An hour. That’s all the time she had until she absolute, positively, had to be on a plane. Brie tapped a booted foot against the floor of the waiting hour and tucked her bottom lip between her teeth, frustration clearly written across her face. Dark brown hair, dip dyed blonde, is pulled up in a haphazard ponytail, one strand falling into her face. Tight jeans lead up to an off the shoulder periwinkle sweater that brings out the gold accents in her eyes.
The fact of the story was, Gabriella’s little sister Ivy was getting married in two days, and Brie was on the complete opposite coast from the wedding because she was a workaholic. She put off on buying the flight for months, weeks, trying to fit it into her monthly budget until the only one she could find from New York to California would land 4 hours before before Ivy’s rehearsal dinner, which, in retrospect, was a bad big sister move. She was very ashamed.
Point of the story is, here she was now, bridesmaid dress, rehearsal dress, and everything else she needs in a small carry on, and her flight was late. She’d been pacing for hours, getting more and more stressed, but enough was enough. Brie tucks her phone into her back pocket and goes to the customer help desk. “Hi, um, do you know when Flight 8374-B is taking off?”
The world weary assistant smiles tiredly. “Sure thing, miss.” She clicks some butons and then makes a disappointed noise under her breath. “Did you not hear the announcement earlier? They lost their pilot, so it’s leaving four hours later instead.” Four what now? Brie’s heart seized in her chest and she almost had an apoplexy.
“What?” she hisses quietly. “Oh, shit.” Brie slumps at the desk, head dropping, and silently starts to contemplate how she’s going to tell Ivy she’s going to be late.
A larger part of his brain had been spending quite a bit of time desperately wishing that the next few days would be the normal routine, but then again, he wouldn’t have things any other way. All appointments have been handled or moved around, the museum’s in proper hands should his trust in the new curator be well-placed, and the family handler’s notified to make sure to feed his rottweiler. Though it was only a small amount of time away, the responsibilities that came with managing the New-York Historical Society were immense.
Town car pulling up to the departure zone, he made sure to tip generously before taking his carry-on and briefcase. His appearance deceived nothing; practically seamless navy suit, just pressed dress shirt, shiny black Oxfords. The kerchief tucked in the front pocket was crisp white with an embroidered gold flower proudly displayed, though it held no meaning to the common observer. As he checked in, however, the immediate smile -- both nervous and polite -- said something more. Without a hitch, he checked in and was allowed to skip the security check, walking coolly through the terminals towards the back of the airport.
Despite his nonchalant exterior, the gentleman couldn’t help but be aware of every inch as he passed through, taking his sweet time as other travelers rushed past, only briefly recognizing his status as a businessman and making room for him to go through. Pulling up to customer help desk, he flashed a warm smile just like all the times before this one at the other attendant. “Miss Janet, is it? Could you tell me the progress of Flight 8374-B?”
“I’m afraid it’s been delayed for four hours, sir.”
The smallest tug of a pout formed on his lips. “That’s a pity...” He should’ve known to never trust good ol’ Vic, as kind as it was to pay for the first class seat, all that jazz. How many times did he have to tell the fellow alum that you could never trust a public flight? “Well, could you cancel the ticket for one, Christian Hyeon? And notify Mister Gregory at the private sector, tell him that his favorite customer is in dire need of a ride, please.”
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