Page 2 of A Daddy for Christmas 3: Nova
There was no way I’d read those three texts correctly. No fucking way when I’d left detailed notes on exactly how the next week was supposed to go in my absence. It was sitting right on top of the workshop packets I’d compiled for the very presentation in question.
Grumbling beneath my breath, I shifted the backpack I’d slung over my shoulder so I could use both thumbs to type a message to Pete and hopefully nip this word vomit of texts in the bud before he wrecked the start of my vacation.
Did you read the notes I left all the way through, or did you stop on page one where I mentioned the Reynolds presentation and that Mr. Funaka would expect an update on how it went precisely at 2 when he returned from lunch with the other stockholders?
It was a weekly event that he never missed but was never a minute late returning from.
And I thought I was punctual. When it came to being exactly on time, Mr. Funaka had everyone beat.
The attachments you’ll need for the update are on pages 6 and 7; make sure you attach them before you head up to Mr. Funaka’s office. Just read the whole packet, and you’ll see exactly what you are supposed to do. I’ve laid it out step by step; there is no way you should have any other issues.
I’d just hit send and shoved the phone back in my pocket when my name was called. I wove through the gaps between people to reach the counter and my much-needed caffeine, immediately taking a sip.
Ahh.
Cold, sweet, caffeine-infused bliss. I couldn’t wait for it to hit my brain.
“Brandy, Brandy, get back here!”
A high-pitched squeal nearly deafened me, and I cringed, turning to see where the ear-splitting screech had come from,only to spot a windmilling set of arms headed my way. In my efforts to sidestep, I shoulder-checked the man beside me, right before someone’s runaway toddler crashed into my leg.
The shock of the impact staggered me and sent my precious iced coffee flying out of my hand. Coffee, ice, my caffeine-loaded espresso shots, and all that scrumptious heavy cream and caramel launched in cartoon slow motion to land all over the face and arm of the man beside me, whose business suit did not look cheap.
In an instant his expression went from horrified to outraged, as the giggling, squealing child skidded in the drops that had landed on the floor and nearly fell as he changed directions.
And do you think the exasperated human still calling his name and chasing after him took the time to pause and see the chaos he’d caused?
Hell no.
All we got was a harried "sorry, sorry," as he bumped into people and narrowly avoided collisions in his efforts to grab hold of the squealing rugrat.
No way was I getting back in that long-ass line to order another coffee, not at airport prices. Fuck that, I’d have some on the plane. It wouldn’t be as good, but it was still caffeine. At this point, that was as good as the morning was willing to give.
The guy wearing the remains of my beautiful drink clearly wasn’t happy with the tiny human’s guardian any more than I was; only he took off in pursuit, while I slunk away from the mess and back over to my gate, where I’d, hopefully, be much safer.
Once I was seated, I slipped my earbuds in, fished my phone out of my pocket, went ahead and put it on airplane mode, pulled up my Counting Crows collection, and sat back to wait for my time to board.
Flying first class had its perks, especially priority boarding and seats with some space between them and no one reclining right into my lap.
They were plusher too, which my back appreciated with the long flight I had ahead of me. In my office, I had a standing desk. My rarely used chair was something I reserved for face-to-face meetings.
Those were growing rarer, though, in this era of video correspondence. Saved companies a bundle on airfare though. Napping on the plane was easy, at least until my Bluetooth earbuds ran out of juice and exposed me to the squeals and pounding feet of a child running up the aisle.
“Brandy! Get back here; you can’t go through there.”
Fuck me sideways with a pogo stick, was the universe serious with this bullshit?
Fuck my life. I looked over to see the same harried man chasing the same exuberant toddler, with a grim-faced and clearly exasperated flight attendant following the man up the aisle while insisting that he and the child were not supposed to be in first class and needed to return to their seats because the captain had the seatbelt light on.
I didn’t feel any turbulence as I dug in my bag for the earbuds case and the spare set I never flew long distances without. As I slipped them in my ears, I wondered if he’d turned the sign on to spare the rest of the passengers from having to listen to the toddler running up and down the aisles, screeching that high-pitched squeal. As it was, the outraged shrieks they let out at being restrained were growing in pitch and frequency and quickly drowned out when I switched from Counting Crows to Drowning Pool.
My one hope, as I closed my eyes and sought to rejoin the tropical fantasy I’d been immersed in, was that we would not be on the same flight out of LAX. The universe could not be so cruelas to do that to me. I’d more than earned this vacation, every last fruity drink, tranquil hammock, and sunrise-lit inch of it.
Sunrise.
I couldn’t wait to dig my toes in the sand, feet in the surf, eyes on the horizon, my days spent listening to the waves crash and the gulls scream for bits of my sandwiches.
Mercifully, there were no signs of Brandy or her caretaker on the final leg of my journey. There was just music and the movie I’d finally decided to watch while I enjoyed my meal.