Page 2 of When Worlds Collide (Between Worlds #2)

Swiping my card for that turkey sandwich brought my lack of a job to the forefront of my mind, though.

A circumstance so new – barely a half-day old – that I was momentarily stunned, freezing mid-chew as an uneasy feeling roiled in my gut.

I put my sandwich back into its wrapper, appetite fading as I tried to take big, reason-restoring breaths.

Jeremy, though not the boss of me anymore, had assured me that word of my ‘indiscretion’ with Jihoon in the conference room of Pisces recording studios would not make it past the front doors.

Everyone in that building had signed non-disclosure agreements and even that ass-hat of a producer, Trevor ‘TK’ Kyle, couldn’t get away with blowing that up.

It may have cost me my job, but it wouldn’t impact my reputation or, more importantly, Jihoon’s.

He may not have a dating ban written into his contract with ENT anymore, but that meant nothing to the court of public opinion; the much (and rightfully so) feared ‘netizens’.

Having seen some of the public comments directed at GVibes, and idols in general, I completely understood why many performers chose to either not date, or do so covertly.

Which brought me neatly back around to what the hell was I going to do in Korea?

So lost was I in my existential-crisis, that I barely noticed when the information on the boarding screen changed from ‘on-time’ to ‘go to gate’.

It was only when someone in a hurry kicked my foot as they ran past, that I remembered to look up at the board.

Though there was still plenty of time, I tidied away my things, and headed towards the gate.

Airports had a weird way of making it always feel like it was 2:00 am, so even though it was only a little after 10:00 pm, I walked down the sky bridge towards the airplane on legs that felt like lead.

My whole body was drooping like I’d pulled an overnighter with no coffee.

As I paused to wait my turn to board, I had a moment to reflect on the day I’d just had.

What had started as an ordinary day had turned into a complete farce.

Not only had I – lowly British intern – been busted making out with my internationally-famous boyfriend in a conference room on company property, but it was such a big deal they’d dragged in the notoriously hands-off chief operating officer himself.

I’d stared down the barrel of not only immediate termination, but legal action.

Had it not been for a cheeky implication from me that I’d tell the whole world how gross and inappropriate their big-name producer had been – backed up with a rather convenient phone recording – I wasn’t sure I would have made it out of there quite so gracefully.

And now, here I was, at the end of the longest Monday in existence, moving to South Korea on a whim, because the aforementioned internationally-famous-boyfriend had made a convincing enough argument.

Well, too late to back out now.

I shuffled forward in the queue, until finally it was my turn. I handed my boarding pass over to the pleasantly smiling flight attendant, who briefly scanned it before looking back up at me with a more speculative expression.

“Welcome aboard, Miss Thompson. My colleague-” she indicated with a graceful hand motion to the similarly dressed attendant next to her - “will take you to your seat in First Class.”

I startled. “First Class?” I repeated, redundantly.

“Yes, your seat, 2C, is located in our First Class section. If you follow my colleague, he’ll take you there now.”

With my eyebrows lodged somewhere around my hairline, I obediently followed the smartly dressed attendant through the long row of tightly packed seats, thinking at any moment I’d be shown to one of those, that I’d somehow misheard.

But, nope. We kept going through the plane, all the way to front.

The difference was immediate once we’d passed through those curtains that separated the sections.

Not only was it quieter, it was noticeably cooler; the absence of dozens of people all trying to cram their carry-on bags into the overheads or climbing over each other to get to a middle seat making it a markedly different experience.

Instead of rows of battery-farm-esque seats, First Class had remarkably few seats.

In fact, there were none to be seen, because they were all hidden away inside little cubicles.

There were a couple of other people in here, tidying their bags away into little compartments before retreating into their little privacy pods.

I had to stifle a laugh at the absurdity of it all.

There was an argument for classicism here, but fuck me, I just wanted to sit down, maybe nap. Maybe down a bottle of something.

“Miss Thompson.” The attendant had stopped at one pod about half-way down the cabin, to the left.

A window pod; classy. The attendant – Graham, he’d informed me, would be covering First Class on this flight, and I was to press my call button if I should need anything.

He directed me into my little cubicle and pointed out all of the thoughtfully-provided amenities; slippers, pyjamas and a robe, all individually wrapped in plastic, an assortment of skin creams, toothpaste, even a sample bottle of perfume.

I took it all in with the bemusement that only the raised working-class can achieve when faced with such unnecessary extravagances.

Even though mum and dad were now financially comfortable, I'd never gotten used to it.

But hell if I wasn’t going to enjoy the heck out of this. I managed to keep my stoic expression until Graham left, respectfully closing the little pocket doors. Then, I allowed myself an excited little dance, looking around at my own little fiefdom; for the next thirteen hours.