Turbulence

  I walked over to the sink and opened the larger card, but before I could read the first sentence, the sound of loud banging came through the walls.

  Thump! Thump! THUMP!

  “Oh god! Oh god!” Meredith called out. “Oh godddd! Yes! Yes! YESSSSS!”

  Thump! Thump! THUMP!

  “Hell yeah, babe.” A deep voice grunted. “Hell yeah...”

  The sound of skin slapping against skin and wet lips colliding again and again filled our hallway. The wall that separated her bedroom from the kitchen shook repeatedly, and the flimsy floorboards creaked with every bump of the bed.

  I set down my birthday card as the moans and wall knocks became damn near deafening. Taking a seat at the bar, I made myself a cup of coffee and opened my email account.

  From Ben. [Subject:] Open this message! You’re the one with the most to lose...

  From Ben. [Subject:] I know you see this email, Gillian. We belong together.

  From Harry Potter. [Subject:] Free trip to Orlando inside!

  From Sherlock Holmes. [Subject:] Urgent! Open me!

  From Kimberly B. [Subject:] Checking in... [Open me]

  From Nancy Drew. [Subject:] Surprise inside! Free unpublished story!

  Groaning, I sent Ben’s messages to spam and deleted the other four emails. The numerous bill collectors I owed had grown quite creative in their efforts to reach me, and I knew that the paper versions of their notices were probably awaiting me in my mailbox.

  Before I could log off, two emails from Elite Airways popped onto my screen. Their subject lines read, Exciting Elite News! and New Routes & Changes Announced! so I deleted them as well. I was done getting my hopes up about receiving the ever elusive, ‘Urgent: An Update to Your Employee Status” email.

  I poured another cup of coffee and a final, loud and resounding “Ohhh my godddd!” tore through the walls. There were a few more knocks afterwards, a few more slaps against bare skin. And then, the sudden sound of shuffling—shoes, belt buckle, keys, confirmed that the tryst was now over.

  Seconds later, Meredith and her flavor of the day stepped out of her room.

  Jet black-haired and brown-eyed, he looked over at me and winked, and I tried not to stare too hard at the beautiful tattoos that snaked up and down his arms.

  “See you soon,” Meredith whispered, opening the door for him.

  “I hope so.” He returned the whisper and gave her one last slap on the ass before heading down the steps.

  “Well, that was a very fulfilling four star!” She walked over and turned on the stove. “You’re home early. I thought you were going to spend your entire birthday with Ben.”

  “I thought so, too.” I felt a lump forming in my throat, but I forced it back down. “Until he decided to tell me that he’s been cheating on me.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “I wish I was.” I said. “But he said he only ‘uses’ the other girls for sex. He ‘damn near loves me’ he claims.”

  “Ugh.” She rolled her eyes. “Well, you know I’m biased because I’ve always hated him, but if you do choose to go back, I’ll still be willing to be your shoulder to cry on. Although, I will definitely judge the hell out of you.”

  I laughed for the first time today. “I’m not going back, and I’m not going to cry anymore. I’m going to treat myself to an art show and try to meet someone new tonight. Somewhat smart, witty, and funny. Someone—”

  “You can fuck.” She cut me off, crossing her arms. “Do you not see the issue here? Can you not see the pattern?”

  “The pattern of me wanting to find a nice guy?”

  “Yes. Your exes all fit into the same boring box. Art show lovers, coffee shop sitters, sweater wearing Wall Street boys. The cookie cutter, All-American, ‘we-don’t-fuck-until-the-tenth-date’ types and they have yet to work out for you.” She pulled out a box of pancake mix. “You need to switch it up and maybe attempt having sex with no strings attached. Get a few notches under your belt to see what you like, what you don’t like, and then you can start looking for love again.”

  “So, in other words, I should be more like you.”

  “No, you couldn’t be like me if you tried. I don’t even think you could handle a single one-night stand, let alone no-strings attached sex.”

  “I can definitely handle a one-night stand,” I said, turning around in my chair. “I’ve just never wanted to have one.”

