The Player and the Pixie
Page 15
Annie shook her head at me, a slight, knowing smile pasted on her lips, but was stopped from responding further by the appearance of the aforementioned gate agent.
“Mr. Cassidy?” She addressed me, her tone painfully conciliatory.
Not a good sign.
“I am Mr. Cassidy,” I confirmed flatly.
“I am so sorry,” she was tripping over the words, barely able to get them out, “but it appears there has been a mix-up. We never should have released this seat to you. I’ll need you to come with me back to the gate.”
“You don’t say . . .” I gritted my teeth, hating that Ronan would win this round, just like he won everything.
Ronan Fitzpatrick and his apish manners.
Ronan Fitzpatrick and his legion of loyal followers.
Ronan Fitzpatrick and his adoring family.
He didn’t deserve to be the team captain. He didn’t deserve seat 1B in this airplane. And he definitely didn’t deserve the insightful, pretty, and brilliant Ms. Catrel.
I unhurriedly unfolded from the seat, tilting my head to one side so as not to hit it on the roof of the plane. The gate agent backed up two steps, clearly startled by my size. Or perhaps she backed off because I was glaring daggers in her direction.
“Tough luck, Cassidy.” Ronan stood as well, grinning triumphantly. “You could always fly coach.”
I felt my glower intensify as I volleyed back hatefully. “Perhaps I’ll go find your sister in Barcelona and we can chat about all the things we have in common.”
Irritatingly, Ronan chuckled and called after me as I walked down the aisle toward the exit. “Not likely. Lucy isn’t in Spain, Cassidy. She’s in the middle of the woods at some yoga retreat, where you’ll never find her.”
I turned the corner, now blessedly out of earshot, left the airplane, and straightened to my full height as I strolled up the onramp and back to the gate. Bourbon, 7 Up, and defeat an acrimonious mixture on my tongue.
The gate agent was still apologizing, scurrying in front of me and tossing regretful smiles over her shoulder.
I didn’t return her smile, too busy stewing in the simmering heat of failure.
Ronan Fitzpatrick lumbered through life, threatening and shouting, getting his own way at every turn. He was a great buffoon, masquerading indulgent, brutish conceit and idiocy as loyalty and dedication.
“We’ll get you back to Dublin, Mr. Cassidy. I promise. It might take a few hours, but we’ll have it sorted.”
He deserved to feel the sting of a true setback.
He deserved humiliation.
He deserved to suffer.
“I’m not going to Dublin,” I said as I thought the words, a plan forming in my mind.
“Oh?” The woman frowned at me, considering and cautious, and her voice held a slight tremor as she offered, “Well, I’m sure we can accommodate you wherever you’d like to go.”
I glared at her earnest and solicitous face for several protracted seconds. Holding my gaze, she swallowed as though the action were painful. I dropped my eyes to her hands where they fiddled with the badge around her neck. Her fingers were shaking.
“What’s your name?” I demanded, unaccountably irritated by her nerves. I was used to people being intimidated by my presence, yet I rarely enjoyed their discomfort. Just another reminder of how terribly inconvenient I was.
“Marta.” She tilted her chin up, looking like a brave little girl.
“Marta.” I let her name roll off my tongue, softening my tone, and giving her a smile meant to ease her nerves—a skill I’d perfected over the years out of necessity. “Such a beautiful name.”
Her lashes fluttered and pink stained her olive skin. “Th-thank you, Mr. Cassidy.” Marta’s response was a breathy whisper.
“Now, I need a flight to the United States. Specifically, to someplace called Squam Lake in New Hampshire.” I licked my lips and inclined my head toward her, lowering my voice as though I were asking for her secrets. “Can you help me, Marta?”
Chapter Five
@LucyFitz Sometimes I open chocolate bars real slow and imagine what I’d do if there was a golden ticket inside.
@BroderickAdams to @LucyFitz Okay, first answer that pops into your head. Depp-Wonka or Wilder-Wonka?
@LucyFitz to @BroderickAdams This is gonna cause controversy but…Depp-Wonka.
@BroderickAdams to @LucyFitz WHAT!?!
*Lucy*
I felt like I’d died and gone to heaven. Here I was, in a place far removed from modern stresses and strains, no Internet, no mobile phone, but most importantly, no Jackie Fitzpatrick. Yes, I was thousands of miles away from my mother and the urge to steal was a long-forgotten, distant memory.
“You look happy,” said Broderick as we sat on a patio that faced the lake, drinking our kale smoothies.
“Of course I’m happy, Rick. Look where we are. The people who live here must wake up every morning and feel elated just to be alive.”
My friend chuckled. “It’s certainly a lot more relaxing than Manhattan.”
I nodded. “I mean, don’t me wrong, I love New York, but I couldn’t spend the rest of my life there. If I ever made enough money I’d build myself a nice little two-bedroom cottage in a place like this, adopt a bunch of dogs, and just forget about the rest of the world.”
“But then you wouldn’t get to see my handsome face every day,” he teased and I grinned at him. I’d had my fair share of platonic male friends in my time, but Rick was by far the prettiest. And don’t even get me started on his accent. Gah, I could listen to him speak for hours. I’d quickly come to realize we didn’t have chemistry of the romantic variety. In truth, I thought he might be harboring feelings for an ex or hung up on some other girl, and wasn’t getting involved in that.
