Riel Summers the overlooked, middle child of his family decides to leaves his small town in Connecticut for New York with dream of finally making enough money to put himself through college. But for his dream to be successful he must survive working...
With a sense of both excitement and urgency driving me forward, I dash across the airport tarmac, the lub-dub of my heart sounds hard and fast as I approach the waiting jet.
Mr.Harlow grouches as soon I climb aboard."I almost left without you."
"Sorry, sir . . ." I apologize even though I knew I am well over thirty minutes earlier than the time told me to reach the airport.
I calm my nerves and take a seat not to close to my grumpy boss. I won't let him ruin my first time flying in a private jet.
Just seconds after the flight attendant closes door, I feel as the engines roar to life and we lift into the air.
The first hour and a half of the flight runs by smoothly and I think it has to do with the fact that Harlow is fast asleep.
As he lay sleeping with his head back against the headrest, I watch the soft glow of the rising sun filter through the window and bath his features that have soften from bearish to a peaceful sincere expression. Dark lashes brush against his cheeks, casting a delicate shadows over his sharp jawline, while his tousled steel-toned hair falls in gentle waves across his forehead.
With each steady breath, his chest rise and fall rhythmically, playing up the sculpted lines of his muscular chest under his t-shirt. A faint smile grace his lips, hinting to him having maybe a good dream.
Shaw Harlow is dictionary definition of beekeeping age. I didn't care if he's actually thirty-nine, it's close enough to forty to get the title.
"You might just drool if you stare any longer." The flight attendant voices at my ear.
I quickly move my eyes off my boss."I wasn't staring." I lie to her.
"Hmm," she laughs."Here's breakfast," she sets down a continental breakfast before me.
Harlow wakes up and his bright blue eyes immediately fall on me, catching me stuffing my face with a muffin.
He gets a cup of coffee from the flight attendant and changes to the seat in front of me so he could have his share of the breakfast.
"Don't stop eating on my account," he smiles.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
I give him a soft nod. I wasn't going to stop eating just because he's in front of me. It's weird how often I've been finding myself eating with him.
Harlow is a weird boss. He claims that I don't have a set lunchtime, won't let me eat from the canteen at work but always takes me outside of the office between two and three daily (five if we're having a long work day ) to have lunch with him at some fancy restaurant. Yet, I don't complain since I don't mind having lunch made by Michelin star chefs and I find myself enjoying his company from time to time.
He always angry but I think he's a big teddy bear under his harsh exterior. Sometimes, I think he might like me. Then again, he could just be tolerating me until he finds a good enough reason to fire me.
