Thirty-Three and a Half Shenanigans (41 page)

But thankfully, he sat in the front row and she was in seat 3D. She stuffed her purse under the seat and looked out the window, remembering when she and Jay had bought the plane tickets to fly to Kansas City for their wedding. That should have been her first clue that Jay was a cheating asshole. He’d insisted that they each pay for their own ticket.

“Can I get you something, Ms. Vandemeer?”

Megan turned to look at the pretty flight attendant who was smiling down at her. “Uh…a mimosa?”

The attendant nodded. “Coming right up.”

The passengers filed past Megan and she suddenly noticed that the only open first class seat was next to hers. Maybe Jay had forgotten to cancel his flight too. But that didn’t seem likely. Jay was a penny-pinching snob. But what else had she expected from an investment banker? His idea of a wild night was moving her 401K into high-risk mutual funds. Creepy financial planner dude was a year too late.

The flight attendant brought her drink and Megan sipped it faster than she’d intended, trying to quell her nerves. The knots in her shoulders were just loosening up when one of attendants started to shut the cabin door. The woman stopped mid-action, holding the door open to let one last passenger on board. He stood in the front of the aisle, his gaze taking in the empty seat next to hers.

Megan wasn’t the only woman to notice him, even if her attention was less pointed than the others’. At least six feet tall, he had to stoop slightly to keep from bumping his head on the ceiling. The blond flight attendant who’d brought Megan’s drink gave him a sideways glance of appreciation, even if he didn’t notice. Then again, Megan was sure a guy like him, who epitomized the words tall, dark, and handsome, was used to women staring. Jay certainly was.

The attendant rested her hand lightly on his arm and looked up at him through heavily mascaraed eyelashes, saying something softly so that she had to lean into him to be heard. Looking slightly irritated, he showed her his ticket and she pointed to the empty seat.

Megan had neighbor.

He stuffed his overnight bag in the overhead bin and sat next to her, buckling his seat belt. He was, without a doubt, a better option than the financial planner, but maybe not by much. She guessed him to be close to her age, and he didn’t have the typical laid-back Seattle vibe. He bore a resemblance to Jay. His thick, dark brown, wavy hair wasn’t long and unruly, but it wasn’t trimmed as closely as her ex-fiancé’s always was. His looks didn’t concern her. It was the determined gleam in his eyes and the way his jaw was perpetually clenched, as though he was preparing to do something unpleasant like complete a mission, at any cost.

Momentary fear mingled with the inebriated fog in her head. “Are you a terrorist?” she asked, before she could stop herself.

“
What
?” he asked, his eyes wide as he turned to her in horror.

She shook her head, the movement making her dizzy. “Sorry. You just had a crazed look…” She waved her hand in circles in front of her face to help justify her statement, then quickly dropped it to her lap. What on earth had possessed her to say that?

Moments later, the flirty attendant came back and leaned across the man to grab the empty glass on Megan’s tray. Still bent over, the blonde turned to face him, her face less than a foot from his. “Don’t you worry, Mr. McMillan.” She patted his arm again. “I’ll come take care of you just as soon as I can.”

His mouth parted slightly before he grunted, “Thanks.”

Megan had to wonder what the attendant’s definition of
taking care of him
included.

The flight crew started the safety demonstration and Megan leaned her head against the seat, her fingers digging into the armrest. How was she going to face her mother?

“Afraid of flying?” the man next to her asked, not sounding happy at the prospect.

“No, just crashing and burning.” Which was exactly what was going to happen to her after they landed.

It was his turn to ask “
What
?”

“Not the
plane
.” The brunette’s brown eyes fluttered open, glistening with tears. “My life.”

Josh nearly panicked. He could deal with paranoid people worried about plane crashes, but he hoped to God this woman wasn’t going to cry. He didn’t think he could take it.

He wasn’t supposed to be here—on this plane, with this woman, at this point in his life.

Josh McMillan wasn’t the kind of man to take leaps. Every step he took was carefully plotted beforehand. Except for this one.

