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Elaine: A one-night stand. I'm not saying marry the man, just fuck him. Then find another and fuck him, too.
I sighed, trying to figure out how I was going to find a guy to fuck. I wasn't exactly a model with my short stature and curvy body. And one-night stands weren’t exactly my style. How did one go about doing that? Was I supposed to just walk up to a guy at a bar and tell him I wanted to have sex? Drink and act silly until the man made a move, go home with him and sneak out as soon as we were finished? The whole thing made me uncomfortable. The thought of turning from an uptight, workaholic divorcee who’d only ever slept with one man into a sultry seductress in the wilds of Montana just didn’t seem feasible.
Me: Fine. The first man I see when I get off this plane, I'll just ask to fuck me. That should work, right?
I could have sworn I heard Mr. Hottie grumble, but when I glanced at him, he was still reading.
Elaine: It's worked for me. Seriously though, find a hot Montana cowboy and go for it.
Mr. Hottie still hadn't moved and I inwardly sighed. This conversation was not something he needed to see.
My phone chimed.
Me: Gotta go. Mr. Farber is texting.
Elaine: He can text? LOL.
I rolled my eyes and shut down the messaging window. Grabbing my phone, I read my boss's text.
Farber: Hearing date for the Marsden case changed to Tuesday. In your absence, Roberts will take over.
“Fuck,” I whispered, my hand tightened around the phone case until my knuckles were white.
I stared at the words and wanted to throw the phone across the plane. Eric Roberts was vying for the same partner spot I was and he was a total asshole. Besides having a law degree, he had a Masters in brown-nosing and a PhD in poaching cases. I'd been gone half a day and he was already taking my biggest case. I could only imagine what he'd accomplish in the week I'd be gone.
Normally, I would have smiled politely and bitten my tongue. But not today. I muttered to myself as I answered Farber’s text with a polite recommendation that he send Martinez instead. Martinez, at the very least, thought with something other than his penis. Roberts had fucked his way through the entire paralegal department and had now moved on to the receptionist in the orthopedic office on the fourth floor. “Roberts. You asshole. Think you’re going to ruin me.”
“Do you always talk to yourself?”
I turned my head and looked up at Mr. Hottie.
“I'm sorry?” I asked, confused. My brain was still processing how my career was going into the toilet at an alarming pace.
“I just wondered if you always talk to yourself this much.”
Reality crashing back in on me, I blushed hotly, then looked away, seeing the flight attendant work his way down the aisle.
“Oh, um. Only when stressed.” I laughed drily. “That means yes. I talk to myself all the time.”
A little V formed in his brow, then glanced at my computer. “Stressful job?”
The flight attendant came to our aisle. “Since we're stuck here, drinks are on us, folks. Beer, wine, liquor?”
“Liquor,” Mr. Hottie and I said it at the same time. We looked at each other and smiled.
“Name your poison then,” the flight attendant replied, pencil and paper ready, looking to me.
“Vodka tonic,” I said. “Make it a double.”
“Same,” Mr. Hottie replied.
When the flight attendant moved down the line, Mr. Hottie turned back to me. “You seem to need that drink.”
“Or ten,” I muttered.
“That bad?” he asked.
“Drowning my problems in alcohol is the only thing I can do at this point. Since I've been on this plane I've had a phone call from my ex, an IM from a coworker and a text from my boss. On top of that, I won't make my appointment in Montana on time.” I waved my hand toward the plane's window and the water streaking down it. “I can't go back to New York and, after months of hard work, they’re giving my case to an ass—” I bit my lip. “An associate because I'm stuck here.”
