After a few fitful “post-party” hours of what she’d hoped would be sleep, Mia dragged herself from her bed at 5:45 am. It seemed pointless to lay in bed any longer since all she managed to do beneath her sage-green and gray silk bedding was relive her relationship with Darion and wonder how he got his villainous hands on her phone number. Even when she managed to drift to sleep, she found herself back in San Francisco in their shitty little apartment being criticized for even existing.
Daylight proved less soothing than she had hoped. Once her eyes were open, she faced the prospect of Cancun and fending off Keys’ advances. Except what are the chances he’ll flirt with me again? He was no doubt drunk and won’t remember a thing.
Except he seemed fairly sober. The various times she’d been around Keys, she’d been able to tell when he’d been drinking too much—normally extroverted, he became ten times more extroverted when he’d consumed too much alcohol, sometimes with side-splitting humor. No, the Keys last night seemed like his usual cocky self.
And why are we thinking of Keys this morning? He’s a guy, and he’s a musician. Stay away. Mia frowned as she stomped toward the kitchen, where she fed Max and made some coffee for herself. Don’t tell me you actually liked the attention. Tugging the tie around her rose-colored silk robe, she shook her head at her errant thoughts. “I’m too tired to be thinking of anything right now,” she mumbled to her cat. Once the coffee had brewed, she poured herself a cup, added a generous amount of half and half, and hauled her weary body toward the shower. Last night her best friend, Gia, told her to be downstairs, ready to get in the Uber by 7:15, so she planned on doing just that.
At 7:10, she rode the elevator down to the lobby, suitcases in tow. She felt like she looked presentable, with enough makeup to cover the fatigue, clean hair hanging in silky waves, and wearing a cute little purple top she liked, hidden beneath a smart-looking lavender wool sweater and a winter coat. Warm gray slacks, gray gloves, and winter boots completed her attire. She planned on trading the pants and boots with shorts and sandals before they landed in Cancun. In the meantime, though, she preferred to be warm.
Once she stepped off the elevator, the doorman, Cory Jackman, glanced up from his post near the door to see her struggling with wheeling two suitcases, and a large bag around her shoulders. He hurried to help her.
“Good morning, Miss Song,” he said, grabbing the handles of the two rolling bags. “Why didn’t you call down for assistance?” Mr. Jackman, well into his forties and still a handsome man, always greeted her with warmth.
“Good morning, Mr. Jackman.” She glanced at his pleasant face. “I thought I could manage it on my own. Clearly, I was mistaken.” She shrugged. “I didn’t get much sleep last night,” she said as an explanation. She hated to be viewed as incompetent or weak.
“I’m sure you didn’t. An excellent win for Marked Love. My daughters were thrilled.” He smiled at her, soothing some of her frayed nerves into submission. Then, he wheeled the suitcases to the door, set them aside, and held open the glass door for Mia to exit.
She slid through the doorway into the crisp morning air and hustle of her New York sidewalk. A light dusting of snow in the night had left the streets looking like a winter wonderland, not the grimy, miserable wet streets and dirty snow she expected.
She eyed a cab parked across the street.
A guy strode up to the cab and lowered his head to say something to the cab driver. Then, he seemed to be arguing with the cabbie, shouting and gesturing with his hands. Finally, the taxi took off, leaving the guy to wave his middle finger at him.
Mia’s eyes narrowed. How odd. People can be jerks.
Gia, her hair a vivid yellow today, leaped from a parked Prius V and held her arms wide to greet Mia. “Hey, girl,” she said, kissing Mia’s cheek and hugging her hard.
Mia returned the embrace.
Gia released her as Mr. Jackman wheeled her suitcases to the hatch of the blue Prius.
The sturdy-looking brown-skinned Uber driver lifted them into his vehicle.
Mia peered inside the hatch. “Where’s your stuff?”
“With my love squeeze Brutus…” She snickered. “I mean, Marcos, inside another Uber. We knew we couldn’t fit your shit with our shit, so I sent my lover man on ahead.” Gia grinned.
“That was thoughtful,” Mia said, warm fuzzies in her heart for her good friend.
Gia held open the car door for Mia, waving away the driver as he hurried around to help.
He shrugged and strode toward the driver’s seat.
“Slide on in,” Gia said.
Mia turned and waved to Mr. Jackman. “Thanks for your help.”
“My pleasure, Miss Song.” He smiled and resumed his position at the apartment lobby door.
Before Mia slid into the back of the Prius, she cast an anxious gaze at her surroundings, scanning for signs of her ex. Nothing. Stop being paranoid.
Gia clambered in beside her and squeezed her hand. “Aren’t you excited to get out of New York for a week and get somewhere warm?”
“Sure,” Mia said, without much enthusiasm. As long as it’s away from Darion, it should be okay.
