VIP
1869 Words
By the time Lena stumbled into the hotel room, she was ready to collapse.
Her shoes were the first to go, kicked unceremoniously into the corner. She didn’t bother to check where they landed. Her blazer followed, tossed across the chair with a limp flick of her wrist. And then she let herself fall face-first onto the crisp white bedspread, the mattress swallowing her whole.
She groaned into the pillow.
So this was what her sister had been hiding behind that dazzling smile and playful shrug.
Lena had always thought Lana’s job was… simple. Smile pretty, offer drinks, maybe demonstrate how to buckle a seatbelt and point toward the emergency exits. Easy. Child’s play compared to the work she did in finance, right?
Oh, how wrong she had been.
Every muscle in her body throbbed. Her feet felt like they’d been stabbed repeatedly with tiny daggers. Her back ached from hours of standing, bending, and lugging carts up and down narrow aisles. And her jaw hurt—from smiling so much it felt glued in place.
The passengers hadn’t made things easier. Demanding, entitled, and in some cases downright unbearable. She’d lost count of how many times she’d heard “Can I get another one?” in a tone that was more command than request. Then there were the ones who thought “no” was optional, the ones who rang the call button like it was a toy, and the ones who seemed personally offended by the concept of turbulence. And let’s not start with the seat swap game.
Her colleagues weren’t much better. A few were kind, offering tips and small smiles when she stumbled, but others had looked at her like she was fresh meat dropped in a shark tank.
And don’t even get her started on the pilots. The mighty kings of the cockpit. The way some of them swaggered, soaking up attention like they were gods among mortals. A wink here, a smirk there—as if she should be honored by their notice, as if one twitch of their perfect brows was supposed to send her sprinting into their beds.
By the end of the flight, she was tempted to slam the beverage cart into someone’s shins just for the satisfaction.
But none of that compared to him.
Her skin prickled just remembering it.
That mountain of a man.
She’d first noticed him in the lounge before boarding. He stood out, impossible to miss—broad shoulders, solid frame, the kind of presence that made everyone else shrink in comparison. His gaze had landed on her like a spotlight, and she’d felt it burn even from across the room.
And then he approached.
The encounter replayed in her head, unwelcome and unsettling.
He’d known her name. Or rather, her sister’s name. Lana Pearson. He’d said it like a fact carved in stone, like he already knew her, studied her, dissected her life.
And then—his offer.
A quarter of a million dollars. Just like that. A check and a contract.
All she had to do was sign the NDA and agree to stop seeing… someone.
Someone married.
Lena rolled over on the bed, staring at the ceiling, her pulse quickening all over again.
What the hell was her sister involved in?
She sat up, pressing a hand on her temple. The man had been serious. Deadly serious. He hadn’t looked like someone used to being told no. Which explained why his expression had darkened when she’d rejected him, when she’d told him in no uncertain terms to take his insulting check and shove it.
But it wasn’t his fury that haunted her. It was the implications.
Married.
He’d said Lana was involved with a married man. That was the reason for the payoff, the NDA.
Lena’s throat tightened.
No. That couldn’t be right. Lana might be reckless. She might be impulsive. She might treat life like a series of experiments, throwing herself headfirst into experiences Lena couldn’t even imagine. But married men? That was her hard limit. A line she’d never crossed.
So why was this stranger so sure? Why was he waving around hundreds of thousands of dollars like hush money?
Lena curled her knees up to her chest, burying her face against them.
The exhaustion of the flight suddenly felt heavier, pressed down by the weight of this new, terrifying mystery.
What had her sister gotten herself into?
And more importantly—what had Lena just walked into by pretending to be her?
--
The next morning arrived far too quickly.
Lena sat on the edge of the hotel bed, fastening the small golden wings to her navy-blue blazer, her movements slow, mechanical. Her body still ached from yesterday’s flight, but the physical exhaustion wasn’t what weighed on her the most.
It was the conversation.
That mountain of a man. The check. The NDA. The word married.
No matter how hard she tried to push it aside, it kept clawing back into her mind, demanding to be heard.
Her sister.
Lana.
Lena chewed her lip until it hurt. The thought that her sister could be tangled in something like that—an affair with a married man—was absurd. Wrong. Impossible.
She tried calling, tried messaging, but only got silence. Until the memory of Lana’s breezy laugh came back to her: “There’ll be times I’m without coverage, sis. Don’t panic. I’ll get back to you when I can.”
Damn it.
Lena sighed, dropping her phone back into her bag.
