Page 43 of Wrong Room, Right Billionaire

“You two do know I am sitting right here, right? And there is still time to kick either or both of you off the plane and send your asses to the stuffy continental flight.”

“Why are you so grumpy?” she asks. “It’s just an airplane.”

My eyes flash open and I jerk my attention over to her. “It’s an airplane that is about to be seven miles up in the sky. Seven miles. High enough that if a bird got sucked into the engine and we were suddenly nosediving, it would be enough time to imagine exactly how we were going to die.”

“Jesus,” she laughs nervously, glancing at Donovan with a look that says, is he okay?

Donovan presses his finger to his lips in a shushing motion, and Scarlett bites her lip.

“I have ashwagandha gummies in my bag if you’d like,” she says.

“You brought drugs,” I snap back.

“No,” she laughs. “It’s a supplement that helps with panic and anxiety. Like nature’s Valium, if you will.” Scarlett holds out a small bag of what looks like purple fruit snacks. Donovan takes it with a nod.

“The only thing giving me anxiety right now is your voice,” I tell her, and her mouth pops open.

“Are you going to be like this the whole trip?” she asks.

“Only if you continue to be like this the whole trip,” I tell her.

“Lovely,” she scoffs, shaking her head and looking out the window. Then she squeals.

“We’re taking off!”

The plane picks up speed, and I squeeze my eyes shut, leaning back into the chair. Lucky for me, I am so nauseous that everything from the acceleration to Scarlett’s noises is drowned out by my own heartbeat pounding in my ears.

Even as I feel the swoosh of the wheels leaving the ground and the plane lifting into the air, I still feel like I can’t breathe. And, like I’m going to be sick.

On cue, Donovan hands me one of the provided plastic bags.

“I’m fine,” I tell him, but he hangs onto it. That and those stupid gummies.

“This is beautiful,” Scarlett says, looking out the window. While she is facing away, I snag the bag, popping one of the gummies in my mouth and chewing it up. It tastes good, I’ll give her that.

Then I go back to strangling the chair.

“It will feel better when we reach altitude,” Donovan says calmly.

I doubt that. What will feel better is being back on solid ground.

Several minutes later, when we are still climbing, Scarlett unbuckles her seat belt, and I jerk my attention over to her.

“What are you doing?” I demand.

“I have to pee,” she says.

“We’re still climbing,” I say.

“It’s fine. I do this all the time. No one ever stops me,” she says, standing up.

“I am stopping you,” I grit out.

“You’re not a flight attendant,” she says.

“No. This is my plane, and I am telling you to sit your ass down!”

Scarlett sinks back a little, and I almost feel bad for shouting. But seriously, she’s being irrational. A moment later, her shock turns to anger, and she sits down.