THE BUSINESS TRIP
1246 Words
The next morning, I was halfway through brushing my teeth when the notification pinged on my phone.
“Miss Carter, pack your things. We leave in two hours.”
Adrian Blackwell.
No greeting. No explanation. Just a command, as always.
I blinked at the message, rereading it twice just to make sure I wasn’t hallucinating.
Leave? Where?
I scrolled down, my eyes narrowing as I scanned the attached itinerary. A three-day business conference in New York City. Adrian Blackwell was listed as one of the keynote speakers.
But apparently, we weren’t staying for three days. We’d be there for five.
I exhaled sharply, still clutching my toothbrush. Five days trapped in a city with my insufferable boss. Five days of his impossible standards, ruthless pace, and god-awful attitude.
Fantastic.
...........
I had expected first-class, maybe even a private lounge at the airport. What I hadn’t expected was a private jet.
The sleek aircraft sat gleaming under the late morning sun, like something straight out of a billionaire’s fantasy. The Blackwell Enterprises logo was discreetly displayed near the tail, subtle yet unmistakable.
I swallowed as I stepped inside, my heels clicking softly against the plush carpeting. The interior was all leather seats and polished wood, with a bar stocked with expensive liquor and a seating area that probably cost more than my entire apartment building.
I barely had time to take it in before my boss Adrian, strode in behind me, phone in hand, barking orders to someone on the other end of the call.
Unbothered. Effortlessly composed. As if this were just another ordinary day.
I, on the other hand, felt like an imposter in a world I didn’t belong to.
A stewardess approached, offering champagne, but I declined, gripping my tablet like a lifeline. I needed to focus. To remind myself why I was here.
This was work. This wasn’t about the luxury, the way the leather smelled expensive, or the ridiculous comfort of the seat.
I was here to do my job, nothing more.
Adrian finally ended his call, settling into the seat across from me. His gaze flicked to me briefly before he leaned back, loosening his tie ever so slightly.
“If you’re waiting for permission to relax, you won’t get it,” he said smoothly.
I stiffened, straightening in my seat. “I’m fine, sir.”
A ghost of a smirk tugged at his lips, but he said nothing, turning his attention to his laptop.
...........
I had always imagined what it would be like to fly. I’d watched people at the airport, rolling their sleek luggage, boarding flights without a second thought. It looked effortless, exciting, even.
But sitting in Adrian Blackwell’s private jet, with the engines roaring beneath me, I felt anything but excited.
I felt trapped.
The moment the pilot’s voice crackled through the intercom, announcing our imminent takeoff, my chest tightened. The cabin suddenly felt too small, the air too thin.
Breathe.
My fingers curled around the armrest as the jet began to roll forward. The vibration beneath my feet sent a wave of nausea crashing over me. My heartbeat pounded against my ribs, wild and erratic.
I couldn’t do this.
The pressure built in my head, my hands trembling as I squeezed my eyes shut. My breaths came too fast, too shallow. The fear gripped me, drowning out everything else.
I was spiraling.
Then I felt.....warmth. A firm, steady hand covered mine, anchoring me.
My eyes flew open, and I froze.
Adrian.
He sat across from me, his face unreadable, but his hand remained on mine. His fingers were long, his skin warm against my clammy palm. The roaring in my ears dulled.
“Breathe, Ivy.” His voice was low, even. Commanding without being harsh. I obeyed before I could think, inhaling shakily, exhaling slower. Inhale. Exhale.
The jet lifted off the ground, the pressure shifting around us, but Adrian’s hand didn’t move.
For those few seconds, I wasn’t just his assistant.
I was a woman..... a terrified woman he had just comforted.
By the time I had calmed, my fingers had relaxed beneath his. I swallowed hard, forcing myself to meet his gaze.
He studied me for a moment, then, as if nothing had happened, he withdrew his hand.
“You’ll get used to it,” he murmured before turning back to his laptop.
And just like that, the moment was gone.
But my heart was still racing....and this time, I wasn’t sure if it was from fear.
The warmth of his hand lingered long after he pulled away.
I stared at the spot where his fingers had been, my own hand still resting on the armrest. My skin tingled, the ghost of his touch refusing to fade. It had been brief.... barely a moment....but it had happened.
Adrian Blackwell had comforted me. The man who never smiled, never softened, had reached out.
I stole a glance at him. He was back to his usual self, typing away on his laptop like nothing had happened. His jaw was set, his brows slightly furrowed in concentration. The cabin lights cast sharp shadows on his face, making him look even more untouchable.
Maybe I had imagined it. Maybe the panic had messed with my head. But my hand still felt warm.
I curled my fingers into my palm, pressing them against my lap. My heart was no longer racing, but it wasn’t calm either. The plane was steady now, soaring through the sky, yet my thoughts were anything but smooth.
I couldn’t shake the awareness of Adrian sitting across from me. The way he hadn’t hesitated to reach for me. The way he had told me to breathe, his voice low but firm.
I had never seen this side of him before. And I didn’t know what to do with it.
I shouldn’t be thinking about this. About him. I was his assistant. Nothing more.
I let out a slow breath and reached for my bag, pulling out the itinerary for the conference. Work. That’s what I needed to focus on.
I ran through the details in my head. Three days of meetings. Two extra days for networking. A strict schedule to follow. I could handle that.
We arrived at the hotel late in the evening. It was a towering building of glass and steel, its entrance glowing under the city lights.
The moment we stepped inside, luxury wrapped around me. The air smelled of fresh flowers and polished wood. A massive chandelier hung from the ceiling, its golden light reflecting off the marble floors.
I swallowed hard, suddenly feeling out of place. Adrian, on the other hand, moved like he belonged. Like he owned the place. Which, knowing him, he probably did.
I followed behind as he walked up to the reception desk. The staff greeted him with polite smiles, handing over the key cards in record time.
“The luggage has already been sent up,” one of them said.
Adrian nodded and turned to me. “Your room is next to mine.”
Of course, it was.
I took the key card, my fingers brushing against his for half a second. I pretended not to notice.
We stepped into the elevator, the silence stretching between us. The air felt heavier in the enclosed space. Maybe it was just me. Maybe it was exhaustion, or the lingering tension from earlier.
I dared a glance at him. His reflection in the elevator doors was unreadable.
- Writer