  “Ha!” She suddenly burst into loud, uncontrolled laughter, holding her hands over her stomach. She didn’t stop for several minutes, and when she finally had her laughter under control, there were tears in her eyes.

  “Gillian,” she said, letting out a breath, “Don’t take this the wrong way, but having a one-night stand means you can’t expect anything afterwards. I don’t think that lifestyle is for you, no offense.”

  “None taken. But since I’m newly single, and never going back to Ben, I think I’d like to prove you wrong.”

  “Oh?” She raised her eyebrow. “Really?”

  “Really.”

  “Okay, then.” She walked over to the refrigerator and plucked a beige card from a magnet, tossing it to me. “How about tonight?”

  “On my birthday?”

  “Yeah.” She shrugged. “On your effin’ birthday. Worst case scenario, you’ll still be helping me out if you decide not to go through with it. This party conflicts with a runway dress rehearsal I have to go to tonight, and I need to drop something off.”

  I flipped the invitation over and realized that the word “party” was nowhere on the card. There was only an address.

  “It’s a secret party,” Meredith said as if she’d read my mind. “A lot of high profile people will be there, so the less words on paper, the better. All I need you to do is find the host—Mark Strauss, and hand him this.” She unclipped a USB drive from around her neck and set it on the table. “Tell him it’s on behalf of me, and he’ll know exactly what it is. And while you’re there, because you’ll be in great company of several eligible, sexy-as-hell bachelors, try to find someone to go home with. Say, ‘Hello, my name is Gillian,’ lie about what you do for a living, and then lie about everything else because it never matters, and get some great sex.”

  “That’s such a cliché.”

  “It’s an amazing cliché.” She smiled. “I have a five star picking me up for a rendezvous two hours before my runway assignment, but if you bail on the party early, walk down to the Waldorf Astoria. We can ride home together.”

  “Meredith...” I set the invitation down. “I thought we agreed that you were going to stop rating every guy you sleep with.”

  “I never agreed to that, and I’m not ‘rating’ them. I’m categorizing them so I know exactly who to call when I’m in the mood for a certain type of repeat.”

  I gave her a blank stare.

  “Like, sometimes,” she said, stirring a bowl. “I’m in the mood for a 3.5 star cock. Something good, but nothing too taxing that’ll keep me up late at night.”

  “You know what? Forget I ever said anything.”

  “Sometimes, I’m in the mood for a 4-star cock. Something that will hit all the right spots, get me there without a serious hangover, but something that will leave me thinking about it for at least half a day.”

  “Please stop talking.” I threw a straw at her.

  “And then, of course, sometimes I desperately need that undeniable, unforgettable 5-star cock that will rock my world, leave me breathless, and render me completely confused about what the hell my name is all at once.” She bit her lip at the thought. “There are a few 6-star and 7-star cocks in my contact list, but I can’t call them too often. Or else I’ll get addicted and I can’t have that. Not my style.”

  “Has anyone ever told you that you might be a sex addict?”

  “No, but I’ll take it as a compliment. I can’t accept being broke as hell and miserable. We both need to have something in life that makes us feel alive, you know?”

  “Right..
.” I tossed another straw at her.

  I completely understood her logic in regards to sex, but even though our apartment left us feeling miserable from time to time and I was “broke as hell,” Meredith Alexis Thatchwood was far from that.

  Born drop dead gorgeous with deep brown eyes and wavy auburn hair, Meredith was an heiress in a long line of Thatchwoods—a historic staple of New York real estate tycoon royalty who owned some of the most exclusive properties in the state. Her father, Leonardo Alex Thatchwood, was constantly being mentioned as one of the most philanthropic men in the city, but to Meredith, he was simply a wealthier version of a dead beat dad. She didn’t want anything to do with him or his money.

  “A few last things.” She slid my gift box toward me. “Wear everything in this box tonight and you’ll stand out. The party starts at eight, but if I were you, I wouldn’t get there until ten. No one is ever on time to these things, so it’ll look strange if you are. And I must say, I’m really looking forward to winning this bet. One hundred dollars says you’ll be meeting me at the Waldorf Astoria later tonight and telling me how chicken shit you were.”

