The Journalist and Her Actor

Chapter 18

Were you supposed to act different around people who lived fancy lives? There wasn't a rule book for it as far as I could tell, yet sometimes people tend to think that fancy people needed you to be the fancy version of yourself, even though you've never been fancy in your life! 

What were the rules of going from never getting on a plane to suddenly riding in a private jet owned by a movie star? Were you supposed to act like it was normal even though nothing about the situation was? Acting calm felt like a lie. But gawking would probably make the movie star uncomfortable. 

These were my thoughts as I stared up at the gorgeous jet, trying to wrap my head around flying inside, alone with Luke for SIX HOURS. Taking a deep breath, I approached the jet. Luke ducked his head out of the side door of the jet, a look of surprise on his face. The wind blew wildly, tugging at the bottom of his white t shirt, showcasing a hint of his stomach. 

"Oh... hi."

I waved back. "Can I get a ride?" I called lamely over the howl of the wind.

"I take it you are the extra passenger Dustin asked for me to take along?" 

I nodded. "Yep!"

He gestured through the door behind him and vanished back through the door without a word. I moved to wheel my large suitcase towards the rickety set of stairs set against the base of the side door, but a voice stopped me on the first step. "Miss?" 

I turned to find a man in a suit gesturing towards my bag. "Allow me." 

The man took my bag, looking comical as he wheeled my beat up purple unicorn suitcase— that was missing a back wheel and screeched loudly in protest, the worn out, bright style clashing with his Armani suit— and vanished around the side of the jet. With one final look after the man, I braced myself and entered the jet. 

Thick dark leather lounge chairs filled the sides of the jet, tucked underneath the windows that gazed out across the airport. Red oak tables sat in between the lounge chairs that stood facing each other in sets of two by two. 

Halfway along one wall was a tan couch with plush pillows that sat staring at a mini bar across the aisle. Everything about the jet screamed opulence, including Luke Walker who had settled into a seat next to the window, fingers flipping through pages of a hardback book like flying thousands of feet through the air in a fancy hotel looking metal tube was completely normal. All he needed was a fireplace to suddenly pop out of the wall next to him and I could almost forget I was on a jet plane. It may as well have been a cozy cabin with wings. 

He didn't look up as I walked in, staring around the space, trying not to look utterly shocked. The plane was breathtaking... even if it was ridiculously fancy. 

"Not my plane," Luke said reading my mind, eyes on the pages of his book. 

I laughed, earning me a eyebrow raise. I gestured towards the side door I had just come through. "It literally has your name on it, Walker."

His eyes narrowed slightly as his gaze came up to meet mine. "Don't call me that." 

"What?"

"Walker."

"It's your name, isn't it."

"And your name is a little longer than Em isn't it. Yet you insist on it." His eyes burned, daring me to argue before dropping back to his book. "Offer me the same courtesy."

I settled down into a lounge chair, the loud leather making a noise that sounded far too much like a fart. An awkward silence settled through the cabin. 

"Um... That was the chair," I insisted. 

Luke glanced up, looking unconvinced, making my face burn. "I've never heard these chairs make such a sound."