LITMIR.BIZ

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more so than usual around JFK. And then her smart watch dinged with an incoming text. She glanced down at it.

      Garrison had texted.

      We need to talk.

      Juliana groaned. She didn’t have time for her boss right now. He could wait. She rushed through the airport, her trim, rolling carry-on spinning behind her, her dark hair, normally up in a tight bun, begging to spring loose as she bounded through the terminal. If she didn’t make that flight...she’d have to wait a whole day for the next one, and she badly needed that day to write her report—which she couldn’t start until she’d evaluated the airline’s service on this route.

      She headed to the gate and saw a worker in a Blue Sky uniform—blue-and-white scarf, and dark navy pantsuit—standing at the gate. Thank goodness!

      She arrived, panting, and held out her ticket. “Just...made it,” she said, gasping.

      “I’m sorry, miss,” the airline worker said, “but we’re loading standby passengers now, and we’ve already given away your seat.”

      “But...the gate is open, and I’ve got my ticket.” Juliana held it up, as if the business class ticket ought to speak for her. “Has the standby passenger boarded yet?”

      The airline worker—whose tag read “Bette”—reluctantly looked down at the computer screen in the counter. She typed on the keyboard, clearly out of sorts at having to do a little extra work. “No, not yet.” Her voice sounded clipped, annoyed. This is why you’re in a social media marketing mess, Juliana thought. Where your clients keep saying your philosophy is the customer is always wrong.

      “Then please let me on.” She was the paying customer, the original customer, and standby was just that—a person who didn’t have a ticket for this flight but hoped to get one. Mentally, she noted the airline employee’s sullen attitude, her lack of willingness to help. Kicking off paying customers from flights had gotten Blue Sky in trouble in a series of damning viral videos of late, and here was yet another unhelpful employee seeming oblivious to the poor optics of this situation. This would most certainly go into her mergers and acquisitions report to AM Airlines.

      “But the standby passenger is airline staff and I’m afraid...”

      “Can I help?” The deep baritone of another passenger behind Juliana caused her to jump. She whirled to see a tall, forty-something man with the most amazing clear blue eyes she’d ever seen. He wore dark jeans and a fitted Polo across his broad chest, looking more like the lead in some movie that hadn’t been made yet, than a random passenger on a flight. Juliana usually didn’t register attractiveness, really, when mingling with strangers, but something about the man made him impossible to ignore. She could almost feel his magnetism, a force demanding her full attention, like a Viking marauding on a foreign shore.

      “Sir...” The employee’s surly attitude seemed to get worse.

      “I’m a standby passenger,” he offered, his deep voice seeming to reverberate in her bones. It felt like pure power. “I’ll give up my seat if that helps.” He handed her his ticket, so she could read his name.

      Juliana glanced at the man, surprised. She’d always thought chivalry was dead, especially at airports. It was fend for yourself or die trying, it seemed at gates, on planes and at the baggage claim. The offer took her by surprise. The man looked at Juliana and smiled, a bright-white, dazzling smile. Was he famous? He seemed to have that easy air of someone who’d done well for himself. She noted his Bruno Mali suede loafers. Yes, clearly, his bank account must be full. Still, Juliana hesitated. Did she want this help from a stranger? She was no damsel in distress. She could handle herself. She never asked for help, because doing that was a sign of weakness, and she wasn’t weak.

      Another Blue Sky employee glanced up from the nearby counter. “Bette, a word?” she said, calling the employee over. The two women put their heads together and conversed and in seconds, Bette looked ashen. What happened? What had the other employee told her? Was her cover somehow blown? She didn’t think rank and file knew about her being a consultant or about her covert flights to take notes about customer service.

      “I am so sorry,” Bette babbled as she returned to her post. “We can get you both on this flight, not a problem.” She glanced at Juliana’s ticket. Bette nodded quickly, typing even faster on her keyboard, her fingers clacking on the keys. The small printer at the counter spit out two new tickets. “I hope you don’t mind new seats. They’re both in coach, but...”

      “I don’t mind,” her rescuer quickly said. “Unless you do?”

      She glanced at the intriguing man next to her, craning her neck to look at him, he was so tall. Juliana wondered if she’d be able to concentrate on the work at hand with this man sitting next to her. She also wondered if he was a celebrity. If the employees were fawning all over him for a reason she didn’t understand. Then again, maybe it was just that smile, with the hint of mischief.

      “No, I don’t mind,” she said.

      “So glad to hear it. So sorry, again, for the inconvenience, Ms. Hart,” the employee gushed to Juliana again, apologetic. Maybe someone told them Juliana was there to evaluate their performance. But who? If someone had leaked her route, then all evaluation of the flight would be moot. The whole point was she needed to be anonymous on this flight, just another regular customer. She glanced at the man behind her. “Yes, sorry, let me apologize again.” Bette scanned both tickets and handed them back, eyes lingering longer on her rescuer’s face. No, Juliana thought, this wasn’t about her at all. This was about him. He was the reason she was getting on this flight.

      “Not a problem,” he said, waving a hand as he stepped back. His voice carried the vaguest hint of an accent. British? She couldn’t quite tell.

      He glanced at Juliana, stretching his hand out to show her she ought to go first. Chivalry, again. Part of her bristled at the prospect. She had always been strong enough to get her own doors and chairs, and yet another part found it oddly...refreshing. She was so used to elbowing her largely male coworkers for space at the conference room table that she’d forgotten what it was like for a man not to be vying to go first.

      She rolled her compact carry-on through the open door of the gate as they both walked down the jet bridge. She could feel the heavy weight of the man’s steps behind her in the aluminum hallway with the thin carpet. The man was tall and solid, a wall of muscle, clearly. Who was this man who got things done with a snap of his fingers? A flight attendant greeted them with a curt nod of her head as she read their tickets and directed them upstairs to the two-level airbus, the airplane equivalent of a double-wide trailer, Juliana thought. The big plane was headed to Chicago, but after that, Honolulu. She knew the itinerary by heart, part of her Blue Sky project knowledge. Still, she felt a ripple of unease in her stomach as she boarded the plane. It was nothing, really. She flew all the time and never got nervous, so why did she suddenly feel like the walls of the plane seemed too tight? She gave herself a mental shake. Get it together. She glanced at her ticket and then realized they were at the very back of the plane, last row. Well, that was what they got for being late, she figured. She hoped being so close to the bathroom didn’t turn out to be unpleasant during the long flight.

      “Window seat or aisle?” Juliana asked him.

      “What would you prefer?” he demurred, cocking his head slightly, clear blue eyes never leaving her face. He gave no hint about whether or not he cared about where he sat. His broad shoulders blocked the aisle as he waited for her answer.

      “Window,” Juliana said. “If that’s okay.” She hated when the flight attendants rushed the cart down the aisle. Sometimes they’d hit her laptop or smack her elbow if she wasn’t careful.

      “Absolutely.” He smiled, flashing his bright-white, toothpaste-ad smile once more. Wow, but his clear blue eyes looked like the clearest, purest water, almost the ice-blue of a wolf’s. Something about him screamed danger, too, the delicious kind that promised breathless fun, like riding helmetless on the back of a motorcycle. Confidence radiated off his shoulders, and

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