Ever since Josh was eight years old, he’d wanted to follow in his father’s footsteps and become an engineer. Josh was sixteen when his father died, but the loss only cemented his resolve. His older brother, already an engineer, took over the family business, and Josh joined him when he graduated from college.

The firm had struggled since their father’s death and the bad turn in the economy hadn’t helped. But then Josh had created a revolutionary part that could be used on wind turbines to help produce more electricity with the same amount of wind power. The part had the potential to make millions. So they’d hired a patent attorney and spent a fortune they didn’t have to get the patent process started, hinging the future of their business on it. And it had worked. They’d acquired interest from a serious investor who could help take their engineering firm to a whole other level.

Until last Friday, when their patent had been denied.

A firm in Kansas City, Missouri, had received approval for an identical plan, but how could a firm in Kansas City have so exactly duplicated the esoteric part? Especially since Josh had stumbled upon the design by accident.

Josh’s company would have to pay thousands to an attorney to fight the ruling. Thousands more they couldn’t afford to lose. And the investor had caught wind and threatened to pull out of their agreement if it wasn’t resolved within a week. The two brothers went out for drinks to strategize about the ruling. After a couple of rounds, no doubt to steel his courage, Noah confessed he’d shown the plans to a friend of a friend at a conference three years before.

“Who was the friend of friend?”

Noah looked slightly embarrassed. “She was a woman I picked up in the hotel bar. I took her to my room and the next morning she was gone and so was my bag. Which had the copy of the plans.”

“And you didn’t think to tell me?” Josh asked, his temper rising.

Noah slouched over the bar, cradling the glass in his hand. He lifted his shoulder into a half-shrug. “They were a copy, Josh. I didn’t think anything of it.”

“We have to fight this.” Josh only realized he’d shouted when he took in the startled looks of the other bar patrons. “We didn’t work so hard to file the patent then get this investor just to let it all be flushed down the drain.”

Noah sat up and drained his drink. “Maybe there’s nothing left to fight for.”

Only Josh wasn’t so willing to give up the fight. He went on to spend the weekend researching everything he could about PMV Engineering, the firm that had filed the patent two weeks before the McMillan brothers. PMV consisted of three partners. One had retired and moved to Belize, which—in and of itself—made Josh suspicious. The other two were still active. Andrew Peterman was the second principle and his son Drew had joined the firm. From the photos Josh found on the Internet, he made the highly unscientific judgment that the man was cold blooded enough to set Noah up.

After hours of researching and brainstorming and only six days before the investor pulled out, Josh decided to go to Kansas City to confront the bastards in person. By a stroke of luck, the daughter of the third principle, Bart Vandemeer, was about to get married. Josh could use the distraction to catch them off guard.

Noah thought he was crazy, but he drove him to the airport all the same. Since the ticket had been purchased at the last minute, Josh had needed to spring for a seat in first class. It had cost a fortune, but at least he could have a beer or two and relax on the flight to Kansas City, take the opportunity to figure out a real plan.

Or at least that’s what he’d thought.

He hadn’t counted on being seated next to the anxious brunette. She was pretty with long, dark hair that hung down her back and long, slender legs—definitely his type—but within a minute of sitting down, she’d accused him of being a terrorist and made her crash and burn comment.

It was going to be a long flight.

Maybe he could get the eager flight attendant to move him to coach.

After they reached a cruising altitude and the airline attendant stood, Josh grabbed her attention, not a hard thing to do since she’d kept her eye on him most of her time since takeoff.

She walked straight toward him with an eager look in her eyes. “Can I help you, Mr. McMillan?”

“I need a Jack and Coke,” he said, forgoing his planned beer. The woman next to him was already driving him crazy. He was going to need something stronger than a beer to endure her tics.

“Of course. Anything else?” The attendant flashed him a blinding smile. The name tag pinned to her uniform read “Tiffany.”

“I want another mimosa,” the woman next to him said.

The attendant barely acknowledged her order before spinning around to head to the galley.

When she returned, she leaned in closer then necessary to place the woman’s drink on the tray next to him. Then she set a cup of ice along with a can of Coke and a mini bar bottle on his tray. “Would you like me to make it for you?”

