Here’s a little supercorp quickie. Like, literally. That’s all it is... for now.
Lena paced angrily. The small VIP lounge was little more than a glass cubicle with one sofa and a water cooler with tiny plastic cups. She was one of nearly a dozen “VIPs” waiting for their flight.
“No, see, this is why I have my own plane, understand? So I don’t have to deal with this shit!” She immediately cast an apologetic look at the other people around her, and was met with a lot of eye-rolling and blatant resentment. Lena ignored them, almost as much as the man on the other end of her phone call was ignoring her. “No, no. You obviously don’t understand, so let me make this clear. You’re gonna be getting a stern call from my legal team and acquisitions department, since you are obviously incapable of running your own business, you’re about to be absorbed into L-Corp’s Aeronautics Division. Congratulations and have a great day!”
She hung up with angry jab of her thumb, squeezing the device in white-knuckle grip. How the fuck had she ended up stranded halfway across the world, with her own airplane being serviced, unavailable for another week.
The phone call she had made directly to the private airfield yesterday had been equally unproductive. ‘Oh, well you can charter the next available private flight out, but unfortunately we’re booked through the twenty-seventh,’ she’d been told. The woman’s grating voice still echoing in Lena’s head.
God, if she could see her mom’s face now, a Luthor flying commercial. The reaction Lena imagined was nearly entertaining enough to make it worth it. But then she turned around and remembered she was stuck in a room with a dozen very annoyed people, and water that had a strangely metallic taste to it. She checked her phone again, noting the time, and decided she had plenty, or at least enough to head back down the concourse to the bar she remembered passing earlier. There was no way she was flying sober anyways, plus it would get her out of this room until her flight boarded, so that decided it.
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The bar was larger than she would have thought, not that Lena was paying much attention. She walked through the dining area, straight to the bar itself, taking an open seat, and ordered a glass of the most expensive scotch they had. It was, to not be too technical, swill, but the harsh burn was oddly comforting, a reassurance that it would get the job done. She finished her glass in two more large gulps, and didn’t hesitate to order a second.
“This seat taken?” A soft voice asked.
Lena looked up, catching a glimpse of honey-blonde hair and the bluest of eyes. The woman wore a pair of low-riding gray sweatpants with flip-flops, and a t-shirt with a college logo that Lena didn’t recognize and was so faded she probably couldn’t have made it out anyways. Not that she was paying attention to the logo, as the self-tailored sleeveless shirt fully exposed the woman’s long, well-muscled arms, sticking out through holes that had been cut large enough to reach the woman’s ribs, and showed off a healthy view of sports bra covered side-boob.
Lena shook her head to clear away the beginnings of some very inappropriate thoughts, a gesture which apparently the woman interpreted as a reply, dropping her rugged-looking carry-on duffle, and taking the seat with an appreciative smile.
Once Lena had managed to tear her gaze from the woman though, she thought better than to get caught starting, so instead returned her focus to her drink, downing the rest of it and ordering a third.
“Don’t like flying, huh?” The woman asked.
Lena scoffed. “What gave it away?”
“I’m psychic.” The woman said, in a tone serious enough to make Lena chance a quick glance back at her curiously. It was a mistake, as she was met with mischievous blue eyes, and full pink lips, quirked to one side as the stranger tried to keep the corners from curling into a smile.
