Meeting Mr Anderson: Chapter 1

“Last call for Atlantic Airways Flight 77 to Los Angeles, boarding at Gate 22.”

I speed up as the announcement screeches in my ears. Can’t be late, can’t be late. The aircraft is at a gate on the other side of the terminal. Typical. I need to make this flight; otherwise, it’s back to being stuck at home on standby. I shudder at the thought. I don’t know a single flight attendant who enjoys standby duty—sitting at home for hours on end in full uniform—just in case they need you to operate a flight. Then having to rush to the airport, sometimes only making the flight with minutes to spare.

My foot slips out of my shoe and I almost go head over heels onto the shiny tile floor. Whoever thought up the red high heels for the uniform has obviously never been on standby. Trainers would be more practical right now.

Finally, I reach the top of the jet bridge and get to the door of the Boeing 747.

“Holly Havers,” I pant, lifting the lanyard around my neck to show the ground agent my airline ID.

He ticks my name off a list on his clipboard and I pass him to board the plane. I head straight to the upper-class galley where my best friend Matt, the flight service manager, is completing his pre-flight paperwork. I love Matt. He lives near me and my other best friend and housemate, Rachel. Matt’s gorgeous, tall with olive skin and short dark wavy hair. Totally gay, though. I’ve seen many disappointed girls’ faces when they realize.

“I’m so glad I made it,” I puff. “I couldn’t believe it when I got called for your flight.” I smile at Matt.

“Boy, am I glad to see you too, Holls. We are full, full, full; it’s going to be a busy one!” Matt kisses me on both cheeks. “I’ve got you working in position CM2. Here’s your passenger manifest for your section,” he says, handing me a paper printout.

“Thanks.” I take the list of passengers’ names, fold it, and put it in my pocket, before changing into my flat cabin shoes and stowing my crew bag in an overhead locker.

“Safe flight, guys,” calls the ground agent as he pushes the aircraft door from the outside. I made it just in time.

“Thanks very much!” Matt calls back as he pulls the plane door shut and closes it using the giant operating handle. Then he picks up the intercom phone from between the two jump seats next to him.

“Cabin crew, doors to automatic and cross-check,” sounds over the PA system.

I arm the door I am responsible for and switch sides with Matt to double-check his.

“Cross-checked,” we report in unison.

“Manual demo, Hun,” Matt says with a regretful shrug of his shoulders. Usually, we show a video, but sometimes Head Office requires us to perform a manual one. It’s unpopular with the crew. During the video is our last chance to have a drink before takeoff. Sometimes it’s hours before we have the chance again, particularly on full flights.

I grab the gray demo kit bag from behind my jump seat and make my way up to the front of upper class. Putting my kit on the floor, I check to make sure I have everything—seat belt, oxygen mask, life jacket, safety card. I’m all set. Matt reads the safety briefing over the PA and I stand, ready to start. I’m being watched by the passenger in seat 4A—a few rows away, his piercing blue eyes examining me. My breath hitches under the intensity of his gaze. He should pay attention, so he knows what to do in an emergency, but God, he is staring.

When the demo ends, I start to prepare the cabin for takeoff, checking that seat belts are fastened and bags stowed. I pause at 4A’s seat and take a proper look at him. He has an American jock look—dark-blond tousled hair, square jawline, designer stubble. I wonder how it would feel underneath my fingers. His black jeans hug his thighs and the sleeves of his gray T-shirt stretch over muscular biceps. Someone like him must live in the gym. Masculinity oozes from him. I gulp down the lump in my throat.

“Sir, do you have your seat belt fastened?”

“Yes,” he replies in a smooth, deep voice and lifts his T-shirt so I can see. The sight of his tanned, rock-hard abs fills my eyes before I snap them away.

“Thank you,” I squeak before moving on.

Holy crap. I’ve got to serve him all flight and can’t melt into a puddle at his feet or blush whenever he talks. This is going to be a nightmare. He must have noticed the effect he had on me. Professional, that’s what I must be. It’s not like I haven’t served celebrities and high-profile passengers before. None have had this effect on me, though. What the hell’s gotten into me? Deep breaths, I can do this.

“Excuse me, dear,” a sweet elderly lady sitting close by says. “Could I please have a glass of water to take a pill?”

Smiling back at her, I answer, “Of course. I’ll just be a minute.”

