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Asher’s dad, Kwan, hadn’t spoken to or even seen his father since before Asher was born. He didn’t want any part of the business, and his father disowned him. To retaliate, Kwan took his wife’s last name when they married—Jackson.
It was quite the shock to Kwan when Asher’s grandfather died and left him everything—including the business. Asher’s family went from being dirt poor and on the verge of losing their farm in Nebraska to being filthy rich in the blink of an eye.
Now his father and my father were as thick as thieves since their businesses fueled one another. Asher and I were pretty inseparable most of the time. We were the kings of Crestview, and we fed on that. Though, he’d softened a little since last year. He had good reason after everything that happened. He kept a good attitude, one that annoyed me endlessly, but also one that kept me grounded. Without him, I’d probably truly be a lost soul.
I sensed a presence, and I looked up to see him smiling down at me as he once again over-poured another glass of champagne. His waist-length, jet-black hair was now tied back.
When he sat the bottle back down, I punched him lightly in the gut. “Get your own bottle, dick.”
He laughed. Judging by how his head fell back, it was probably loud, but my headphones were great, and the music was loud. He winked and took a sip as he headed back to his seat.
As I settled back in, I grimaced at the painting my dad had hung on the wall at the front of the cabin. Asher’s large body had hidden it from my view until he moved. It was an awful abstract painting of a nude woman. I hated it, and that was coming from someone who thought there was nothing more beautiful than the female form.
It probably disgusted me because I imagined that was how he really saw women. Something ugly and lesser, complicated and not worth the time to create smooth lines. It made me think of how he treated my mother and how he almost immediately replaced her after she died with a gold-digging whore half her age.
Piece of shit.
Closing my eyes, I turned my swiveling, reclining chair away from the monstrosity and tried to relax. Within a few deep breaths, everything was peaceful once I was lost in my own world. I liked having my friends around, but in such close quarters, it was too much sometimes. Some asshole therapist once said something about it being my way of shutting people out. That I wasn’t used to having people around, so when I did, I tried to push them away.
Whatever the hell that meant.
We’d been in the air for about three hours when there was a gentle brush across my shoulder. My eyes opened to see the flight attendant standing there. Tall. Leggy. Blonde. She had brown eyes, so I assumed the blonde was purchased.
I pulled my headphones back, and she smiled. I couldn’t help but notice the way she casually bit the corner of her bottom lip while waiting for me to acknowledge her.
“Yes?” I said, my voice harsh.
“Um… Sorry to bother you, sir. I just wanted to know if I could get you anything else?”
“Anythingelse?”
My brows knit together in confusion. I hadn’t even noticed she’d brought me anything. I turned my head and saw a small plate of food on the wooden bar that ran the length of the right wall of the cabin by my chair with a fresh bottle of champagne nestled in the large, temperature-controlled, built-in holder. I’d finished off the last one—with more help than I’d have liked from Asher.
I faced forward without meeting her gaze, placed my headphones back on, leaned back, and closed my eyes. “No.”
Another thirty minutes passed, and I once again reached for my glass. The top on the champagne had been opened for me before she brought it out, so I poured the first glass from it. When I did, something fell from the bottom of the bottle.
I picked it up and saw the perfectly loopy letters.
___________________________________________
Special in-flight menu options are in the back.
- Tiffani
_______________________________________________
The right corner of my mouth tugged as I reread the note.Is that right, Tiffani with an ‘I'?
That poor girl had no idea what she was asking. I doubt she’d met a bastard quite like me. However, the flight had several hours left, and I needed to stretch my legs. I’d been sitting there for far too long. The guys were busy playing video games and shouting at each other. I doubted they’d even notice I was gone.
I placed my headphones on the bar and downed my glass of champagne. I stood and made my way back through the cabin, past the bathroom, and past the kitchen area. Normally, that was where the attendant sat when not needed, but surprise, surprise—she wasn’t there. That only left one last place.
The bedroom.
I’d been on enough private jets to know most didn’t come with bedrooms stocked with a king-size bed, refrigerator, and other such things. Most were used for business purposes, or in some cases, family travel. Either way, there was no real need for bedrooms. This one, however, had one.
My family has two private jets. This one—which my stepmother, Jenni, knew nothing about—and the family jet, which we used for family vacations we never actually took together. That one was in use right now by my father and Jenni for their summer trip to Italy. That one had no bed.
