I’m sorry...
“Okay, then...We’ll be right back with—”
“I’d also say that I miss you.” She looked directly into the camera. “I miss you a lot more than words can explain.” Then she mouthed, “And I love you.”
Someone off camera handed her a box of Kleenex and Katie winked at the audience. She patted Gillian’s knee and whispered, “We’ll be right back, America” with a smile. And after the camera got one last shot of the tears falling down Gillian’s face, the screen cut to a laundry commercial.
“You ready?” The Marriott woman whispered into my ear. “I just received the text from housekeeping. We’re good to go.”
I turned around to face her, unable to see her true features. All I could see was Gillian.
“Is that a yes?” she asked.
“It’s a no.” I moved past her and walked out of the bistro and into the evening air of the city. I headed down 38th street, toward the financial district where I was less likely to run into too many people.
When I approached a stoplight, I looked to my left and noticed Turbulence staring at me from a display inside of Barnes and Noble. Unable to look away, I stepped closer to the glass, eyeing the new cover for the paperback. Unlike the hardback cover which featured a couple leaning against the wall in a post-sex kiss, this cover was far simpler.
The word “Turbulence” was split into two: “Turbu” and “Lence” lined up symmetrically in a bright white font. There was a man in a pilot uniform—a captain’s uniform with four glittering gold stripes on his shoulders, and his back was turned as he stood beneath a dark blue sky. In thin, white letters at the bottom were the words, “Taylor G.” and above that were the italicized words: New York Times and USA Today bestselling author.
A part of me wanted to storm into the store and strip the cover off every copy—to rip out the pages until there was nothing left for anyone to read. But another part of me, a part I couldn’t explain, was telling me to pick up a copy for myself.
With the streetlight still red, I went against my better judgment and walked inside the store. I was immediately faced with a larger display of her book, and a stand stocked with free bonus gifts that came with every purchase of it: A silver plane keychain with the words “This is us. This is our messed up love” etched onto the wing.
“Can I help you with something today, sir?” A brunette walked over to me. “Anything particular you’re looking for?”
“I’ve found it,” I said, picking up a copy. “Where do I check out?”
“Far right wall.” She smiled. “Happy reading!”
“Thanks.” I walked away from her and headed toward the counter, stopping when I saw a black book with the title, How to Date a Pilot (And Have Cockpit Sex!). I knocked it onto the floor and purchased my book.
I disregarded my previous plans for the Financial District and hailed a cab straight to my condo.
Since I was off for the next few days, I poured myself a few shots of bourbon and tossed them back. Then I took Gillian’s book out of my bag and sat on my couch.
I stared at it awhile, still unsure of whether I wanted to read it or set it afire.
It wasn’t until a little after midnight that I finally flipped open the page and read the first few lines:
PRE-BOARDING
GILLIAN
Prologue
HOW MANY TIMES WILL you burn me?
Three, four, five, maybe ten—
Is it me who’s burning you?
Yes, ‘this’ needs to end.
If you walk away first, I’ll follow suit.
I’ve told you this before, and yet you never do...
THE FIRST TIME I FLEW through severe turbulence, I swore on my life I’d never fly again.
It was during a red-eye flight from Seattle to London, and three hours in, we were swept up in a sudden summer storm. The plane shook violently as the passengers screamed and prayed for their lives, and my calm assurances of “Hold on! Everyone, please just hold on!” fell on deaf ears.
The pilot was young and inexperienced, his soft voice not comforting in the least, and as the glasses from the first class cabin shattered onto the floor and luggage toppled from the overhead bins, I promised myself that if we ever landed, my days in the sky were long over.
I broke that promise hours later, of course, but I could finally say that I’d experienced the worst of what turbulence could ever be.
Or, so I thought...
I READ THE ONE AFTER that, and as the hours passed, my eyes took in her sentences—devouring her every word.
GATE C45
GILLIAN
MYSTERY PILOT IN EROTIC ROMANCE BELIEVED TO BE RELATED TO AN AIRLINE EXECUTIVE
—E! News
AUTHOR OF PREVIOUS BESTSELLER, MILE HIGH CLUB UNVEILED, ADMITS TO “HEAVILY SAMPLING” TAYLOR G.’S FIRST NOVEL AMIDST THOUSANDS OF FAN ACCUSATIONS