When I return, I kneel next to her seat and hand her the glass.

“Oh, thank you, dear.” She smiles at me as she picks up a packet of pills. Her smile turns to a frown as she fumbles to press them out of the foil.

“Here, let me.” I place my hands over her shaking ones. They’re cold as ice. Her skin, which looks as delicate as tissue paper, is laced with pale-purple veins. I press two tablets out into her palm. “I’ll fetch you a blanket after takeoff; it can get cold.”

“Oh, you’re a love. I never enjoyed flying much.” She sighs, leaning toward me. She smells of lavender and sugar. “I always get a headache now that my George isn’t with me. He’d tell me not to worry, safer than driving a car.” She chuckles to herself as she swallows the pills.

I place my palm over hers again. “Your George is right; it is safer than traveling by car. He sounds like a clever man.”

“He was, dear.” Her eyes stare off into the distance. “He was the love of my life, passed two years ago.”

“I’m so sorry to hear that,” I say, squeezing her hand.

“Are you in love, dear?” Her gaze turns to me.

“Oh.” I hesitate, taken aback by her directness. Maybe when you’re older, you learn not to waste time when it comes to talking about the important things in life, like love. “Er, no, I’m not.” I offer her a small smile.

“He’ll be a lucky man, whoever wins your heart. You’re a treasure.” She grins at me, patting my hand.

“Thank you.” I smile, picking up her empty glass as she lets my hand go. “You just tell me if I can do anything for you today, okay? My name’s Holly.”

“I will do, Holly. I’m Vera.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Vera,” I say as I stand up.

Her eyes light up as she looks past me, and as I turn to leave, I understand what’s captured her attention. Mr. Blue Eyes is listening to our conversation, a thoughtful, distant expression on his face. I chew my lip to hold my giggle in. Even mature ladies like Vera aren’t immune to his charms.

As I sit down on my jump seat, ready for takeoff, Matt walks past doing his final cabin secure checks.

“Lucky bitch!” he whispers. “You’ve got Jay Anderson to look after, that man is a sex god! The rest of the crew are green with envy that you are the one who gets to serve him.” He lifts his eyebrows at me.

“Who?”

Matt tuts, rolling his eyes. “For God’s sake, Holls, have you been living under a rock? He’s been in loads of films and now he’s the lead in that US FBI series; what’s it called?” He clicks his fingers in the air. His eyebrows draw together as he tries to remember. “Oh, you know the one I mean!”

I shrug my shoulders at Matt with a slight smile. I don’t know. I prefer to read or do yoga when I’m away on stopovers. I don’t watch a lot of the American TV. Matt’s eyes widen at me and I realize he’s still talking about Jake Anderson or whatever his name is.

“Get this, once he was photographed getting undressed by a pap who snuck on set, and the picture crashed Instagram when it was uploaded!” Matt fans himself with the paperwork he’s holding and places a hand up to his forehead, feigning feeling faint. “He’s rumored to be the next superhero in that new film trilogy that’s coming out. He’s single and straight. Give me a chance though; I could turn him.” Matt’s eyes have a naughty glint.

“Ha, I bet you’d like to try.” I smirk.

Matt’s always great fun, believing that the guy of his dreams is just around the corner, ready to sweep him off his feet, or onto his knees maybe.

“Jay Anderson.” Matt sighs with a dreamy expression on his face as he continues on past me.

I lean my head back against the seat as I fasten my harness. So, the hot man in seat 4A with a deep voice that makes dormant areas of me flutter, is Jay Anderson, successful Hollywood star and sex god. And I am stuck serving him for the next eleven and a half hours. This is just fantastic. I hope I don’t do or say anything dumb. He must see women tongue-tied over him all the time. If I can make it through this flight, I will never see him again, so at least there’s that. Matt takes his seat and straps himself in, using the interphone to call the captain and confirm the cabin is secure for takeoff. Then the engines roar as we speed down the runway, taking off for LA.

I sit in my jump seat and wait for the chime from the pilots, indicating we’ve reached ten thousand feet and the crew can move around the cabin. As soon as they give it, I jump up from my seat and grab a blanket to take to Vera. Her eyes light up as she sees me approaching.

“Oh, you are kind love, thank you.” She beams.

She’s such a sweet lady. I smile at her as I take the blanket out of its bag and lay it across her lap. “You’re very welcome, Vera. That’s what I’m here for, to make you as comfortable as possible.”

