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“Are we playing ring around the rosy of billionaires or talking about Gillian’s wedding?” Kira snaps.
“Thank you, Kiki,” Gillian says with a smile. “Anyway, the wedding planner suggested that we mix everyone up in order to give a feeling of camaraderie to the wedding. After all, all the guests are going to be there for at least five days. It’ll just be family and close friends, but we want everyone to feel welcome.”
Amy screws her lips together. “Are you saying we’re cliquey?”
“Amy,shush,” I say and smack her thigh.
“We’ll put you with your plus ones, obviously, but–”
“Don’t worry about me,” I intercede impulsively.
Everyone looks at me. A bunch of brown eyes (and Lola’s blue ones) staring with confusion.
“You should separate Drew and me. To…you know, mix it up,” I say.
“You don’t want to fly with Drew?” Harley asks. “You’re just going to throw him to the wolves?”
I laugh. “He’s a big boy, he can make some new friends. Who knows, he might meet someone he–“
There is a collective groan. “Dana, enough of this pretending you want Drew to find a girlfriend! I’m sick of it,” Amy says, spreading her hands wide in an “enough” motion.
I frown. “I do. Of course, I do.”
“Just admit you like him,” Amy says.
“Idolike him. As a friend.”
Another collective groan. My eyes dart from sister to sister to Lola, hoping someone will be on my side. Not even Kira, my quietest, most reserved sister is on my side. “Guys, seriously. We’re not a thing.” I look at Gillian and nod firmly. “I want Drew and I on different planes.”
Gillian and Lola exchange a look before Gillian smiles in resignation. “Fine, Dana. Whatever you say.”
Something tells me they’re not going to make this trip easy for me when it comes to Drew.
4
DREW
I thoughtfor sure I’d be on the same flight as Dana, but she had to be at the airport for takeoff half an hour before me. Not sure why Axel and Gillian are set on the flights being some sort of meet and greet, but that’s how it’s going to be.
I don’t recognize anyone as I climb the stairs onto the jet.
When I hear the term private jet, I think of a tiny little thing where you’re practically in the cockpit when you’re in the bathroom. This, though, is practically the size of a commercial jet. It must have all sorts of amenities for about twenty-five people. After all, we’re going to be in the air for nearly twenty-four hours.
Flying private has its perks, that’s for sure. Beyond just the luxury of it, we can fly direct from LAX to Maldives which is impossible from any commercial airline in the US.
I shoulder my duffel and duck my head down to keep from brushing up against the lower clearance of the door.
“Welcome, Mr. Young,” a young flight attendant with bleached blonde hair says sweetly, handing me a glass of champagne.
I smile. “Have we met before?”
She smiles back, although it’s not as humorous as mine. “No, but now we have. I’m Ingrid.”
“Nice to meet you, Ingrid.”
“Likewise.”
I guess they must have studied our photos. All the crew seems to be addressing us by name. Must be a perk of being rich and well known. Although, I have to admit, it’s a weird fucking perk.
