❝ If you wanted to make out with me, you could've just asked ❞
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SHE WANTED TO KILL him.
She wasn't usually inclined to murder-like tendencies, and there were very few things in the world that elicited such a call for violence from her. But in that moment, all she could think about was twisting her fingers around his neck and choking the life out of him.
The image of his lips curling into the cruelest of smirks flashed through her mind, hand-painted by the devil himself.
"Coach?" she snapped . "But ... how?"
She tapped her fingers in a furious pattern on top of the customer service desk, as she waited impatiently for a response from the agent seated behind it.
"Like I said before ma'am, we received a phone call stating for a class change."
"That wasn't me." she said adamantly. "I didn't make a phone call."
"Could I see your passport please?"
She already had it to hand, and passed it to him.
After a minute of clicking at his computer, he handed it back and cleared his throat awkwardly. "Yes, this is your ticket."
"There must've been a mistake." she shook her head. "I booked first class."
"It's what I have written down here."
He turned his computer screen towards her to show her, and she leaned closer to peer at the screen. Her eyes scanned her name, her picture, her passport number and bold letters detailing the destination: LHR→ICN. And there it was, a small print at the bottom of the page stating economy class.
"Like I said, there's been a mistake." she shook her head, and reached into her bag to pull out her purse. "Upgrade me, please. I'll pay the difference."
