Page 3 of More than Fiction (Misty Springs #1)

Corbin

Commercial air travel. What kind of sick joke was this?

I’d spent the last thirty minutes on the phone trying to reason with Buzz, all while weaving through crowds, dodging rogue suitcases manned by distracted kids, and smashing the phone to my ear to hear him over the airport chatter.

But when my grandfather set his mind to something, there was no changing it. And for some reason, Buzz’s mind was made up to task me with overseeing the new branch in the middle of nowhere to help ensure it got off the ground.

I was close—so close to becoming CEO. We both knew he was retiring, and we both knew I was the obvious choice to be his successor.

Why me? Why now?

“This is the final boarding call for Flight 2286 to Misty Springs. All ticketed and confirmed passengers should proceed to Gate 16. The boarding door is about to close,” the gate agent’s crackling message rang through the terminal.

Shit.

I'd better hurry.

I had become unaccustomed to the rigorous rules of commercial travel. I unfortunately waited too long—hoping to dodge this trip altogether—and someone else claimed the company jet.

That wouldn't happen again. New company policy: no one flies without my sign-off.

If I didn’t get to my gate soon, they’d shut the door and wouldn’t open it back up .

It didn’t matter who I was.

But I needed to walk it off after duking it out with Buzz. A futile task—you didn’t fight with Buzz—you could try, but you would lose.

Not to mention the fact that there was this knockout brunette practically eye-fucking me in the gate area.

I was feeling a little too keyed up to stand there idly waiting.

The boarding door was still open, and the gate agent gave me a tight-lipped smile.

“Thank you.” I glanced into her eyes and gave her one of my trademark smiles, watching her cheeks tinge pink.

Women were easy. Too easy.

As I made my way down the jet bridge, I tried to erase the frustrating phone conversation with Buzz from my mind, but each step I took along the faded and stained carpet made me more and more infuriated.

I had given everything to our company.

I was a machine. No distractions. No slip-ups. A squeaky-clean reputation for the board.

I felt unstoppable.

Anyone who was anyone knew who my family was.

Being named one of Manhattan's Top 30 Under 30 didn't hurt either—though one more year and I would have been too late for that designation.

Once I stepped over the threshold of the plane, I was greeted by a busty blonde flight attendant standing in the refreshment area.

“You’re our missing Mr. Buescher, I suppose.” Her hand slid to her hip.

“That’s me,” I replied smoothly.

“Can I get you a drink?”

“Whiskey, no ice.”

“It would be my pleasure.”

I cleared the aisle and paused. This was… unexpected.

The brunette from the gate—the one whose stare enraptured me right after my losing argument with Buzz—was on this flight.

But it wasn’t just that she was on this plane, or in first class, that made my steps falter.

It was the fact that she was in the wrong seat.