“I don’t know how you do it, Holly.”

I look at her, puzzled.

“Fly like you do. All the time.” She chuckles.

“I like it, and I get to meet some lovely people.”

She chuckles again before casting her eyes over my shoulder. “Yes, I can see.”

My eyes widen and she shakes her head. “I may be old, but I’m not dead yet. Although, I think if I were, then the kiss of life from someone like him would soon sort me out,” she whispers.

Oh my God. Her eyes are lit up with mischief as the giggle I’m holding back spills out. She grabs my hand as we lean our heads in and chuckle like a couple of naughty children that just got away with sneaking extra cookies out of the jar.

“So, what are you doing when you get to LA?” I ask.

“I’m visiting my granddaughter.” Vera beams. She’s clearly very proud of her and tells me all about how she has her own business and built it from nothing.

“Still hasn’t found love yet though.” Vera sighs. “I’ve told her. When you find the one, you just know. I did with my George. Knew the moment I laid eyes on him. It was a kind of magic. It happens like that for some of us. The really lucky ones.” Her eyes twinkle.

“George was a very lucky man to have found you too.”

“I know, dear.” Vera pats my hand. “I reminded him of it every day.” She chuckles to herself as I stand up and tell her I will come and chat again later.

She’s such a livewire. I hope I have that much zest for life when I’m her age. I’m grinning as I turn away from her seat.

Vibrant blue eyes grab my attention, their owner smiling at me. My stomach dances in my throat. This is ridiculous. I need to get a grip; otherwise, the next eleven hours will be torture. I take a deep breath.

“Mr. Anderson?”

The brows above those beautiful eyes rise as I address him.

“May I offer you a blanket too, sir?” Before I can stop myself, my eyes have dropped down to his lap, lingering for a second too long on where the fabric strains over his groin. “For your legs,” I add brightly, whipping my eyes back up. He narrows his eyes at me, but his smile remains. Busted. He totally saw me check out his crotch. Now he must assume I’m thinking about his cock—crap! I am thinking about his cock!

I bite my lip as I wait for a response.

“I’m fine. thank you…Holly,” he says, drawing his gaze back up from my chest and name badge. He looks straight into my eyes, this time with a twinkle in his.

“Okay. Please let me know if there’s anything you need,” I say, making sure to keep my eyes on his face, before I head off, back toward the galley.

Halfway into the flight and the drink and meal service is over. I’ve spent a lot of time at Vera’s seat chatting with her. She’s such a character. Passengers like her make this job so worthwhile. Mr. Anderson has been polite. Smiling at me and making my stomach flutter with those eyes every time I’ve spoken to him. But most of the time he’s had his head buried in some paperwork, so our exchanges have been brief. Suits me, at least the chances of me making a fool of myself reduce that way.

I peek up the aisle at him from the galley. He’s drinking what looks like a protein shake, the solid muscles visible in his broad neck as he tips back his head. Vera gets out of her seat and opens the overhead locker. I’m about to go to her when Mr. Anderson rises out of his seat, lifting her bag down for her. She beams at him and pats him on the arm before he sits and starts reading again. Probably the lines for his show or a movie script or something. What’s it like being an actor in LA? A different world to the two-bedroom house I share near Heathrow Airport with Rachel, no doubt.

As I’m staring, he looks straight up at me. Shit. He’s caught me gawking at him. I drop my eyes to the floor. He’s going to think I have the hots for him, or that I’m unprofessional and nosy. I curse myself and raise my eyes. He’s still looking at me. God, he is gorgeous; there’s no denying it. He keeps his eyes glued to me as he reaches down next to his seat. The next second, the call light illuminates above his seat. Crap. Now I have to go up there. What if he demands to know why the hell I’m standing here watching him? I glance around, hoping one of the other crew will answer his call light, but they’re all busy.

Oh God, here goes.

I make my way up the aisle to his seat.

“Can I help you, Mr. Anderson?” I ask, trying my best not to reveal how mortified I am that he saw me gazing at him.

“Yes,” he says, his smooth, deep voice and American accent making my stomach swirl. “I wanted to know what you recommend.”

“Recommend?” I say, puzzled.

“I can’t decide what to watch.” He gestures toward the TV screen at his seat. “I’m considering a documentary.” His sharp blue eyes roam across my face and rest on my lips.

