Victoria The Billionaires Maid

Sage’s [POV]

I put aside all thoughts of Oliver’s erection. From what I’d heard from girlfriends over the years, it often didn’t take much to get them going. There was even that song “Jizz in My Pants” where the guy got excited by the breeze blowing and eating grapes and all kinds of crazy things. That hadn’t been my experience, but someone always screwed up the curve.

Leave it to me.

Considering Oliver being sexually aroused by me-me, specifically-was too far-fetched to swallow. I had good breasts, but from what I’d heard, he saw that part of the female anatomy too often to get excited by mine. Unless mine were more stupendous than I believed, and Jim’s underperforming penis could not corroborate that fact.

Regardless, I was moving on.

As the weekend neared, I called the radio station and tried to reschedule my trip one more time. For April or May, perhaps. When Ally would be able to travel and might relish an escape from her newborn.

So I liked to delude myself. So sue me.

The radio station, however, was not into delusions.

You’ve rescheduled multiple times already. Shit or get off the pot.

Said more nicely, of course. Slightly.

I was so at odds about how to proceed that I didn’t even try to find Moose again. That hadn’t gone well the other day, and heck, if I was going to Vegas anyway, why look for an old man when I could potentially find a new one?

Again, I realized this was unlikely since stranger danger was a real concern vis my lady terrarium. But fantasies are free.

Moose probably wouldn’t be that thrilled to hear from me in any case. I’d accidentally stomped on his shoe while dancing at the prom, and I’d broken a bone in his foot.

If only I’d known back then that the death of my love life had already been cast.

And it was firmly set on crazy eights.

Friday morning, I woke for my last shift at the diner before my few days off with a migraine and a tickle in my stomach. I was sure I was coming down with a raging case of the flu. I’d picked up Laurie from school a few days ago and chatted with her teacher and some of her classmates, and naturally, the place was rife with the virus.

I was ill. I could not travel.

A day at work being barked at by Greta without even the softening presence of my bestie-who was now out on maternity leave-did not improve my condition. I crawled into my bed at ten pm with the reassuring laugh track to the Golden Girls lulling me to sleep, confident that the fates were instructing me not to travel to the land of lust.

My pristinely hyphenated state would continue.

Strangely, I was okay with it. Perhaps the answer was to consider alternate situations where my virginity would be a bonus rather than a seeming detriment.

Like the nunnery.

I would spend Saturday looking into those options, just in case. Even without traveling to engage in carnal desires, I didn’t intend to pursue becoming a nun right now. Things weren’t that dire. But if in, oh, five to ten years, I still hadn’t found someone to share my bed-if not my life-with…

Well, I’d always been at peace in the church and I had a damn fine singing voice for hymns.

The no-swearing thing would become a requirement though. I’d have to trade in my plastic gallon jug for a legit old-fashioned milk can.

I slept fitfully Friday night, certain I would wake on Saturday too sick to fly. It was only the polite thing to do, not contaminate my fellow passengers.

Instead, I woke before my alarm, stretched, and realized I felt absolutely fine.

There was no way I could back out now.

On the bright side, I’d packed the other day. My wardrobe was a mix of fun, flirty, casual clothes and more formal pieces for the evening. I would only be there Saturday and Sunday nights, returning Monday, so the trip didn’t require a ton of outfits. Still, I fretted over including one more pair of strappy heels just in case. I only had three pairs, and the other two were already in the suitcase, along with my flats. I was so unprepared for Vegas and had been flip-flopping so much about whether I truly wanted to go that I’d done little research and hadn’t booked any shows. Luckily, the radio station trip included two tickets to see Celine Dion, who I loved, so I had one night’s entertainment all set.

Sunday night, I’d wing it. See what developed. That was kind of what this whole trip was about. Being spontaneous. Letting the winds of fate and change blow me to my destiny. And so on.

I’d probably end up watching cable in my room and binging on cheap wine from room service.Exclusive © material by Nô(/v)elDrama.Org.

Once I’d double-checked my suitcase and carry-on one last time, I detoured to the bathroom to put one more light layer of moisturizer on my face and hands, since I’d read planes were extremely dry. This was my first ever flight, and I did not want to meet my future with dry skin.