“Mr. Cassidy?” She addressed me, her tone painfully conciliatory.
Not a good sign.
“I am Mr. Cassidy,” I confirmed flatly.
“I am so sorry,” she was tripping over the words, barely able to get them out, “but it appears there has been a mix-up. We never should have released this seat to you. I’ll need you to come with me back to the gate.”
“You don’t say . . .” I gritted my teeth, hating that Ronan would win this round, just like he won everything.
Ronan Fitzpatrick and his apish manners.
Ronan Fitzpatrick and his legion of loyal followers.
Ronan Fitzpatrick and his adoring family.
He didn’t deserve to be the team captain. He didn’t deserve seat 1B in this airplane. And he definitely didn’t deserve the insightful, pretty, and brilliant Ms. Catrel.
I unhurriedly unfolded from the seat, tilting my head to one side so as not to hit it on the roof of the plane. The gate agent backed up two steps, clearly startled by my size. Or perhaps she backed off because I was glaring daggers in her direction.
“Tough luck, Cassidy.” Ronan stood as well, grinning triumphantly. “You could always fly coach.”
I felt my glower intensify as I volleyed back hatefully. “Perhaps I’ll go find your sister in Barcelona and we can chat about all the things we have in common.”
Irritatingly, Ronan chuckled and called after me as I walked down the aisle toward the exit. “Not likely. Lucy isn’t in Spain, Cassidy. She’s in the middle of the woods at some yoga retreat, where you’ll never find her.”
I turned the corner, now blessedly out of earshot, left the airplane, and straightened to my full height as I strolled up the onramp and back to the gate. Bourbon, 7 Up, and defeat an acrimonious mixture on my tongue.
The gate agent was still apologizing, scurrying in front of me and tossing regretful smiles over her shoulder.
I didn’t return her smile, too busy stewing in the simmering heat of failure.
Ronan Fitzpatrick lumbered through life, threatening and shouting, getting his own way at every turn. He was a great buffoon, masquerading indulgent, brutish conceit and idiocy as loyalty and dedication.
“We’ll get you back to Dublin, Mr. Cassidy. I promise. It might take a few hours, but we’ll have it sorted.”
He deserved to feel the sting of a true setback.
He deserved humiliation.
He deserved to suffer.
“I’m not going to Dublin,” I said as I thought the words, a plan forming in my mind.
“Oh?” The woman frowned at me, considering and cautious, and her voice held a slight tremor as she offered, “Well, I’m sure we can accommodate you wherever you’d like to go.”
I glared at her earnest and solicitous face for several protracted seconds. Holding my gaze, she swallowed as though the action were painful. I dropped my eyes to her hands where they fiddled with the badge around her neck. Her fingers were shaking.
“What’s your name?” I demanded, unaccountably irritated by her nerves. I was used to people being intimidated by my presence, yet I rarely enjoyed their discomfort. Just another reminder of how terribly inconvenient I was.
“Marta.” She tilted her chin up, looking like a brave little girl.
“Marta.” I let her name roll off my tongue, softening my tone, and giving her a smile meant to ease her nerves—a skill I’d perfected over the years out of necessity. “Such a beautiful name.”
Her lashes fluttered and pink stained her olive skin. “Th-thank you, Mr. Cassidy.” Marta’s response was a breathy whisper.
“Now, I need a flight to the United States. Specifically, to someplace called Squam Lake in New Hampshire.” I licked my lips and inclined my head toward her, lowering my voice as though I were asking for her secrets. “Can you help me, Marta?”
Chapter Five
@LucyFitz Sometimes I open chocolate bars real slow and imagine what I’d do if there was a golden ticket inside.
@BroderickAdams to @LucyFitz Okay, first answer that pops into your head. Depp-Wonka or Wilder-Wonka?
@LucyFitz to @BroderickAdams This is gonna cause controversy but…Depp-Wonka.
@BroderickAdams to @LucyFitz WHAT!?!
*Lucy*
I felt like I’d died and gone to heaven. Here I was, in a place far removed from modern stresses and strains, no Internet, no mobile phone, but most importantly, no Jackie Fitzpatrick. Yes, I was thousands of miles away from my mother and the urge to steal was a long-forgotten, distant memory.
“You look happy,” said Broderick as we sat on a patio that faced the lake, drinking our kale smoothies.
“Of course I’m happy, Rick. Look where we are. The people who live here must wake up every morning and feel elated just to be alive.”
My friend chuckled. “It’s certainly a lot more relaxing than Manhattan.”
I nodded. “I mean, don’t me wrong, I love New York, but I couldn’t spend the rest of my life there. If I ever made enough money I’d build myself a nice little two-bedroom cottage in a place like this, adopt a bunch of dogs, and just forget about the rest of the world.”
“But then you wouldn’t get to see my handsome face every day,” he teased and I grinned at him. I’d had my fair share of platonic male friends in my time, but Rick was by far the prettiest. And don’t even get me started on his accent. Gah, I could listen to him speak for hours. I’d quickly come to realize we didn’t have chemistry of the romantic variety. In truth, I thought he might be harboring feelings for an ex or hung up on some other girl, and wasn’t getting involved in that.