She had to believe Lana. For all her recklessness, her sister had always drawn a hard line in the sand. Married men were off limits. Period. And besides—Lana never kept secrets from her. She shared everything. The good, the bad, and the ugly. If this were real, Lena would’ve heard about it.
It must be a mistake, Lena told herself. That man… Samson, or whatever his name was… he’s got it wrong. He has to.
Still, her stomach twisted uneasily as she made her way through the terminal and into the crew briefing room.
The room was already buzzing when she slipped inside. Crew members in pressed uniforms greeted one another, trading jokes, complaints, and snippets of gossip. Lena tried to keep her head down, her face set in what she hoped passed as Lana’s effortless confidence.
Fly under the radar, she reminded herself.
But fate had other plans.
“Pearson,” a voice snapped.
She froze.
The supervisor stood at the front of the room—a man named Mike, according to the roster she’d skimmed. Sharp suit, sharper gaze. He carried himself with the air of someone who missed nothing.
“Today,” he said, scanning the group before letting his eyes land on her again, “we’ll need some extra hands in First Class. We have some… very demanding VIPs onboard.”
He paused deliberately.
“So, Lana—you’re up.”
The words landed like a punch.
Lena’s heart stuttered. Her mind scrambled for an excuse, any excuse, but nothing came. She forced her lips into a smile that felt paper-thin.
“Yes, of course.”
Around her, she could feel the eyes of her colleagues. Some curious. Some envious. First Class was coveted, a step up from the cramped aisles of Economy. But for Lena, the promotion was the last thing she wanted. It meant more attention. More scrutiny. And now, apparently, VIPs.
So much for flying under the radar, she thought bitterly.
When the meeting ended, Mike stopped her before she could slip away. He handed her a sleek crew tablet, his expression brisk but not unkind.
“Listen, Lana,” he said, lowering his voice. “We really need your charm today, sweetie. You’re one of our best. And you’ve wanted a shot in First for a while, haven’t you? Well—this is it. Your opportunity. If you handle this well, it won’t go unnoticed.”
Lena blinked, gripping the tablet like it might bite her. She tried to summon the kind of sultry grin her sister would wear with ease.
“I’ll… do my best.”
“Good girl,” Mike said. Then, with a conspiratorial smile, “Our CEO personally called to ensure this passenger receives world-class attention and a dedicated crew only for him. Read the profile. Work your magic. You got this.”
Her stomach dropped.
CEO?
She swallowed hard and forced another smile before turning away, clutching the tablet like a lifeline.
Sliding into a corner, she tapped the screen. The profile page loaded with a soft ping.
Her eyes scanned the words, her breath catching as the name at the top appeared in sharp, bold letters.
Zayn Specter.
--
Before Lena even had the chance to retreat into her corner and process what she’d just read, Mike appeared at her side again. His presence was quick, efficient—like he could already sense her hesitation.
He held out his phone, the screen lit up with an image. “Here. This is your VIP.” His tone softened, almost like a mentor’s. “Word of advice, Lana—always do your research. Always put a face to a name. Be prepared.”
Her fingers trembled slightly as she accepted the phone. She forced a small smile. “Thanks, Mike. I really appreciate it.”
Then her gaze dropped to the screen.
And froze.
Her heart stumbled, skipping a beat so sharp she almost felt winded.
Oh. My. God.
Rarely—if ever—did Lena get fazed by the opposite s*x. She had grown used to tuning out attention, brushing off flattery, keeping herself grounded while her sister played the role of the star. But this… this was different.
Zayn Specter.
The name alone had already carried weight, but now, with a face attached, it slammed into her like a tidal wave.
He was … devastating.
A sharply cut jaw, high cheekbones, and a mouth that looked almost too perfect for a man—full lips that carried both temptation and threat. His hair was dark, cut in a style that screamed discipline: short on the sides, longer at the top, perfectly controlled. But it was his eyes that anchored her.
Intense. Piercing. A shade of blue so deep it seemed to strip away every defense.
He was drop-dead gorgeous, yes—but it wasn’t the kind of beauty that made you sigh. It was the kind that made you tense. The kind that warned you to keep your distance.
There was something about him, something in the set of his mouth, the cold intelligence in his gaze, that screamed unapproachable. Almost dangerous.
Lena’s throat tightened.
She took a long, shaky breath, willing herself to calm down, to focus. Just get through the flight. Just play the role. Keep your head down. Don’t let him see through you.
Clutching Mike’s phone like a fragile secret, she whispered a silent prayer to whatever gods might be listening.
“Please,” she murmured under her breath. “Let this flight go without a hitch.”
But deep down, she had a strange feeling, like a tingling in her stomach that something was about to happen.
- Writer