  “Well, as a non-heiress with not that much money to bet, twenty dollars and breakfast in bed says I’ll be texting you my rating of the sex.”

  “I’ll draft my menu later today.” She laughed and leaned against the counter. “Okay, in all seriousness, let’s get you prepared for your first potential one-night stand.”

  ***

  Later that night, I stood outside an abandoned black building on 7th Avenue, shivering as the winds whipped against my exposed legs. I was wondering if I’d somehow misread the party’s address. There was no one around, all of the windows were covered in plywood boards, and there was a FOR LEASE sign tacked to the front door.

  I pulled my phone out of my clutch to call Meredith, but she’d already sent me a text message.

  Meredith: Ignore the front entrance of the building when you get there. Go down the alley. Blue door. Knock six times. Mark Strauss will be dressed in gray. (I’ll have French toast, eggs benedict, and hand squeezed orange juice in the morning when you end up going home alone tonight. Thank you in advance.)

  I laughed and walked down the alley, wincing as my feet adjusted to the height of my new heels. When I made it to the blue door, I knocked six times as Meredith instructed and a man in a beige suit opened the door.

  “Elevator is down the hall,” he said. “Rooftop level. The host asks that you don’t take pictures or record any videos while you’re here. If caught doing so, you’ll be escorted out. Clear?”

  “Clear.” I stepped past him and boarded the elevator, taking it straight to the roof. When it came to a complete stop, I found myself thrust into a sea of expensive black and grey suits, and colorful designer dresses.

  Twinkling lights shone brightly against the roof’s railing, white leather couches cornered glass coffee tables that were lined with Cuban cigars, and waitresses in black V-neck dresses weaved in between guests to serve drinks.

  Out of nowhere, a hostess walked up to me and handed me a glass of dark, red wine.

  I took a quick sip and coughed as it burned its way down my throat.

  Remembering the first thing I needed to accomplish while I was here, I walked around the roof in search of Mark Strauss. It didn’t take me long to find him at all. Dressed in all grey with a black hat, he was alone and leaning against the railing, staring at the captivating night view of the city.

  “Excuse me.” I cleared my throat as I approached him. “Are you Mr. Strauss?”

  “Depends.” He turned to look at me. “What are you offering?”

  I took the USB from my purse and handed it to him. “From Meredith Thatchwood.”

  “Ah. The Thatchwood girl.” He smiled. “So the anti-heiress rumor is true after all. Tell her I regret that I couldn’t meet her tonight. In the meantime...” He looked me up and down. “You can call me Mark. What’s your name?”

  “Gillian.”

  “Nice to meet you, Gillian.” He sipped his drink and his eyes landed on my exposed cleavage. “Full disclosure: If my wife wasn’t here and watching my every move, I’d tell you that you are, hands down, the sexiest woman I’ve ever seen. And then I’d beg you to come home with me so we could fuck each other until sunrise.” He turned around and waved at someone in the distance. “But since that’s not possible, do me a favor and wave to my wife so she won’t come over and interrupt my few minutes of freedom.”

  Confused, I turned around and waved in the same direction as him, meeting the gaze of a pretty woman in an ivory dress. She raised her glass in our direction, continuing to talk to the women who surrounded her, and then Mr. Strauss turned to face the city again.

  “What type of plane do you think that is?” he asked, pointing to a black and white aircraft that was flying high above the Hudson.

  “If I had to guess, I would say it’s a Boeing 737.”

  “What?” He looked at me.

  “A Boeing 737,” I repeated. “What would you say?”

  “I would say nothing.” He laughed. “I wasn’t expecting an answer like that. I meant like, jet plane, turbo plane, but wow. That’s pretty impressive.”

  “What’s so funny, darling?” His wife suddenly stepped between us. “Who’s your little friend here?”

  He rolled his eyes and quickly introduced us. Then he slipped his arm around her waist and looked me over one last time before stepping back.

  “Very impressive, Gillian,” he said, winking. “The plane thing.”

