She finished pouring water for Mr. Douglas in 1B, adjusted Mrs. Crawford's pillow, laughed at something Mr. Henderson said. Then, finally, she walked over to 2A.
She didn't lean down. She stood over Briana, arms folded across her chest, chin tilted up. Yes? One word.
No "ma'am." No smile. Just that one cold syllable. I'd like a glass of champagne, please. Heather's mouth twitched.
Can I see your boarding pass? Briana looked around the cabin. Mr. Henderson in 1A. No one asked for his boarding pass.
Mrs. Crawford in 1C. Nothing. The businessman in seat 1B. Nothing.
Nobody else had to show one. Well, nobody else raised any concerns. What concern? I'm asking for a drink.
Heather extended her hand, palm up, fingers spread, waiting. Briana pulled the boarding pass from her hoodie pocket and placed it in Heather's hand. Right there, printed clear as daylight, Ingram/Briana, seat 2A, first class, confirmed. Heather stared at it.
Her jaw shifted. Something moved behind her eyes. Not embarrassment, not recognition. Annoyance.
Like a teacher catching a student in a seat they hadn't earned. She handed it back. No apology, no champagne. "I'll check on that." She turned and walked toward the galley at the front of the cabin.
The curtain swung shut behind her. Briana heard the whispering. Heather's voice, low but not low enough. "Greg, did you see 2A?
Something's off. There's no way she booked that seat herself." Greg, mid-20s, brown hair, soft face, shifted on his feet. "Her ticket's confirmed, Heather. I saw it in the system." "Systems glitch all the time.
Maybe she used someone else's miles. Maybe she scammed a refund ticket. I'm telling you, look at her. Does she look like first class to you?" Greg didn't answer.