When Olive got home, she barely had time to even look at the dresses that Agatha had sent over. She just condensed them all into the same garment bag, shoved everything else into a suitcase, then tried to get to sleep in time to be vaguely well rested when the car came to get her at three thirty a.m. But of course, that didn’t happen. Instead, Olive lay on her bed, staring at her clock for hours, waiting for the alarm to go off. Most nights she could barely keep her eyes open long enough to watch an entire hour-long drama. But when she had something important to do? Sleeping was impossible.
Rather than lay in bed with her eyes open, Olive crawled out from under the covers at three a.m. and finished her packing. She dreaded the upcoming travel. Olive hated flying in general. This trip was going to be hellish, she knew it. Trapped in planes, airports, cabs and shuttles for almost thirty hours before arriving at the final destination – that was hard enough to comprehend. But, having to do it all while wearing the dress Jessamine made her promise she’d wear – that was beyond awful.
That reality was beyond awful. So instead of slipping on the sundress and sweater Jess had given her, Olive put on a pair of comfortable jeans, an oversized sweater, and her sneakers. If she was going to be stuck on a plane for a full day of travel, looking like a starlet was the least of her worries.
At three thirty a.m. on the dot, Olive’s phone beeped with a text message from the driver, letting her know he was downstairs. With an exhausted sigh, she grabbed all of her bags and hustled down to the car, shocked to find it was a limo. A tall, fastidiously dressed man in a suit nodded her way and rushed to take her things.
“Miss Hunter, good morning. My name is Charles. I’ll be taking you to the airport. Is there anything you need before we get underway?”
Olive laughed softly. “Coffee and courage. But realistically, I can manage until we get to LAX.”
Charles closed the trunk softly, so as not to disturb Olive’s neighbors, then hung her garment bag up in the back of the limo. “Well, I’m not sure what I can do about the courage, miss, but there is a large hot chocolate with two shots of espresso waiting for you in the back. Miss Bellemare said it was your drink of choice, and I figured you would need a boost this early in the day.”
Olive had to stop herself from rushing over and hugging Charles.
“Thank you so much. That is amazing. How long will it take us to get to LAX at this hour?”
Charles helped Olive into the car, then jumped into the driver’s seat and rolled down the partition. “I’m afraid the highways aren’t significantly less hectic going that way, even in the middle of the night. But if you’d like to close your eyes for a bit, you have plenty of time for a catnap.”
Olive didn’t want to be rude, but now that she was safely ensconced in the limo and on her way to the airport, exhaustion seemed to wash over her in one hell of a hurry.
“I just may do that, Charles. Thank you.”
The last thing Olive heard before she drifted off to sleep was the gentle hum of Ella Fitzgerald from the radio, and the sound of the blinker as the limo turned on to the Pacific Coast Highway, bound for the airport.
* * *
Olive didn’t wake up again until Charles pulled to a stop in front of the international terminal at LAX.
“Miss Hunter, I’m afraid you’re going to have to rush a bit. We hit traffic on the way in, and it took an extra thirty minutes. You might want to chug that latte, then run,” Charles said with a nervous smile.
This was why Olive hated travel. She was going to have to run through customs, then run all the way to her gate, and hope she still had time to actually make it to her plane. As she dove out of the back of the limo, Charles handed her the bags and pointed her toward a concierge desk.
“I called Miss Bellemare on the way in and informed her of the situation, so she upgraded you to a first-class ticket for both legs of the flight. There is a first-class concierge over here that will help get you to the gate a little quicker. But there is some sort of crowd assembled over there, so I suggest you hurry!”
Olive glanced in the direction that Charles was pointing, and saw a throng of paparazzi swarming around the next entrance down from where they were parked. “Ugh, there must be a celebrity here. I hope they’re not on my flight.”
Charles laughed as he ushered Olive over to the first-class concierge. “If you’re that averse to the jet-setting crowd, you’re going to have an interesting time at this event, my dear.”
Before Olive had a chance to thank Charles for everything, he was back in the limo and speeding away, while the concierge rushed to check her in.
“What gate do I need to get to? And how long do I have to wait in customs? My flight is already boarding,” Olive said nervously as she tried to balance her garment bag on her arm. The concierge didn’t say anything at first, but then he looked up at Olive with a giant smile that made her a little nervous.
“I will get you to your gate faster than a jiff, Miss Hunter. You’re pre-checked for boarding, and you don’t need to drop your bags. The flight attendants can store them in the main cabin. And there is a special section in customs where we can hurry you through. Once you’re on board, you can go right back to sleep! It will be thirteen hours and fifty-five minutes, wheels up to wheels down,” the concierge yelled behind him as Olive chased after him to a small golf cart.
As they sped through the airport, practically running people over on their way through security and customs, Olive felt her head spinning, and she thought she might be sick. Between lack of sleep, nerves, and anticipation, Olive thought there was a serious chance she was going to pass out before they even made it to the gate. The concierge was chattering away about what a great time she’d have in Bali, but all Olive could do was hold on to the sides of her seat and try to stay upright as he sped around crowds of passengers.
When they finally got to the gate, Olive handed the concierge a ten-dollar bill, stumbled off the little cart, and fumbled her way over to the check-in counter. Based on the way the attendant at the gate was looking at her, she had a feeling she looked like she was about to puke. The attendant took Olive’s passport, then tried to smile sunnily at her.
“You’re just in time for final boarding, Miss Hunter. And with the flight upgrade, you’re going to have a very comfortable journey. Now, when you arrive in Tokyo, there will be someone waiting for you outside the gate to help you get to your connection to Changi. Go ahead and board, and you will be in suite 3C.”
Olive, already tired from barely sleeping the night before, was reminded that the first leg of her marathon trip would take her to Tokyo, Japan. She felt a rush of relief, knowing there’d be someone there to help her. She could see herself missing her connection and thus the wedding and never having a chance to approach Beckett Blackthorn about the role. Agatha would fire her for sure, and probably make her earn her own airfare back to the states. She was wondering how hard it would be to get a work-visa in Japan, when it suddenly hit her what the atte
ndant had just said.
She spun back around and called back for her attendant’s attention. “Excuse me, you said suite? What do you mean, suite?”
“Oh! You’ll see when you get on the aircraft. Melody will meet you at the first-class cabin to get you settled…” she said, but it was clear she had something else to say, so Olive stared at her, waiting for her to finish her sentence.
“Is there something else you need from me?” Olive asked, feeling like she was going to fall asleep standing up.
“Well, I shouldn’t be saying anything,” the attendant said as she wiggled her eyebrows, “but did you see Beckett Blackthorn when you were coming in? I heard he was outside, and might be on this flight. I have a little bit of a crush on him.”
Olive tried not to roll her eyes, but she really wanted to. She was used to people trying to use her as a catalyst to celebrity meetings once they discovered where she worked, but now a flight attendant was pestering her for information she didn’t have.
“I saw paparazzi outside, but I didn’t see who they were after. So your guess is as good as mine,” Olive said as she inched her way to the door. The flight attendant pushed out a pout, and then handed Olive back her passport. In an attempt to avoid any more conversation, she slipped on her sunglasses and rushed toward the plane with a wave over her shoulder. If Beckett Blackthorn was on the plane, Agatha would be pissed that she showed up wearing jeans and sneakers. The best thing she could do at this point was keep her head down and hope no one noticed her on the plane, and then recognized her at the wedding.