Page 2 of Butterfly
“Don’t care.”
“Alex. I can’t do my job if you don’t bloody well do yours. Besides, I have a brand-new script for you, hot from the press, just landed on my desk.”
Maybe my brain isn’t working properly, but I could swear a hint of malice laces his words.
The attendant stops in front of me. Her pale face speaks of a sleepless night. “Mr Knightley?” she whispers.
I give her a nod, lifting a finger. “I have to go, Van. I’ll see you in London.”
“The conversation isn’t over.” He spits the words in anger before hanging up. I’m not going to lose sleep over that.
“Yes?” I glance up at the woman.
“Sorry to bother you, sir, but several flights have been cancelled, and we’re trying to accommodate more people on board, given the circumstances.” She takes a tablet out of her pocket and scrolls through it. “You booked two first-class seats. Is that correct?”
“Yes.” When I travel, I always pay for two seats to have no one next to me. I said I wasn’t nice.
Chin up, Emily returns to her seat and drops herself onto it, arching her brow at the attendant.
The attendant rubs her forehead as if it’s aching. I can relate. “Mr Knightley, would you mind terribly giving your second seat to an injured passenger? Your ticket will be fully refunded, of course.”
“Absolutely.” I shrug. “But don’t mind the refund.”
She smiles, her narrow shoulders sagging. “Thank you.” Her smile vanishes when she turns to Emily. “Ms Lawrence?”
“Oh, my.” Emily straightens, green eyes flashing. “What now?”
The attendant takes a step back. “Your flight to Paris is going to leave fifteen minutes earlier…” She parts her lips, ready to say something else, but then plasters another professional smile on them. “That’s all.”
“Finally, some good news.” Emily slouches back on the seat. “I’m so ready to leave this place.”
“Yes, great. Thank you.” As the attendant trots off with her tablet, I press the heel of my hand against my tightening chest. Not sure if the pain is anger or a heart attack. The latter would make one hell of a front page.
Emily crosses her long legs and scowls. “Are they cramming the first class with all sorts of whining, bleeding, and screaming people?”
“For crying out loud, Em, shut up.” Anger then. My chest feels lighter after the outburst.
An outraged, muffled gasp comes out of her. “Don’t use that tone with me. I paid a pretty penny for my first-class seat. What happened on this island isn’t my fault.”
I work my jaw, my threadbare patience about to snap. I blame last night’s lack of sleep. Or I’m really a bastard for wanting to throw her out of her seat. Emily makes herself busy with her phone and puts her earpieces on. She stretches out the seat fully and eases back on it. Glad to know that someone doesn’t have problems relaxing.
I close my eyes and rub a raw spot on my neck. The noise of the airport washes over me, but the howling of the wind from last night is still roaring in my ears. When I open my eyes, a woman is limping across the lounge, supported by a tall man built like a rugby player. Her right hand is bandaged, and the right side of her face shows long scratches and bruises that can’t completely cover her pale skin. The wide-leg black trousers she’s wearing flap around her legs, revealing another heavy bandage around her right ankle. Her big sapphire eyes hold pain and fear so intense that an echo of them slices through me. I straighten when she nears the empty seat on my other side.
“There you go.” The man slides a patchwork tote bag from his shoulder and lays it on the low table next to the seat. “You’ve got your bottle of water in the bag, all right?”
“Thanks, Tyler.” She winces when she sits down, her right leg stretched out in front of her. As she shifts on the seat, her long blonde curls fall over the puffed sleeves of her shirt.
“Stay here. I’ll see you in a moment,” he says in a worried tone.
She tosses a quick, disinterested glance at me before returning her attention to Tyler. “Aren’t you staying here?”
“No.” He flashes a tired smile under a bushy beard. “I’ll wait in the other lounge, but I’ll be back soon to bring you your new ticket. Don’t worry about anything.” He pats her shoulder and walks away.
The moment he’s out of view, the woman’s smile vanishes. She stares at her non-bandaged hand. Scratches and dried blood cover her knuckles. I try to gaze away, but I find myself spying on her profile, wondering what the hell happened to her and how her arm, her leg, and half of her face got injured.
Dammit, she’s noticed I’m staring. ‘Creepy psycho actor’ isn’t what I want to be called. I massage my brow and fish a script out of my briefcase. I’ve been trying to read the thing for the past two days. Announcements in three languages ricochet off the walls, distracting me. Does the speaker’s voice sound shaky? The woman rummages through her bag and takes out a water bottle. Holding it between her knees, she tries to open the lid with her left hand. Her cheeks puff out as her nose scrunches up in an expression of pain. The urge to help her makes me perk up.
“May I?” I ask, opening a hand towards the bottle.