Genevieve Queen is your shy and everyone's favorite girl that she masterfully pretends to be and her act is quite deceiving to the naked eye. Fooling and seduction is an art that she excels at and why wouldn't she. She's the notorious and ruthless a...
The harsh Chicago air violates my face brutally as I stand in front of the fake address I had given Allistair. To have him know that I actually live in a luxurious apartment isn't an option because his secretary, Genevieve Queen isn't that rich.
My naked fingers tighten around the handle of the two suitcases that I am taking for my long stay in Italy along with the backpack hanging off my shoulder and a purse propped on my arm. Considering I'm traveling with the CEO himself on his private jet, I don't have to undergo excessive security, so all of my weapons are in the clear as well. Even if I have to pass through a security check, the weapons will be undetectable. Perks of doing this multiple times before.
Looking like a girl who has just been kicked to the curb by her boyfriend certainly doesn't help me, but people need to learn how to keep their fucking eyes to themselves, including the ones traveling in their cars. I'll be so tempted to break a jaw if another whistle is directed towards me.
A couple shivering moments and scrutinizing stares later, a fancy white Mercedes pulls up right in front of me. A man in a black suit steps out and pivots around the car to reach me.
"Genevieve Queen?" He asks.
"Y-Yes," I answer, my teeth chattering due to the merciless weather.
"I am Adam, and I'll be taking you to Mr. Vanfossen." He smiles whilst taking the luggage from my hands and situating them in the trunk of the vehicle before he finally opens the door for me, allowing me to take a seat in the warm car.
Slipping behind the wheel, he begins our journey, and after an hour or so through the nonsensical traffic, we arrive on the grounds of the massive airport. Runways line at a far distance as I exit the vehicle and immediately get bombarded with the devilish freezing wind again. A shiver runs up my spine before I wrap my arms around myself and pace towards Allistair who stands by the jet, messing on his phone as usual. One thing I've noticed working with him for the past week is that he loves that little device that he barely lets go. Wonder how many secrets are encased in it.
"You seem a bit cold, Ms. Queen," Allistair comments, glancing up at me from that wretched phone.
No shit, Sherlock. "A lot actually," I flash a meek smile.
"Go make yourself comfortable inside then," he returns my smile with a short one. "I'll be in there shortly." Nodding, I ascend up the short flight of steps and enter the jet.
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Polished wood reflect the bright lights inside. The smooth leather seats also shine under them. I walk down the narrow aisle and head further into the jet. Screens are embedded to the walls for our entertainment. More empty seats to sit on. Opening the door at the end, I discover a small room with a queen sized bed and another door that leads to a congested bathroom. Not bad I must say.
***
"It's a long flight. Make yourself as comfortable as you can," Allistair says as he takes a seat opposite me when the jet begins moving.
"Is it just going to be the two of us?"
"And the pilots," he clears his throat and buckles himself in. "Why?"
"I thought maybe Mr. Taylor would be joining us."
"Aaron is working on a project right now," he mutters, his eyes stuck to his pathetic phone. "He'll meet us there in a couple days."
I brace myself as the jet takes off, turning my insides upside down. My eyes slam shut, my teeth pressing against one another, and my hands sweating. Inhaling and exhaling deep breaths through my nostrils is how I calm my puke storm or else Allistair is going to have a blast smelling my vomit. Flying thousands of times still hasn't gotten me used to this sick feeling in my stomach.
"Scared of flying, Ms. Queen?" I open my eyes to watch a amused smirk playing on his lips and a glimmer of mischief in his eyes.
"Just a bit nauseated," I answer when the jet finally straightens out, allowing me to sigh in relief. "It's not that I'm scared, it's just that I get a bit sick."
"I was you a longtime ago when I first started flying," he puts his phone down and gives me full attention. "With time, it got better, and it'll get better for you too."
"Let's hope," I smile and start looking around, unwilling to meet his strong gaze to keep up the act.
"You can lose the jacket now. It isn't cold in here," he mindlessly sighs, lighting up the fat cigar laying between his lips and unbuttoning his suit jacket. Feigning disgust on my face, I stare at him wide-eyed. I've smoked a couple times, but he doesn't need to know that. He cocks a brow in question to the deranged expression on my face. "Is something wrong, Ms. Queen?"
"Do you realize the effects of smoking, Mr. Vanfossen?" I arch a brow whilst removing the fat jacket from my body. His green eyes rake down the tight blouse that I wear which pucker up my breasts, screaming to rip the buttons off. Those same orbs run down the red pencil skirt, and then finally fan over my bare, smooth legs.
I smirk to myself before he clears his throat and crushes the cigar on the ashtray. "Yes, I do know the effects, Ms. Queen." He leans back into his comfortable seat and brushes his thumb over his sharp jaw. "Still cold?"
"I'd be lying if I say no," I smile, rubbing my hands together to heat up my body. "Is there any alcohol on this plane?"
"I beg your pardon?" He chuckles, clearly amused by my question.
"I m-mean," I stutter, "it h-helps to warm up your body. Just forget about it."
"There's some in the cabinet down there," he motions with his head. "Go help yourself."
Slowly, I rise from my seat and stop right in front of the door that leads to the bedroom. On both sides, cabinets are lined up throughout. Opening each one, I smile at the delicious snacks and then finally reach the big girls' drink.
"Glenfiddich?" My mouth quirks up in excitement as I pull the heavy, smooth black box out of the cabinet and hold it to show Allistair. "Mind if I open this up?"
"Can you handle scotch?" He laughs.
"The real question is, can you?" I smile, but begin anxiously stuttering right after, slipping back into my façade. "I-I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to be rude."
He laughs louder. "You don't have to keep apologizing. Just bring the scotch and take a seat. It's an extremely long flight, Ms. Queen. And I believe I'll lose my mind if you spend the entire time apologizing to me. No apologizing anymore, alright?"
Raising one hand in surrender, I maneuver over to him with the fancy box. With a grin on my face and plans on my mind, I open the fifty year old scotch up and lay it out on the table between us before I run back to the cabinets and retrieve two glasses.
Settling down opposite him, he allows me to pour the expensive liquor into the glasses before he picks one up and clinks it with my glass. "Cheers to this project!"
"And cheers to the upcoming months we are staying in the beautiful city of Rome."
And of course the biggest cheers to the hope that I seduce him and get something out in the process.
