Bad Boy Hemmings ➸ Sequel

11.

The airport air was stuffy and suffocating, the smell of sweat and a different verity of foods mixing around and creating a nasty stench.

Girls with perfectly curled or straitened hair and perfect outfits that smelt of expensive perfume stood in front of me, giggling loudly as muscly guys, oblivious to the attention, passed by, making me feel homeless looking while I stood there in sweat pants, a loos t shirt that used to belong to Luke, and old ugg brand boots on my feet.

I sighed, shifting from one foot to other, before picking up my bags and making my way to the main desk.

"Hello, I was wondering when my flight would begin?" I ask the snobby lady with red hair and manicured raven looking nails.

"What's your ticket number." She snapped, her brown eyes skimming over my outfit while her upper lip curled up in disgust.

"Um, 2123482629822." I muttered, confused on why she didn't ask for what flight I was taking.

"Ah, Ms. Sky, we where privately informed that you where to be moved to a private jet." Her snobby attitude changed to a sickly sweet one with a matter of seconds.

"I-I think you've made a mistake, I never made a transfer to a private jet." Who the hell can just pay for a damn private jet.

"Well, that's bad news for you, you may board whenever you please, Mr. Robertsons will escort you whenever you're ready."

Then I guess I'll be boarding now.