“So, we have a new plan this morning. Our plane has been delayed. You know…spring break and all that nonsense that has JFK jammed this time of year. And Dante has decided to be ‘fiscally responsible’…” Gia made air quotes. “By flying first class instead of a private jet. Such a bother. But, there’s no arguing with Dante when his mind is made up. Anyway, I need coffee to stay awake enough to board the plane, so we’re heading toward a coffee shop. We’ll chill there until my fix has kicked in, then we’ll catch another Uber to the airport.”
“Sounds good. I didn’t get enough caffeine myself,” Mia said, watching the shops, restaurants, and determined city dwellers, all scurrying to their destinations, outside the window.
A couple miles later, the Uber driver dropped them off at Three Beans Coffee and Tea. Gia bounced from the car, rounded the bumper, and grabbed Mia’s hand, leading her into the cafe, already bustling with customers.
The Uber driver followed with their luggage. He placed it just inside the cafe.
Gia tipped him generously.
Once they sat across from one another, lattes in hand, mobile phones resting on the table, and luggage by their sides, Mia studied Gia’s pretty face. Gia had cheekbones to die for. But, she didn’t seem to flaunt her model-worthy appearance, choosing instead to change her hair color at a whim and tattoo her body in new places when the mood struck.
“What?” Gia said, frowning. “Do I have something in my teeth?” She swept her tongue from incisor to incisor.
“Sorry to stare. Your hair wasn’t yellow at the awards-party last night,” Mia said, squinting. She shifted her boot against her luggage. “Was it? Or was I too distracted to notice anything?”
“You were busy, that’s for sure. Great job on the party. Dante will thank you himself, but we were all stoked. Everything was handled to perfection. And, no, it wasn’t yellow. It was red. But, I decided not to bother trying to get any sleep when Keys called me and said he had a stylist coming over and would I like to freshen up my look before Mexico. I said, ‘sure,’ and walked to his apartment at 3 a.m. thinking I’d go for sunshine yellow in honor of Cancun. I’d never had a stylist appointment in the middle of the night.” She chuckled. “Actually, I was stunned he wasn’t banging babes with Heat. That’s a first.” She wrinkled her nose and sipped her java.
Mia’s heart stuttered, hearing that Keys hadn’t scored any conquests. Inwardly, she chided herself. Don’t get excited about Keys Johnson.
“Speaking of Keys,” Gia said, eyebrows raised high. “Looked like he was hitting on you last night. Was he?”
“Oh, he was just messing around,” Mia said, staring at her coffee. “You know how he gets.” She raised the paper cup to her lips to hide the warmth blooming in her cheeks.
“Do not let him get into your panties, Mia. I’m serious.” Gia’s expression took on a solid, stone-like appearance.
“Who says I’m interested? I shut down all his advances last night. It was kind of funny,” Mia said, her heart all fluttery recalling last night’s exchange. “The more I rebuffed him, the harder he tried.”
Gia threw back her head and groaned. “Good God, he probably thought, ‘game on.’” She lifted her head and pierced Mia with her gaze. “He’s a man-whore, Mia. Total slut. I mean, he’s like my brother, and I love him to bits. But he’s a player. He’ll break your heart and won’t think twice about it. He and Heat stick their dicks into any moving object with a hole. Stay away from him.”
Mia waved her hand between them. “I hear you. I’ve got it. Stay away from Keys. Don’t worry.” Her face grew stiff. “Topic switch here. I’ve been thinking about my old dream to become a music agent.”
Gia’s expression brightened. “I didn’t know you wanted to get in the music biz. Tell me more.”
“Well, a long time ago in a land far, far away, I was a musician.” Mia grinned.
“No! What did you play?” Gia leaned on her forearms.
“Guitar. And I sang in a high school garage band. We were pretty good. We all thought we might go somewhere.” Mia drained her coffee cup.
“Really? And you’ve been keeping this secret from me, why?” One of Gia’s eyebrows raised almost to her hairline.
“No reason, really. I just thought the dream was over. Gone. Back to reality.” Mia glanced at her wristwatch.
“Why’d you give it up?” Gia said.
“Oh, I don’t know,” she said, reluctant to tell the truth. “It seemed like a teenage flight of fancy. I got a job with Zander, and that was that.” A wistful pang fluttered through her chest.
“So, quit already.” Gia lifted her cup to her lips and tipped her head back. She let out a satisfied “ahh” once she’d finished her java.
“I can’t. Zander’s given me everything. It would be a total betrayal to leave him after all he’s done for me.” Mia crumpled her paper cup.