  His wife scowled at me and he smiled one last time before leading her away. I waited until they were out of my sight and turned toward the city, hoping I wouldn’t run into either of them for the rest of the night.

  “The ‘plane thing’ was very impressive.” A different man, with a deeper and more dominant voice, stepped closer to the railing. “It would’ve been even more impressive if you’d actually gotten it right...”

  “Excuse me?” I turned to my left, catching him mid-sip. “What did you just say?”

  “I said—” He turned to face me. “That your plane trivia would’ve been more impressive, if you’d gotten it right. Don’t you think?”

  I couldn’t think at all. I couldn’t even try.

  This man was the utter definition of perfection, the very template of living, breathing, sex. His stormy blue eyes gleamed beneath the party’s dim lights as they locked onto mine, and his full and defined lips were pressed into a tempting, sexy smirk. His hair, dirty-blond and slightly messy, looked as if someone had just run her fingers through it.

  His suit, an all black three piece, clung to his body in all the right ways, and the watch on his wrist—a stunning silver, Audemars Piguet, let me know that he could afford to spend my entire year’s salary on something as insignificant as an accessory.

  “Should I take your silence to accept that I’m right?” He smiled a set of pearly whites and I shook my head, trying to snap out of my trance.

  “You should take it to mean that you don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.” I looked up at the plane again. It was farther away, but still easily seen. “That’s a Boeing 737, and it’s pretty rude to eavesdrop.”

  “It’s pretty rude to spread the wrong information.” He smiled again and stepped closer, looking up at the sky. “That’s an Airbus 320, not a Boeing 737.” He waited for me to follow where his fingers were pointing. “The difference is in the nose of the plane and the cockpit windows...Airbus is bulbous, Boeing is pointed. 737 cockpit windows are diagonal, and Airbus cockpit windows are—”

  “Square,” I said, immediately realizing he was right. “Well, congratulations. You’ve won the random plane facts game tonight. I hope you don’t think there’s a prize for that.”

  “There should be.”

  “How about the satisfaction of knowing you’re an arrogant eavesdropper?”

  “Or,” he said, “The satisfaction of knowing you don’t really give a fuck tha
t I eavesdropped. That you’re happy that I did it, and now you don’t want me to leave you alone.”

  Silence.

  His smile widened and the scent of his intoxicating cologne made me take one step closer to him. He kept his eyes on mine for several seconds, as if he was daring me to move even closer, but instead, he broke the silence.

  “Jake,” he said, extending his hand toward mine as the silver “J” cufflinks on his sleeve sparkled against the night.

  “Gillian.” The feel of his hand over mine sent a wave of warmth throughout my entire body and I drew back, completely confused as to how a simple handshake could make all of my nerves come to life. How a complete stranger could make me wet with a simple smile and a flick of his wrist.

  A waitress suddenly stepped in front of us, interrupting our moment as she gave us fresh glasses of champagne. She asked me if I was enjoying myself, if I needed anything else, and as she launched into a short spiel about how amazing the hors d’oeuvres were tonight, I felt Jake’s heated gaze moving up and down my body, felt him turning me on without even trying.

  The second the waitress walked away, he spoke. “What do you do for a living, Gillian?”

  “I’m—” I remembered what Meredith said about lying tonight. “I’m a pilot, a captain actually.”

  He raised his eyebrow. “You look a little too young to be a captain.”

  “My high number of flight hours say differently.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Yes.” I barely managed to remain standing as he took my glass from my hand and set it on the ledge.

  “Are you a commercial or a private pilot?”

  “Private.” I needed to ask him what he did for a living, to run away from this lie and subject as fast as possible, but he leaned back against the railing and pulled me closer to him, making me lose my train of thought.

  As he pressed his hands against my hips, I stood still between his legs, so close to him that I was convinced he was about to press his mouth against mine and kiss me, but he didn’t.

  “How long have you been flying?” he asked.

  “As long as I can remember.”

  “Hmmm...” He trailed his finger against my bottom lip, appearing even more intrigued. He looked as if he were waiting for me to jerk back or tell him to stop, but when I didn’t, his smile returned. “So, which airline do you fly for, Gillian?”