First Class

The upgrade notification pings on my phone like a cruel joke.

Congratulations, Ms. Durand. You've been upgraded to First Class on Flight BA287, London Heathrow to New York JFK.

I should be grateful. After three days of depositions, witness prep, and exactly eleven hours of sleep total, I deserve to stretch out in a lie-flat seat instead of cramming my five-foot-seven frame into economy. But gratitude isn't what I feel as I board the plane, briefcase heavy with documents that could end a man's career.

Tomorrow at nine AM, I'm scheduled to depose Gideon Cross, CEO of Cross Industries, in the most hostile takeover battle Manhattan has seen in a decade. My firm represents Whitmore Capital, the sharks circling his company. I've spent six months building a case designed to expose every weakness, every questionable decision, every vulnerability in his leadership.

I know everything about him. His net worth. His board conflicts. His failed first marriage. The rumors about his temper, his ruthlessness, his legendary control issues.

What I don't know is that he's sitting in seat 2A.

Right next to mine.

I freeze in the aisle, carry-on suspended mid-lift, staring at the man I've spent half a year researching from behind the safety of legal briefs and financial statements.

The photos don't do him justice. They capture the sharp jaw, the dark hair silvering at the temples, the broad shoulders that strain against his charcoal suit jacket. But they don't capture the presence. The way the air seems to thicken around him. The way his ice-gray eyes cut to mine with an intensity that feels like a physical touch.

Recognition flickers across his face. Then something else. Something that looks dangerously like amusement.

"Ms. Durand." His voice is low, resonant. "What an unexpected pleasure."

I force my legs to move, my body to function. I lift my bag into the overhead compartment with hands that absolutely do not tremble, then slide into 2B with what I hope is professional composure.

"Mr. Cross." I keep my voice neutral. "I wasn't aware you were on this flight."

"Clearly." His lips curve, not quite a smile. "Otherwise I suspect you'd have stayed in economy."

"The upgrade was automatic."

"Was it?" He tilts his head, studying me like I'm a contract clause he hasn't quite parsed. "How convenient."

Something in his tone makes my spine stiffen. "Are you suggesting I arranged this?"

"I'm suggesting the universe has a sense of humor." He accepts a glass of whiskey from the flight attendant, takes a slow sip. "Eight hours trapped next to the woman who's trying to destroy my company. The irony isn't lost on me."

"I'm not trying to destroy anything. ...