Billionaire's Single Mom

“Is this the right way?” I said.

“Yes. I fly out of this terminal all the time.”

I let the matter drop, not wanting to seem ignorant.

Five minutes later, I found myself in a much less busy part of the airport. I saw a pretty dark-haired flight attendant and a weathered-looking older pilot waiting near a doorway. They waved to Logan in the distance, bright smiles on both their faces.

A small jet sat outside on the tarmac. The size surprised me. For a cross-world trip, I thought we’d be flying in some huge jumbo jet, not something that looked like it probably could hold fewer passengers than Juniper’s school bus.

We closed on the flight attendant and the pilot, who shook Logan’s hand.

“Good to see you again so soon, sir,” the pilot said.

“You too.”

“Just leave your bags here and head on in.”

Logan let go of his rolling suitcase. I did the same.

“Are we late?” I said. “Are the other passengers already seated?”

A look of confusion appeared on the pilot’s face for a moment, but then he and the flight attendant shared a laugh.

Logan smiled at me and shook his head. “There are no other passengers, Emily. This is my private jet.”

I blinked several times, processing that. I knew that Logan was rich. Mama wouldn’t have pushed me at him otherwise, but I’d assumed he was more on the level of my parents. I’d grown up in a house of privilege but not one that owned a private jet.

“Oh,” I managed to get out. “That’s interesting.”

He chuckled and motioned toward the doorway. “We’ll have to take some stairs down and then walk to the plane.”

“How horribly like a peasant,” I joked.

Logan laughed.

* * *

We chatted the first hour mostly about business. Logan flew all over the world setting up investment deals.

He told me how he thought it wasn’t all that necessary to meet face-to-face in the age of the internet for details but how he couldn’t commit to some million-dollar deal unless he could look the other guy in the eye. He trusted his gut, and his gut made him a lot of money. Or so he said.

As we reclined in our seats, finishing our chat about his work, I was a little unnerved by the whole environment. It was pleasant, more than pleasant. Swanky. Decadent almost.

There were about a half-dozen lounge chairs and a beautiful wooden table connected to the wall. The chairs were more comfortable than any chair I had in my house. A large flat-panel TV hung on the front of the cabin, and there was even a huge bed in a back cabin.

This wasn’t a plane. It was an apartment with wings.

That gap between my observations and what I’d expected freaked me out a little. I’d been expecting a bit more leg room and a few free cups of wine, not a comfortable lounge chair, a bottle of chilled wine, and some delicious chicken in a flying apartment.

The flight attendant came in a few times but didn’t hover, which surprised me because we were the only passengers on the plane.

“You’re being quiet,” Logan said, taking a sip of his wine.

“I’m just taking it all in.” I picked up my glass of wine.

“What? The trip?”

“I suppose. Just thinking about how much things changed. I used to be married years ago. Now I’m not. I used to have a daddy, now he’s passed on.” I took a sip of my wine. “I’m still getting used to it.”