The Pact

Pact

[noun]

Origin: Late Middle English, from Old French, from Latin pactum “something agreed upon.”

“Would you like a glass of champagne before we take off?”

The question barely registers as I’m too absorbed in the fact that I’m sitting in first class. First class on an Airbus A380. Flying from New York to London.

“Miss Barton?”

“Huh?”

“Champagne before we take off?”

“Oh! Yes, please.”

I can’t help but grin. The attention is making me a little giddy. The flight attendant returns my smile as she hands me the champagne flute before moving on to the next passenger.

When Leo sent me the tickets, I had no idea I’d be in first class. But then again, I shouldn’t have expected anything less from Leo Chambers, the world’s youngest billionaire.

He’s incredibly handsome. Greek god level. He was the quarterback and captain of the football team in high school and my best friend since kindergarten.

I love Leo. I always have. But I’ve been stuck in the friend zone for way too long.

I kissed him once, on our graduation day, in the tunnel leading out to the football field. I’ll never forget that day. That’s the day we made our pact.

I pull out my phone and send a quick text, knowing Leo would want to know that I’m on my way.

My phone buzzes almost immediately.

I smile as I turn off my phone and put it in my bag. The flight attendant comes back around and puts my bag in the overhead compartment, and I go back to sipping my champagne.

“First time in first class?” a deep voice asks from next to me, and I gasp at the sight of the man across the aisle.

“Uh…”

A smirk plays on his lips as I openly check him out.

The man oozes wealth. His hair is perfectly styled, and his suit looks like it costs more than my car.

Part of me wonders why he’s even on this flight. He could probably afford his own plane.

“You’re right,” Mr. Armani suit says, interrupting my thoughts.

“Huh?”

“I do have my own plane. But my pilot is on parental leave. His wife just had twins.”

“Oh.”

My one-word response earns another smirk, and I mentally kick myself.

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“What?”

“Is this your first time in first class?” He repeats his earlier question before taking a sip of his scotch.

“Yes,” I admit sheepishly.

“Interesting,” he murmurs. He signals the flight attendant by holding up his empty glass, and she’s immediately at his side.

“Yes, Mr. De Luca?”

“Another, please, and more champagne for my friend here.” Mr. De Luca nods in my direction.

“Francesca,” I say softly, and Mr. De Luca raises an eyebrow in my direction. “My name,” I clarify. “My name is Francesca, Francesca Barton.”

“Christian De Luca,” he says with a smile that could make any woman weak in the knees, extending his hand across the aisle between us.

When he says his name, I can detect a slight Italian accent. I take his hand, trying not to blush when I feel the spark between us.

“Italian?” I ask, and he gives my hand a slight squeeze.

“Si.”

That makes me blush. I stifle a giggle, trying not to look like a total airhead.

After holding my hand a moment longer than necessary, he lets go, and I wish he hadn’t.

“So, how did you end up in first class, Miss Barton?”

“My friend gave me the ticket. I’m visiting for the summer.”

The flight attendant brings our drinks and directs our attention to the safety video.

By the time the video ends, Mr. De Luca has his headphones on and is engrossed in his sleek, expensive-looking laptop.

I have all eight books with me in my duffle bag. I think I could at least get through two during my seven-hour flight to London.

I’ve never been able to sleep on planes. I don’t fly often; maybe six times in my twenty-eight years of life.

For some reason, I just can’t sleep on planes. I’m not scared of flying, but I’m cautious.

The cabin lights are dimmed, and several passengers around me are asleep.

Mr. De Luca is still focused on his computer, his fingers flying over the keyboard. I can’t help but wonder what he does for a living. It’s clear he’s wealthy, but I wonder how he earns his money.

One of the perks of first class is the constant supply of food and alcohol. I won’t be surprised if I leave this flight a few pounds heavier.

I’m snacking on some complimentary peanuts about five hours in when the cabin lights flicker on and off.

The plane drops slightly in the air, making my stomach flip. My book falls from my hands, and I grip the armrests.

I close my eyes and try to focus on my breathing, but my heart is racing.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, we are currently experiencing some turbulence. We apologize for the inconvenience.

“The seat belt sign has been switched on, and we ask that you remain in your seats with your seat belt securely fastened.

“The co-captain and I are working on fixing the situation as soon as we can.”

The captain’s voice doesn’t do much to calm my nerves as I clutch the armrests of my plush seat.

I don’t know how long the plane is caught in turbulence, but my eyes stay squeezed shut the entire time.

