Love Birds

She almost broke out into laughter when she read the travel book tucked into the sleeve of the seat in front of her. Of course, her in-flight entertainment would be Up in the Air. It's not like the movie was several years old. No, they play it because how ironic is it? A flight-related movie, on a flight? So clever, United Airlines, Taylor thinks bitterly.

She had a soft spot for George Clooney and his salt-and-pepper beard, but he really did give her industry a bad reputation. No, she didn't fly city to city firing people and driving them to near (and the occasional actual) suicide. Her branch of work wasn't as dramatic and callous. She was the best in her work, though. She had made a name for herself at 25. Whispers and glances were sent her way when she walked into any meeting, because who hadn't heard of Taylor Swift? It was quite flattering, actually, when some would even go as far to leave the meeting because they knew there was no beating Swift.

She was great at what she did and she got paid quite well for it too. If she wanted to, she could retire at that very minute. All it would take was a simple email to her boss and she'd be living her life on her own terms. She could live a lavish life in retirement with well over eight figures.

Taylor loved her job, though. She loved the isolation of the clouds, the low hum of the cabin and the engines below, the detachedness of living her life entirely in a twenty-two by fourteen Louis Vuitton suitcase. Everything was simple and by now, four years into her career, she was used to running through the motions. When she told people how much she loved her job, they'd raise a brow and look at her differently. She'd been called everything from a workaholic to an anti-socialite, but the latter was somewhat far from the truth.

Yes, as she'd mention to some, she loved the isolation, but at the same time she wasn't socially inept. In fact, her success relied heavily on her ability to be sociable and friendly. She could close a deal with a smile and a glance, and she knew how to crack into someone's shell and find their comforts and weaknesses within minutes. On the rare occasion that she did talk to whoever was seated next to her, they'd be chatting the whole flight. She was great at talking.

As soon as the flight safety procedures and information video ends and the title card of the movie appears, she plugs in her headphones and reclines her chair back, throwing on a playlist. Luckily, this flight was empty, so her legs were curled up comfortably on the seat beside her, Louboutins in a pile on the floor.

Her head is nodding slowly to whatever song was blasting through her ears when the snack-cart makes its rounds. She pulls down her tray and prepares to place her usual order, a gin martini, extra dirty, and a bag of pretzels. When the attendant tugging on the large metal cart reaches her row, her words fall flat.

The flight-attendant is stunning. Like, back when Pan-Am used to only hire beautiful, skinny, tall women for their flights. Taylor's mouth goes dry as she stares for a second, and she's glad that she's about to get a drink to fix that. Hooded, doe-like green eyes glance down at the cart full of drinks and snack-foods, fussing with the arrangement of cans. Long and wavy brunette hair cascades smoothly around her face. Taylor's not blind to the snug attendant's pencil skirt that fits perfectly around her hips either. She realizes she's stared for too long when someone calling at her politely wakes her up.

"Ma'am? Would you like anything to drink, or a snack perhaps?" A gentle voice asks, followed by a pleasant grin.

"A water is fine," Taylor replies uneasily, resisting the urge to smack her forehead. A water? When the fuck have you ever ordered a water? "And a bag of pretzels, please," she adds softly, her voice quavering like a love-struck schoolgirl's. Jesus.