Page 4 of Savage Hearts

I have no idea what’s happening, other than that aliens have obviously abducted my sister and replaced her with an insane wifebot.

If nothing else, this trip should be interesting.

Friday night, I’m sitting inside the VIP waiting area of the private jet terminal at San Francisco International Airport, looking around. I’m in total awe, but trying to be low-key about it.

So far, I’ve had two celebrity sightings, drank as many Ketel One and OJs from the complimentary bar, accepted caviar and crème fraiche on blinis from a smiling lounge hostess, and enjoyed a full-body massage from this ridiculously huge leather chair I’m sitting in.

It vibrates all over at the touch of a button.

One more vodka OJ, and I’m liable to straddle the damn thing.

A limo picked me up at my apartment. When I arrived at the separate private jet building at the airport, I was whisked away into the VIP lounge by a pretty, uniformed young man.

There was no TSA, security line, or removal of shoes. My luggage was taken away and checked in for the flight without me having to do anything except give a nice lady behind a counter my name.

I’ve never been impressed by money, but I’m starting to think I might have been misguided.

The pretty young man returns and informs me with a dazzling smile that my flight has arrived. He gestures to a gleaming white jet taxiing to a stop in the middle of the tarmac outside.

“Please, follow me.”

I trudge behind him as we exit the building and head to the jet, wondering if they’ll kick me off the damn thing for wearing flip-flops and sweats.

If they do, whatever. Life’s too short to wear uncomfortable pants.

The inside of the jet is nicer than any hotel I’ve ever stayed in. I settle into a butter-soft leather captain’s chair and kick off my flippies. A beaming flight attendant approaches and leans over my chair.

“Good evening!”

“Hi.”

“My name is Andrea. I’ll be taking care of you tonight.”

She’s very attractive, this Andrea. If I were a dude, I’d already be thinking of ways she could “take care” of me.

The thought is appalling. Ten seconds on a private jet, and I’m already corrupted.

It’s a good thing I don’t have a dick. I’d probably be waving it in this poor woman’s face before takeoff.

“Um … thank you?”

She smiles at my expression. “First time flying private?”

“Yep.”

“Well, you’re in for a treat. Anything you need, just let me know. We’ve got a full bar and a large variety of food and snacks available. Would you like a blanket?”

When I hesitate, she adds, “They’re cashmere.”

I snort. “Only cashmere? I was hoping for baby alpaca.”

Without missing a beat, she says, “We do have vicuña, if you prefer.”

“What’s vicuña?”

“A llama-type animal from Peru. They look a little bit like a camel, but cuter. Their wool is the softest and most expensive in the world.”

She’s serious. This broad is literally not shitting me. I stare at her with my mouth open for a beat, then smile. “You know what? I’ll just go with good, old-fashioned cashmere, thanks.”