"I don't care what the computer says, Sarah. I want the merger documents printed, bound, and in my briefcase before I board. And tell the bartender this martini tastes like it was mixed with tap water."
Desmond didn't turn his head, but his eyes flicked toward the commotion.
Storming through the lounge was Preston Montgomery.
Preston was the physical embodiment of inherited wealth and unchecked corporate arrogance. He wore a bespoke Tom Ford suit that looked tight enough to restrict his breathing, a diamond-encrusted Rolex that caught the lounge lights like a disco ball, and an expression of permanent, sneering dissatisfaction.
He was the executive vice president of Montgomery Holdings, a real estate conglomerate his grandfather had built, his father had expanded, and he was currently coasting on.
Preston barked orders at a terrified-looking young assistant, waving his martini glass dangerously close to her face. He was loud. He was taking up too much space. And he clearly believed the world was an intricate machine designed solely to cater to his whims.
Desmond sighed, taking a final sip of his water.
He had spent his entire life dealing with men exactly like Preston Montgomery. Men who had been born on third base and spent their lives demanding a trophy for hitting a triple.
Desmond checked his phone. Boarding for Flight 88 had commenced. He picked up his worn leather briefcase and quietly slipped out of the lounge, leaving Preston to berate the bartender.
The first-class boarding lane at Gate B22 was empty when Desmond arrived. The gate agent smiled warmly, scanning his mobile pass.
"Welcome back, Mr. Hayes. Seat 1A. Have a wonderful flight to London."
"Thank you, Maria," Desmond replied, his voice a deep, calming baritone.
He walked down the jet bridge, the heavy scent of aviation fuel bringing a nostalgic comfort to his chest.
He stepped onto the massive Boeing 777-300ER and was immediately greeted by the purser, a tall, stiff-postured man named Richard, and a younger flight attendant named Khloe.
"Good evening, sir. Welcome aboard. May I direct you to your seat?" Khloe asked, her smile genuine.
"I'm in 1A. Thank you," Desmond said, turning left into the ultra-exclusive first-class cabin.
Global Airways had recently retrofitted their long-haul fleet. The cabin featured only eight private suites, walled off with sliding doors, trimmed in polished walnut and soft cream leather. It was a flying luxury hotel.
Desmond effortlessly stowed his briefcase in the overhead bin and sank into the wide, plush seat of 1A. The most coveted seat on the aircraft, positioned at the very front left bulkhead, offering the ultimate privacy.