“Zander King is a capable man. He’ll live. It will hurt more if you don’t pursue your dreams, I guarantee that. You’ll start to resent him, and that would destroy any possibility for friendship outside of employment. Trust me. Dante can sniff us all out like a bloodhound. He insists on transparency between the band. He was relentless with me when I let my alcoholism affect the band. He’s the one who threw me into rehab, remember?”
“Yeah,” Mia said, shifting in her seat. “That was awkward.”
“It was brutal. I hated him for a while. I thought it was the end of our friendship. But, we managed, I cleaned up my shit, and now we’re good. If you need to pursue this dream, I say go for it. I’ve got your back.” Her mobile phone pinged, and she turned it over to glance at it. “Okay, let’s jet. Promise me you won’t let your desires die, got it?” She rose, grabbed both their cups, and strode toward the door. On the way, she pitched the paper cups into the trash.
Mia hurried to catch up with her. “I promise. I just don’t want anyone to get hurt.”
“I don’t want you to get hurt, Mia.” Gia glanced over her shoulder as she pushed through the exit. “Dreams are important.”
Sixty minutes later, they pulled up to the front of JFK airport, completely frazzled. Traffic had crawled all the way to the airport.
“Fucking Dante and his fucking financial responsibility,” Gia grumbled as they powered through the crowded airport.
Once Mia’s luggage had been checked, and they were through security, she and Gia practically sprinted toward their gate.
“Flight two-ninety-one with service to Cancun is now boarding,” a voice said over the loudspeaker. “First class and premiere passengers may now board through Gate Twelve.”
Mia and Gia’s speed increased.
A few minutes later, the same voice said, “Now boarding rows twenty to thirty-five.”
“If I don’t stop and go to the bathroom, I’m going to pee my panties,” Mia said, spying a ladies’ room.
“You’d better hurry,” Gia said. “I’ll save your seat.” She winked.
“Thanks,” Mia said, smirking.
Gia powered toward the gate as Mia hustled into the bathroom.
A line had formed in the ladies’ room. Mia wondered if she should skip it, but her bladder ached. Finally, a stall opened. She moved at the speed of light to do her business and then raced from the ladies’ room.
Ahead at Gate Twelve, a few stragglers still queued up to board the plane.
Good. I’ve got this. Quickly, Mia pulled her ticket from her coat pocket and handed it to the ticket agent.
The agent scanned the ticket in the electronic scanner. Her expression darkened as she studied her monitor. “Oh, Miss Song,” she said, pronouncing the name incorrectly.
“It’s pronounced Soong,” Mia said, in her well-practiced correction.
“I’m sorry. Miss Song,” she said, getting it right this time. “I’m so sorry, but we’ve oversold this plane in first-class, and I’m afraid you’re going to have to take the next one.”
“What? All my friends are on that plane.” Mia threw up her hands.
“I’m sorry, miss, there are no available seats.” The ticket agent’s cheeks reddened as she typed on her keyboard. “I can get you on the next plane. It leaves in an hour.”
“Can I get on the plane, please?” a male voice grumbled from behind her.
The ticket agent took his ticket, scanned it, and waved him through.
“What he can get on, but I can’t?” Mia’s gut tightened to a knot. She gripped the strap of her big bag.
“I’m afraid so, miss. He’s flying coach. There’s nothing we can do.” The ticket agent reached for the next customer and scanned her ticket.
“I’ll fly coach. I’ll take a middle seat. Anything!” Mia said.
The ticket agent shook her head. “I’m sorry. The entire plane is full. We had to bump a couple of first-class passengers. You’re not the only one. But, we do have several first-class spaces on the next flight. We knew you’d be more comfortable with the seat of your liking.”
“This is so stupid.” Mia’s eyes burned. “Can you get a message to my friends that I’m okay and will be in Cancun shortly?”
The ticket agent nodded several times, probably eager to have a task she could accomplish. “Absolutely. I’ll personally deliver the message. You’ll be on Flight Six-Fifty-Two out of Gate Two-B. It’s on the other side of the terminal, I’m afraid. Your luggage will be held at Cancun International Airport for you to pick up when you arrive. And, we’ll give you a voucher for a free flight anywhere our airline flies.” She added a practiced smile like Mia should feel ecstatic.
Mia felt anything but as she whirled and stormed away, racing for her gate. Already this trip was proving to be a disaster.
By the time she arrived at Gate Two-B tears nipped at her eyes. The plane was already boarding. She handed the ticket agent her ticket expecting to hear another song and dance about how she couldn’t board this plane, too.
Instead, the smiling guy waved her through with a “happy to have you onboard, Miss Song,” pronouncing her name correctly. “You’ll be sitting in row three, Seat 3B.”
She hurried onto the plane before anything else happened.
When she stepped into the plane, her heart sank. Sitting in row three, seat A, was none other than Keys Johnson. If her luck continued, Darion would board and sit directly to her left.