Ordinarily, Josh might have been interested in her, but today he didn’t need the distraction. “Thanks, I’ve got it.”

Her smile faltered as she walked away, but while he felt a little bad, there was no sense in leading her on. He was a man on a mission and his mission currently lacked an accompanying plan.

“Do you get along with your mother?” the woman next to him asked, apropos of nothing.

He turned to her. “My
mother
?”

“Yeah, you know,” she waved her hand dismissively. “The woman who raised you.”

He gave her his full attention, still confused. She looked more relaxed now and he was sure it had something to with the drink she’d had downed before takeoff. “Maybe I was raised by two fathers,” he said, keeping a straight face.

Her eyes widened as though she’d had an epiphany. “
Oh
. Were you?”

“No.” He couldn’t hide a smirk.

She watched him for a second and he studied her while he waited. Her big brown eyes didn’t seem entirely focused. How much had she had to drink?

“So do you?” Her thin eyebrows lifted in an exaggerated movement.

“Do I what?” He’d forgotten her question as he watched her shift in her seat. Her light blue skirt hiked up to mid-thigh and stayed there, but she didn’t seem to notice.

“Get along with your mother.”

He grinned, surprised at himself. He usually hated talking to people on planes, but for some reason he found her amusing. “Yes. I love my mother.”

She lifted her glass and the liquid sloshed around, nearly spilling over the side. “Now that’s different. Loving your mother and getting along with her are two very. Different. Things.” She waved her glass to emphasis her point.

“I guess you’re right,” he said, his mouth pursed. “My mother and I get along pretty well. Better than my brother and me.”

“You’re really, really lucky.” She took a sip of her drink and turned to the window to stare out into the clouds. When she was silent for several minutes, he decided she was done and turned to face the seat in front of him.

Josh finished his drink and closed his eyes. He hadn’t slept well the night before and now that he was on this flight, he realized Noah was right. This caper
was
insane. He hadn’t even reserved a car or hotel for when he arrived in Kansas City.

What the hell was he doing?

“Can I get you something else, Mr. McMillan?” Tiffany asked and Josh opened his eyes, more than a little irritated. Wasn’t it a cardinal rule for flight attendants to leave sleeping—or possibly sleeping—passengers alone?

“No, thank you.”

“Can I have some water, please?” the woman next to him asked.

The flight attendant gave her a dirty look, then moved to next row. When she returned, she gave the woman her water and looked down at Josh, fluttering her lashes. “Mr. McMillan, if you change your mind, you let me know.”

“Thank you,” he said, and she walked away with a small sigh.

“Mr. McMillan,” the woman next to him singsonged in an undertone. “Will you have my babies?”

He laughed and turned to her. “She’s that obvious?”

She snorted, then asked after a pause, “Are you married, Mr. McMillan?”

He waggled his bare left fingers at her. “Nope. You?”

She looked down at the simple diamond solitaire on her left ring finger. “Nope. Very single.” Then she laughed and looked up at him with a wistful smile. “Guess why I’m going to Kansas City.”

“I have no idea.”

“Guess.”

“You’re joining the circus.”

“Nope. Guess again.” She leaned her head against the window, her eyes partially closed.

How could she be so drunk after just two drinks? Had she spent the morning at an airport bar? “You’re going to join a convent.”

She laughed again and lifted her hand, showing him her ring. “I’m going home to my wedding.”

“But you just said you’re single.”

“I am.
Now
.” She sat up and grabbed the cup of water. “I broke up with the lying, cheating bastard six weeks ago.”

He shook his head in confusion. “I’m confused.”

She set her glass down with a thud and water sloshed out. “I didn’t tell my mother.”

“So…you’re going to tell her you’re marrying an invisible man?”

Her eyes widened in excitement. “Do you think that would work?”

He chuckled. “No.”

She flopped back in her seat with a humph. “You’re probably right.”

“So let me get this straight: You’re going home to your wedding which is this…?”

“Saturday.” She sat up again and leaned over, picked up his half-full glass of Coke and Jack Daniels and gulped it down in a couple of swigs.