Oh God, what if I hated flying? I’d probably be a nervous flyer. I tended to be nervous about most new things, part of why I stayed in my comfort zone.

Not today. Today, I was taking a big fat leap.

My phone beeped with a notification. Look at that, the Uber was outside, right on time.

Keep, I was doing this. All by myself. First vacation in forever, my first solo trip, and my first flight. Across the country, no less.

I might even be proud of myself later if I didn’t spiral into a panic attack before I even arrived at the airport.

The plus side was that I’d planned. Needed paperwork and information were gathered and at the ready. I breezed through TSA, though I had to lift my travel-appropriate light sweater and thin shirt underneath when something buzzed around my waist and they needed to verify I wasn’t packing heat. Then I was on my way, my step buoyed, excitement finally beginning to overtake nerves.

Boarding time was upon me, and I was ready. Sin City and I were about to interface hardcore.

I gripped the handle of my carry-on in my fist and walked down the aisle of the plane, searching for my row. Wow, pretty nice seat. I’d heard coach wasn’t much to speak about. Maybe I didn’t have caviar dreams, but I was quite happy with my accommodations so far. Besides, they were free.

Turned out I was near the back. All good there. It seemed as if the plane was nearly full already. I’d been near the back of the line due to an unfortunate mishap with my shoe strap. No matter, I was here now and my seat was right…

There. By the window. But before I could get to it, I would have to climb over a large lumberjack-appearing man in jeans and flannel with a beard long enough to French braid, and a rich-looking guy in a snazzy suit.

Wait a second. I knew that rich-looking guy.

“What the hell are you doing here?” I demanded, planting a hand on my ample hip and glaring over Lumberjack’s head at the businessman beside him. One I was quite well acquainted with and did not have fond feelings for.

Especially right now, when he was about to hijack my big solo adventure for reasons unknown. Pfft.

Oliver removed his dark glasses-why he was wearing them on a plane, I didn’t know-and gave me a thin, forbidding smile. “I do believe this is a public, commercial flight. Though God knows why anyone would voluntarily choose to travel this way.”

“Hey,” Lumberjack rumbled in a deep voice that fit him all too well. “He speaks. I asked you how you were before and you just grunted.”

“I’m not on this flight to make friends and influence people.”

I frowned. “That’s just rude. Why are you here again?” Before Oliver could answer, I gave Lumberjack my brightest, friendliest, Crescent Cove hometown smile. “I must ap apologize for my enemy’s behavior. He doesn’t get out much. I’m doing quite well, myself. How are you, sir?”

The lumberjack flushed. “H-hi,” he said, and Oliver made a noise that sounded like disgust, or possibly indigestion at his pre-flight breakfast. “I’m doing good. Well, I mean. Thank you.” He quickly tugged my small bag out of my hand. “Let me tuck that away for you.” He bent over to slide it under the seat in front of him.

Lordy, he was big and broad all over. How did he even manage to wedge himself in that small space?

“Why, thank you. That was very sweet of you. What’s your name?” I held out a hand. “I’m Sage Evans, and I’m twenty-six and an Aquarius. Just had my birthday last week. Truthfully, I’m on the cusp, but I identify more with my Aquarian nature.”

“Aquarius?” Oliver shook his head. “Why don’t you tell him your favorite color and preferred meal while you’re at it?”

“Hot pink and a nice steak sub with extra peppers and onions.” I smiled, though inwardly I was cringing at being quite so honest. There was nothing sexy about admitting you liked to load up on onions, but then again, I wasn’t trying to make a date. Just a friend.

And yes, I also wanted to rile Oliver. Since he was doing a bang-up job at trying to look as if he couldn’t care less about the conversation-not-obviously, I was successful.

“Pink is a nice color on you,” Lumberjack said, shifting in his seat and inclining his chin at my thin cardigan. “I like steak sandwiches too.”

Except he pronounced it sammiches, which was pretty cute.

“Would you please, sit down,” he added after a moment. “Your feet must be getting tired.”

“Okay. But I’d like to sit next to you, not by the window.” I gave Oliver a hard stare.

“You’re still sitting next to me even if I move into the window seat,” Oliver said as if I wasn’t smart enough to figure that out on my own. But he moved next to the window just the same.