Finally, the plane steadies. The captain gives us the all-clear, and I let go of my death grip. I glance around the cabin as I open my eyes, and I catch Mr. De Luca chuckling to himself.

“What?” I snap, not getting his joke.

“You make a good damsel in distress, kitten.” He smirks.

“I wasn’t pretending! That was—”

“If you wanted my attention, you could’ve just asked. What do you want, kitten? To fuck me in the airplane bathroom?”

“Excuse me?”

Now, I’m just pissed. Any charm this guy had before has vanished.

Sure, he’s good-looking; hell, he might even be hotter than Leo, but just barely. But looks aside, he’s just a self-absorbed jerk!

“I don’t want your attention,” I spit at him, and he just smirks at me.

“Whatever you say, kitten.”

“Why you—” I’m cut off by a small jolt of turbulence, and for a moment, I lose my train of thought, grabbing onto the armrests.

“Are you okay?” a male passenger asks as he walks past my seat to the bathroom.

“She’s fine,” Mr. De Luca growls, and my stomach flips, much to my annoyance. But the other passenger doesn’t seem bothered by the display of machismo.

“I was asking the lady,” the man says. He seems nice, nothing special but a decent guy.

“I’m fine, thank you, though.” I smile politely, and he gently pats my shoulder before continuing on his way.

Mr. De Luca scoffs, and when I glance at him, he’s rolling his eyes and turning his attention back to his laptop.

“Jerk,” I mutter under my breath before picking up my book from the floor.

The rest of the flight goes by without incident. I only have three chapters left of book two when the plane starts its descent into Heathrow.

I put my book down and pop some chewing gum in my mouth to help my ears. I grip the armrest again as the plane starts to lower.

I gaze out the window as we land; despite my fear of flying, I can’t deny that the view is pretty spectacular.

Mr. De Luca is looking out his window as the seat belt sign is turned off. I quickly stand up, reaching for my bag in the overhead bin.

“Let me get that, kitten.” I feel his warm breath against my ear as he helps get my bag. I snatch it from his hands.

“I didn’t need help.”

“Your height suggests otherwise.”

“Ass,” I mutter, pushing past him and heading for the exit of the plane.

I thank the flight attendants as I walk out the door and through the tunnel to the arrival gate.

I’m suddenly grinning. I can’t wait to see Leo. I spot him almost instantly; he looks the same, but I think he’s bulked up a bit since the last time I saw him.

“Leo!” I shout, and I watch his eyes search for me in the crowd.

When he sees me, his face lights up, and it’s like a scene from an old movie as we run toward each other. He lifts me into his arms, spinning me around, and we both laugh.

“Hey, Cheer,” he whispers in my ear, and I hug him tight.

“Hey, QB.”

“God, I’ve missed you.” He sighs as he reluctantly sets me back on my feet.

“Ditto.”

“So, welcome to London.” He spreads his arms wide.

“Thanks. I’m surprised Mr. Big Shot CEO had time to come and greet me.”

“I always have time for you, Francesca. Besides, the CEO can do whatever the fuck he wants.”

“Language!” I pretend to be shocked, and he laughs.

“Okay, Cheer, let me go get your bag. What does it look like?”

“Navy duffle with the pink bow.”

I watch Leo as he walks over to the baggage claim, a smile still on my face.

“Still here, kitten?” A familiar Italian accent appears beside me.

“Don’t you have someone else to bother?”

“I’m sorry if I upset you, Miss Barton,” he says, and I can’t tell if he’s being sincere.

“Thanks,” I mumble.

“It’s just the outfit.” He gestures toward my ripped skinny jeans and black crop top. “And the innocent blonde act is very…whorish.”

“Excuse me?”

“Is whorish the wrong word?”

“Oh god, I hope so!”

“Easy? Desperate? Slut-like? Take your pick.”

Mr. De Luca keeps staring at me, and I see red. I raise my hand to slap him, wanting nothing more than to wipe that smug look off his face.

My hand is about to connect with his face when Leo appears beside me. I’m startled enough that Mr. De Luca has time to grab my wrist, stopping my action.

“Great! You two have met,” Leo says, smiling at both of us.

“What?” Mr. De Luca and I say in unison.

“Chris, this is my best friend Frankie or Cheer to those in the know,” Leo says, pulling me into his side.

“And, Cheer, this is Chris, my best friend from college and the best business partner a guy could ask for.”