All I Want For Christmas Is You - Vi Keeland Page 0,63
is just about to board.”
I read the bold writing.
JFK – FAIRBANKS, ALASKA
“Good luck.” She smiles.
“Thanks.” I give her a weak wave and make my way through security as I email Melissa. I’ll leave Clancy alone to be sick in peace.
I need a transfer from Fairbanks Airport, Alaska.
Arrival 6 pm local time.
To be driven to Anchorage, Alaska.
I missed my flight.
Boarding now, will check in on arrival.
Ten long hours later, I stand at Fairbanks Airport and look around. Everyone is just wandering around as if on vacation, nobody seems in a rush and to top it all off, the transfer isn’t here. “I hate incompetence,” I whisper under my breath. “This is the worst fucking day of all time.” I take my phone out and call Melissa. It rings out.
My blood boils and I call her again, it rings out again and I leave a message on her voice mail. “Hello Mellissa, this is Holly Moran, my transfer isn’t at the airport. Where did you ask them to pick me up from? Am I supposed to be waiting in the arrival lounge or out front?” I look around in hope of seeing someone with a small sign. “Call me back immediately,” I say sharply. “I’m in the middle of nowhere here.” I hang up in disgust and dial Clancy’s number. She answers on the first ring.
“Hi Hol.”
“Hey, sorry to bother you.”
“That’s okay.”
“Are you feeling any better?”
“Yes, a little. Where are you?”
“In the middle of Bumfuck nowhere, do you know who Melissa booked my transfer through? They haven’t turned up.”
“What do you mean Melissa?”
“I missed my flight and had to fly into Fairbanks, I emailed and asked her to book a transfer from here to Anchorage tonight.”
“Oh fuck,” she mutters. “You should have called me.”
“Why?”
“Melissa didn’t go into work today, she called in sick, too. She wouldn’t have seen your email yet.”
My eyes widen in horror as I look around at my surroundings. People are taking a second look as they walk past me, as if I stand out to be different. I suddenly become aware of people staring at me and I glance down at myself. I’m in a black tight pencil skirt and matching suit jacket, a silk blouse, sheer stockings and high heels. My long length dark hair is twisted into a bun. I have a small overnight black Louis Vuitton suitcase and my matching Louis Vuitton laptop bag.
Shit, a tad overdressed. I feel like I come from another planet, looking around at my surroundings…maybe I do.
“I’ll find you one now,” she says in a panic. “Grab a drink at the bar and I’ll call you right back.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. I don’t need this shit tonight. After the ten-hour flight, I’m beat. “Okay.” I reply as I try to stay calm. “Speak soon.” I hang up.
Oh…. my fuck.
I wheel my suitcase through the airport and over to the bar and take a seat, the waiter smiles as he wipes down the bar. “Hello.”
“Hi.”
“What can I get you?”
“A Manhattan, please.” I smile.
“A what?”
I frown at his reply. “Um… a Manhattan?”
“Nope, don’t know what that is.”
“Oh.” I pause as I think of another drink. “A cosmopolitan, please.”
He screws up his face.
“As in cocktail?” I wince. “Maybe a Classic Old Fashioned?”
“Nope.”
Oh hell, where the fuck am I?
He scratches his whiskers as if thinking. “I can do a fancy Margarita.”
“Yes, that,” I snap way too fast. “Fancy Margarita would be great.”
He gets to making my drink and I take my phone out and text Clancy.
What’s happening?
No answer.
Great, I put my phone down on the bar and stare at the back of the bartender.
I can’t wait for this fucking drink. My phone vibrates on the bar and I pick it up, it’s Clancy. “Hi.”
“Don’t freak out.”I frown, that doesn’t sound good.
“So apparently there isn’t a transfer company open, the one company there who does transfers for that distance is closed for refurbishment for a month.”
“What?” I pinch the bridge of my nose.
“Don’t worry, I’m just looking for a charter flight now. I’ll find someone to fly you straight to Anchorage”
“Okay, good idea.”
“What are you doing?”
“I’m at the bar.”
“Well, don’t drink too much until I find you a flight.”
I roll my eyes.
“I’ll be back soon.”
“Speak then.” I hang up just as the bartender puts the drink in front of me, only it’s not a drink, it’s a concoction. And when I say concoction, I mean, what the actual hell is this crap? The only thing that resembles a Margarita, is the glass.