10 - Felicity

The flight from Chicago to Zurich takes a little less than nine hours.

I spend the first half hour marveling at the inside of Shawn's jet - well, it's owned by the company, actually, but this one is for the exclusive use of the CEO.

It's a Gulfstream, or so Henry, the lone flight attendant on the plane, tells me. It's supposed to carry only eleven passengers, so I thought it would be small and cramped. Boy, was I wrong.

Sure, it definitely looks like a dwarf on the outside compared to the gigantic commercial planes, but inside there's enough space for a kid to run and kick a ball around. And that's just the seating area. There's a dining area with a bar, a kitchen, a bathroom with a shower and a conference room.

More than the space, it's the atmosphere of luxury that has me gasping and gaping in awe. The soft leather seats that come with neck massagers and convert into flat beds. The thick, burgundy carpet. Ambient lighting. My own 15-inch TV. Then there's the service designed to make one feel like royalty. Henry isn't just a flight attendant; he doubles as a butler and caters to your every whim.

He even asked me if I wanted a bath to soak my feet in.

The champagne. The chocolate and caviar.

They all make me wish I was going on a vacation and not a business trip. It's ironic, being able to afford all these privileges and not being able to enjoy them. But hey, I'll take the business trip.

I take my laptop out and get to work. I still have some last-minute stuff to finish. I notice Shawn has already done the same.

When his fingers aren't gliding across the keys, he has a hand on his chin, his eyes fixed on his screen and his eyebrows furrowed. It's a fascinating sight, one my eyes can't seem to stop straying towards. But after Shawn catches me staring, I put in more effort to concentrate on what I'm doing. I'm here to work, not to stare like a teenager in the front row of a concert of her favorite band.

Work. Work. Work.

Eventually, I find my rhythm. I get so absorbed in my work, in fact, that I forget I'm on a plane. I only remember when Henry taps my arm, telling me that dinner is ready.

Dinner? I glance at my watch. It's a little past eight now, which means we've been in the air for three hours. That much time has passed already?

Frankly, I'm not hungry. Or so I think until I catch a whiff of the smells from the kitchen and my mouth waters.

Okay. Maybe I am a little hungry.

Shawn gestures to an empty chair. "Please sit."

I obey. Shawn occupies the seat in front of me.

As Henry pours wine into my glass, I realize this is the first time we're eating together. Alone. We've attended luncheons and dinners aplenty, but each time, the room was filled with at least twenty other people. This time, it's just him and me, which means I'll be the center of his attention for about twenty minutes, with no gadget to hide behind and no way to run.

I can feel my stomach coiling into knots.

To make matters worse, there's a porcelain plate and far too many utensils in front of me.

What was the rule again? Start from the outside and work your way in?

I have eaten at fine dining restaurants before but again, not alone with Shawn. Somehow, that little fact is clouding my brain and making me feel like a kid on her first day in a new school.

Get it together, Felicity. It's just dinner.

With your hot boss. Shit.

"How are you finding the flight so far?" Shawn asks me.

I swallow the lump in my throat and put on a smile. "Great, actually. It's so smooth."

"I know." Shawn beams with pride. "She's worth every penny."

I'm guessing she's worth a lot of pennies.

"You've been on a plane before, right?"

"Sure," I answer. "But I've never been in a private jet. I've only ever flown economy. And yes, the food's bad."

Shawn grins. "Well, don't worry. I can assure you that the food here isn't bad."

Before I can reply, Henry sets down a bowl of soup with shrimp, mushrooms, an assortment of green garnishes, and a milky orange broth.

The smell of the spices from the curry mixed with the coconut and the herbs and the seafood drifts into my nostrils. I pick up my spoon without thinking, then put it down when I realize Shawn hasn't picked up his.

"Please dig in," Shawn urges. "It tastes even better than it smells, I promise."

I scoop out some of the broth and lift my spoon to my lips. The moment I taste the soup, my palate starts to sing. Every component just comes together like an orchestra of flavors inside my mouth. Shawn's right. It does taste even better.

I eat another spoonful before giving him my feedback. "This is very good."

He picks up his own spoon. "I'm glad you like it."

I want to say more, but I just can't help but keep eating. I almost want to take that bowl in my hands and pour that gorgeous broth down my throat. Even without doing so, I finish the dish sooner than I thought, which is a tad disappointing because I feel like I could eat ten more bows. It's that good.