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As the plane taxied into position, the paper rustled with her labored breaths. With his free hand, he managed to snap his own belt on, but his attention was focused solely on her.
Normally, he enjoyed the routine of taking off to somewhere, whether it be a new destination or a familiar one. But as the engines kicked into gear and the jet picked up speed down the runway, he discovered his pleasure of lifting up into the sky wasn’t as universal as he imagined.
Through Callie, he found out what it felt like to be phobic about something. It was more than simply unpleasant; it was a unique kind of terror that ate down to the bones, and honestly, was fucking exhausting.
The paper bag took a beating, thwapping open and closed with her breaths. Sitting awkwardly in his seat, he held the bag with one hand, and cradled the back of her head with the other, massaging her scalp in calm, soothing strokes.
Her eyes were squeezed shut. One hand latched onto his wrist, gripping until he wondered if he’d have tiny, finger-shaped bruises tomorrow.
It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered aside from giving her confidence and support.
“How long have you been afraid of flying?”
A shudder rippled through her. Her response was muffled. “Since now.”
“Why now?”
“First time.”
Evander frowned. “This is your first time flying?”
She nodded, but he noticed the ferocity of her exhales was slowing.
“You’re an author. Surely you’ve been to signings, book conventions, publicity events.” Okay, so maybe he’d done some digging and found out that his new kinky Little was a bestselling children’s author. There was a large kernel of pride sitting warmly in his chest, all for her.
Callie moaned quietly and nudged his hand away. “I’m not the most social of people. Interacting gives me the willies.” Her lips puckered as she deliberately exhaled, long and slow. “Can I open my eyes now?”
Evander considered the current angle of the plane as it climbed higher. “I think it’s best you rest for a while, sweetness. Keep ‘em closed, slow your breathing more. If being around people is an issue for you,” he added, “you keep it hidden well. You were quite the composed little madam at Roulette.”
“Because you made me mad.” Her mouth curved into a brief smile before her lips twisted in an expression he knew all too well. Even as he opened the bag in front of her face, her eyes popped open, full of apologetic alarm.
She threw up less than a heartbeat later.
When she took hold of the bag, Evander relinquished his hold. Needing to do something instead of feeling helpless, he rested one hand on the back of her neck, using the other to stroke her thigh comfortingly.
Being useless in this situation was a new experience for him. Usually, if something went wrong, he had the tools at hand to fix it. Comforting her while she lost the entire contents of her stomach wasn’t doingnothing, but it certainly didn’t feel like it was enough.
It seemed like forever until she stopped heaving.
“Here, sir.”
With a jolt, Evander glanced up and met Elias’s concerned gaze. Gratefully, he accepted the damp cloth his friend held out. “Should you be walking around, Elias?”
“We’ve levelled out, sir. I was on my way to tell you that it’s now safe for you to move about the plane when I heard the young miss in distress. Let me take that for you,” he added smoothly, taking the bag from Callie’s white-knuckled grasp with undeniable gentleness. “I’ll dispose of it. Can I get you something to drink, sir? Miss?”
Seeing the misery in Callie’s eyes, Evander painstakingly removed any trace of her sickness with the cloth. He didn’t like it when she dropped her gaze to her lap; he couldn’t see what she was thinking, and in times like this, he figured it was imperative to know what troubled her before she buried it deep. “Water and juice for Callie; Scotch on the rocks for me. Thank you, Elias.”
“My pleasure, sir.”
Elias had been a lucky find. As British as they came, a decade older than Evander, he’d been working for an elderly woman—or an old biddy, as Elias often said—who treated her staff like shit. Housekeeper, butler, maids, gardeners…she saw them as nothing more than fleshy machines designed to cater to her whims.
When she’d contacted Evander about constructing a building for her private collection of vaguely offensive artwork, he’d turned her down several times. The job didn’t fit the way he worked.
Buy, develop, sell or keep.
But the irritating spinster had badgered him until he was forced to take a meeting with her, and it was Elias who’d answered the stained glass door, looking as fucking miserable as any man could.
After ten minutes with the woman, Evander understood why.
