My Brother's Billionaire Best Friend - Max Monroe Page 0,114
taking it off. I never take it off. Ever.”
I couldn’t stop my face from scrunching up in confusion. Obviously, we’d missed this thing during takeoff. No way in hell Casey wouldn’t have blabbed about the Battle of the Abdominal Bulge.
Wow, Cat, I mused, impressed. Seems you did manage to maintain a little bit of high school history knowledge.
And what did she mean, she never took it off? Like, she showered with the fanny pack? Had sex with the fanny pack? Everything with that fucking fanny pack on?
“Listen, ma’am,” Casey chimed in as he started his overhead bin checks up the aisles. “Unless you want to be escorted off this plane by the air marshal for disruptive behavior when we land, you need to take that fanny pack off. We are not going to ask you again.”
Oh boy. And he called me the feisty one…
The woman blustered. And huffed again. Until she unclicked the fanny pack from her waist and properly buckled her seat belt just in time for Captain Billy to begin our final descent toward Atlanta.
Casey and I double-and triple-checked our passengers, the overhead bins, the lavatories, and the aisles. Once we ensured everything was as it should be, we strapped ourselves into our jump seats for landing.
“Sheesh. Fucking fanny packs,” I muttered toward him, and he laughed.
“Yeah, the shit you have to request to keep people safe on a plane,” he agreed with a grin. “Listen, sister, the instant we land, just move your ass. I’ll do the final check and make sure everything is clean as a whistle before I go.”
“You’re the best,” I whispered. Luckily for both of us, I was the only one who needed to make a return flight in the next twelve hours. Casey had two days off to get his schedule situated.
Casey blew me a kiss. “I know.”
The instant we landed, I did exactly as I was told.
Legally, I had to wait as the passengers filed out, but as soon as they were done, I abandoned my responsibilities and moved my ass.
I grabbed my black carry-on and walked as fast as my navy patent leather heels would take me. After a serious delay and then a goddamn detour from the original planned flight, I was in Atlanta, should’ve been in Birmingham, and I had no idea what my next steps were.
Only six months into the flight attendant game, and without my flight attendant bestie by my side, I was a newbie. A little fish in a big ole airport pond trying to find her way back to Birmingham. Not to mention, RoyalAir was currently severely short-staffed, so the odds of being taken off my Birmingham to NYC flight completely were probably slim to none.
As I took the tram from Terminal D to Terminal A, where RoyalAir’s hub was located, I silently prayed the flight manager on staff this evening could find a way to help me.
The airport was insanely busy for the hour of the day. Eleven at night was generally blessed with calm and quiet, but not tonight. Tonight, the usual hustle and bustle of airline employees and people rushing about to reach their terminal or their next connecting flight had been put on steroids because of all of the detours and weather delays.
I weaved in and out of the crowd, doing my best not to bump into anyone, and my heels click-clacked across the tile at a rapid pace.
The flight manager’s office, located on the opposite end of the terminal and tucked into a small, obscure and darkened corner of a hallway, looked like something out of a customer service horror film. The phones were ringing off the hook, and two out of the three agents were already talking to other flight attendants. Paperwork littered the floor to the back and side of the long desk and blood was smeared all over the walls.
Okay, there wasn’t any blood, but it felt like there could have been.
A rescheduling war had been fought here.
“Name,” a woman with a short, jet-black bob and the darkest, thickest eyebrows I’d ever seen—the only person not occupied—demanded as soon as she noticed me stepping through the door.
Oh, fantastic. This should go well since she’s obviously in such a great mood…
“Cat, uh, well, Catharine Wild,” I responded and slid my carry-on bag to a stop with a little help from the counter. The bang of wheels against wood made The Eyebrows draw together, and I winced. “Oops. Sorry,” I apologized. She glared. “Most people call me Cat,