The Billionaire's Housekeeper (Betsy Jones Book 1) - Unedited

Chapter 20

The only time Betsy had ever been abroad, she had always sat in economy seats, usually elbow to elbow with some stranger who had an immense fear of flying. Not that she had travelled very often. Other than her honeymoon, she could count on one hand the number of times she had been out of the UK. And that was even counting her trip to Ireland.

Nothing could prepare Betsy for the first class treatment.

They had flown from a private airstrip a few miles from the Davenport Estate. Nick didn't need to fly on commercial flights. Apparently his abundance of wealth even extended to the use of a private jet. Only when required. Betsy didn't know whether to laugh and roll her eyes at his smug smile when the cars drove them straight to the runway. It was at these moments she realised just how big the gap between them really was. She was in awe over the entire flight, her eyes eagerly drinking in all of the details, while Nick sat there reading the paper. To him a flight on a private jet was just another everyday occurrence.

A long cream leather sofa ran along one side of the jet while a pair of matching leather chairs was positioned opposite with only a small mahogany table to separate them. The scent of sandalwood and leather polish filled the air around her in a heady mix. There was no smell of sweat from the cramped and stuffy economy seating. No glaring over head lights. Instead there was soft white light which filled the space from concealed lighting. The effect was soothing and immediately put her at ease.

A young perky stewardess, who was groomed into glossy perfection, passed Betsy a glass of champagne as soon as she had taken her seat. Glancing up at the beautiful red head, she smiled in thanks. Tentatively she raised the glass to her lips and took a small delicate sip. The cool liquid hit her tongue and she released a sigh. The taste was unlike any other champagne she had ever tasted – not that Betsy would ever profess to be a champagne connoisseur.

"How is it?" Nick asked, waving away the glass offered to him. "Can I get just a coffee please? I have some work to do."

"It's good. I usually prefer prosecco over champagne but this is delicious."

Nick snorted and gave Betsy a soft smile. "I should hope so. It's a three thousand pound bottle of champagne."

The blonde choked on the sip she had been taking, her eyes moving between the glass and the man beside her. She pressed her lips together to stop herself from spitting it out.

"Why would you tell me that now?" she asked, blinking to clear the tears of strain which had formed in her eyes.

"Because I knew your reaction would be amusing. Now sit back and get some sleep." Nick ordered, a smile playing across his lips to soften the command. "Markos has already warned me that there are going to be several parties for us to attend over the next few days."

Glaring playfully at the man, Betsy took another sip of the champagne, taking great care to savour every last drop. She wanted enjoy it because she certainly wouldn't be requesting a second glass. Three thousand pounds for a single bottle? Despite spending several months in the Davenport household, she had never been able to get used to the way money was so disposable to him. He tried to pretend it wasn't, but there was no denying his monetary concerns were a lot smaller than hers. However his in-laws were infinitely worse. If it wasn't considered terribly gauche, Betsy was sure they would use fifty pound notes as toilet paper.

Shaking her head, the blonde took another sip and settled back into her seat. Cool air blew softly on the top of her head while the muted sounds of the television filtered down from the end of the jet. The children were perfectly happy, cured up on a smaller sofa, blankets over their legs as cartoons danced across the screen.