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She shakes her head too quickly. “I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not.”

“I said I’m fine.”

The plane shudders again.

That does it.

I unbuckle before the seat belt sign has even gone dark and step into the aisle. The attendant appears almost immediately, polite and already prepared to tell me no.

“Is there a suite available in first?” I say.

Her eyes flick toward the front of the cabin, then back to me. “Yes, sir. There’s one available.”

“We’re taking it.”

She starts to explain process. I don’t let her get far.

“Charge whatever you like,” I say. “Just move us.”

There are some advantages to money. One of them is that arguments like this become brief.

By the time I turn back to Sienna, she’s trying very hard not to look humiliated by the attention.

“You can’t do that,” she says.

“I just did.”

Her mouth parts. “For me?”

I look at her for a moment, long enough to make the answer clear before I speak it. “Yes.”

She goes quiet.

The suite is absurdly luxurious for a flight of this length. A private little world shut off from the rest of the cabin, with a wide seat that folds flat, softer lighting, too much leather, too much polished wood, and enough privacy to make a man dangerous if he were already inclined that way.

I am.

She steps inside and turns slowly, taking it in. “This is insane.”

“It’s quieter.”

“It looks like a hotel room.”

“A small one.”

That gets the faintest smile out of her, but only for a second. The plane gives another small jolt and the smile vanishes.

I close the door behind us. “Sit down.”

She does, though less because I told her to and more because her knees are not as steady as she wants them to be.

I sit beside her, not crowding her yet. “You need to breathe.”

“I am breathing.”

“Badly.”