I’m not stressed.” And I don’t want you.
“You look freaked to me.”
“Well, I’m not.”
“If you say so.” He pulls what looks like a National Geographic-type magazine out from the back of the seat in front of us.
“Why, God, why?” I question under my breath.
“Did you say something?”
“Nope.” I pull the seat belt around my waist and fasten it.
“Benjamin Bronson, long time no see,” Marcus says. I look up just as a thin and balding man stops next to us. “Fancy seeing you here.”
“Well, if it isn’t Marcus Klein. How long has it been?”
As I hear the name Klein come from the mouth of this stranger, every bit of noise disappears, and I’m isolated in complete silence. What the actual fuck? He’s fucking Mr Klein’s son. This must be a joke.
“You’re joking,” I blurt out, shaking my head.
They both stop talking and shift their attention my way.
I glare at Marcus. Instantly, eye contact is broken.
“I’ll talk to you in Sydney, Ben.” He shakes the man’s hand.
“Yes, looking forward to it,” Ben adds before leaving.
Marcus’s head turns slowly to face me. “Abigail, what’s the matter?”
“Your last name is Klein?”
“Yes,” he replies innocently.
“You’re Mr Klein’s son, and you didn’t fucking tell me. Why?”
“What are you talking about, Abigail?”
“Who the fuck are you?” I yell as business class goes silent.
“Abigail, calm down. What has gotten into you? I’m Marcus Klein,” he says, “You know that.”
“No, I don’t,” I reply through gritted teeth.
“Now I’m the one confused. Honestly, what has gotten into you?”
My blood boils with anger. Every part of me wants to slap his face before fleeing this plane. “Who are you?” I snap again, this time through gritted teeth.
“You’re being silly,” he scoffs, staring at me. “You really don’t know?”
“No!” I spit.
I can see him thinking, and he seems as though he’s trying to place pieces of a puzzle into the correct order. What puzzle, I have no idea. He turns his head.
“So when you said before you thought I was sick …” He stops. “Okay, when you said you thought you were supposed to be sitting beside Mr Klein, you weren’t joking, that wasn’t a charade?” He stops again as I continue to throw knives at him with my glare. “Abigail, I’m Mr Klein, my assistants are sick, and you’ve been assigned to help me this week. I thought you knew this.” He tries to place his hand on top of mine, the one violently gripping the handle of the chair.
Quickly, I pull it away.
My heart stops beating. My lungs stop breathing.
This can’t be happening.
Friends
THIRTEEN
7th of November 2012
Stuck between a rock and a hard place: a classic summation of a fucked situation seemingly impossible to get one’s self out of. Right now, you’d think this would be the perfect way to explain the current situation I’m in. Yet, I’d prefer to go with: Abigail McMillian, stuck between the solid metal of a 747 aircraft and a handsome, yet masterful man of disguise.
“Abigail, speak to me.” Marcus’s tone is stern as I try desperately to draw air into my lungs.
Get me off this plane, my mind screams.
“Are you okay?” His voice quakes.
Turning to face him, I glare.
“I thought you knew who I was,” he whispers.
For me, there are no words. My head, now dizzy, falls between my trembling knees as panic threatens to consume me.
Breathe, Abigail.
The floor begins spinning uncontrollably, and it takes every ounce of strength I can muster to keep myself from falling apart in his presence. Each voice—noise that filled the cabin only moments ago—is now mute. Each breath following becomes easier to take.
“I can’t do this,” finally spills from my mouth as I manage to regain composure. “Let me out.” My request is delivered calmly, but my desperation to put distance between us quickly is apparent. “Please move.”
“We’re about to take off,” he reasons, his gaze unwavering and intense.
“Move!” I scream. I shoot up from my seat. Behind me, a woman gasps.
“Okay, okay,” he replies, showing his palms defensively. He clears a path for my exit, stepping into the aisle. “Where are you going?”
“Off this fucking plane.” As I stomp towards the stewardess, my mind abuses me for making such a commotion before a firm grip latches onto my shoulder. My body is jolted backwards, and I’m met with warmth. Burly arms wrap around me in an embrace, just as the smell of mint fills my senses.
“You need to stop this. I know you’re upset, but you’re making a scene. The doors have already closed. You’re taking this flight. Now, be a good girl and sit back down,” he whispers, polite as ever. “Abigail,” he says as the tip of his tongue makes contact with the bottom of my earlobe, causing instant tingles to race down my spine. “Abigail,” escapes his lips again, softly. The way each syllable is articulated calms me, and my body betrays me by relaxing into his firm chest. “You’re all smoke and fire, aren’t you?” God, he’s smug. “I happen to love fire.”
Marcus’s grip holds me frozen. What is it about this man that makes me surrender? As quick as his arms release their hold, his hand clasps mine firmly, keeping me in place.
“Ladies and gentlemen, everything is under control. Please go back to what you were doing,” he announces with superiority before we resume our seated positions, ready for take-off.
Marcus laughs deeply as I sit staring blankly at the back of the seat in front of us.
“Miss McMillian, you’re one in a million,” he declares as long fingers skim my stomach, and then the sound of my seatbelt clicking into place has me imprisoned.
I still can’t look at him or anyone for that matter, so I continue training my eyes on the back of the seat in front of me, allowing my thoughts to whirl erratically. How is it he can disarm the grenade that only moments ago threatened to explode within me? This makes no sense, but it happened, and all these frickin’ people who stared on in shock can attest to the fact. I’m brought back to reality when a woman’s voice asks about my behaviour.
“Mr Klein.” Her voice is sweet, yet high-pitched. “We need to ensure all passengers are calm on our aircrafts. Every person here is our priority, and you know safety always comes first. Can you guarantee this outburst will not occur again?” She pauses as the other passengers sit in eerie silence.
Wow! Thanks for showing any form of concern for my emotional state lady.
“Everything is fine. Miss McMillian can get a little overwhelmed when flying, so it seems. I’ll take full responsibility for her and her actions.”
He’s so commanding in his delivery. By the time I find the courage to shift my eyes in his direction, the stewardess is nowhere to be seen.