“Oh, I see. Well, Blue Planet is incredible. I love how clever nature is, and funny too.” The words spill out before I can stop them. “Did you know there’s a male bird that clears a patch of the jungle floor and spends ages selecting the perfect stick before inserting it upright in the ground and dancing around it like a pole to attract a mate?” I blurt.

Jay raises an eyebrow as the corners of his mouth curl.

“The female birds all watch and decide if they like the show or not,” I continue. Shut up, Holly! Stop talking, you idiot. I’m telling him about a pole-dancing bird, for goodness’ sake.

“That does sound amusing,” he says, smiling at me, and I’m rewarded by a flash of his perfect, straight white teeth.

I grin back like an idiot. What is he doing to me?

“I will leave you to it then.” My cheeks burn and I press my lips together, not trusting myself to say anything else. As I turn to leave, Vera catches my eye and gives me a wink. I can’t believe she just witnessed that total humiliation and is winking at me as though I just pulled off the best flirtation in history. I smile back at her. I will take her a cup of tea in a minute, but right now I need to get back to the galley so my face can return to its normal shade.

The rest of the flight goes by with little excitement. There’s a steady stream of crew members needing to come up to upper class to get something. Matt and I know they’re all really craving a glimpse of Jay Anderson. I look up as the galley curtain flies open and one of the crew named Megan from the economy cabin comes in.

“Guys,” she whispers. “Come see this.” She’s holding a magazine open at an interview with Jay Anderson. There are a few pictures of him looking moody and thoughtful. One of him standing on a beach draws my eyes. The sea is behind him, and he’s laughing, his face angled up at the sun. It’s a perfect shot.

“Let me see, let me see!” Matt squeals, sliding next to Megan so they’re both squeezed together, poring over the pages. “It says here he’s single, but was rumored to be dating the model Anya Katiss, after they were pictured together on a friend’s yacht.” Matt reads out loud. “Oh, and he likes photography, capturing the beauty in nature,” quotes Matt. “He’s deep too, Holly! Not just a so-handsome-it-should-be-illegal face.” He swoons as Megan laughs.

They keep devouring the magazine while I tidy the galley, trying to tune out as they flip between making “ooh and ah” sounds as they read. I don’t fancy hearing all about Mr. Anderson’s dating life.

“You’re so lucky, Holly.” Megan sighs, closing the magazine and tucking it under her arm. “I wish I was working in upper class today. I bet the moment crewing called you off standby, you never dreamed you’d be meeting Jay Anderson today. You should be thanking whoever made the decision to call you out.”

I glance at her, but she’s got a dreamy expression on her face and isn’t expecting an answer. We carry on chatting about what we are all planning to do in LA. We’ve got two nights in a hotel before we operate the return flight home. Megan says she and two of the crew are doing the Walk of Fame to see all the stars on the path. I’ve done that a few times, so I say I’m going to skip it.

“What are you thinking, Matt?” I ask him after Megan heads back to the economy cabin. I pull out a metal storage canister from its stowage in the galley and turn it on its end to sit on top of.

“Well, I was thinking of doing some shopping, run at the beach, have a few drinks, dinner. Nothing too wild this time, babe. I’m still recovering from the Hong Kong flight I just did. Man, that was a wild one!”

I laugh. Some brilliant nights happen when we get a layover in Hong Kong.

“Sounds good, mind if I join you?” I ask as I take a sip of the peppermint tea I made.

“As if I would have it any other way!” He pretends to be outraged that I would even consider not spending the trip with him. “Always love having time with you, Holls. You can fill me in on what’s been happening in Holly’s world,” he says with a wink.

“A fat lot of nothing, as you know. I’m so glad this is my last block of standby, and then I’ll be back on a normal roster again,” I say with relief.

“You haven’t bumped into Simon at all, have you?” he asks, looking worried.

“No, thank God, but I’m sure it’ll happen at some point.” The image of my ex, Simon, a pilot, pops into my head. We dated for a bit until things ended badly nine months ago. I’m still piecing back together my self-confidence which he shredded.

“Been on any dates I don’t already know about?” Matt asks, changing the subject.

“No, no, no.” I shake my head. “I’ve given up for a while. I keep meeting weirdos. Remember the last guy I went out on a date with? He flirted with the waitress all evening.” I grimace as I remember. “I’m looking for something more. I want to connect with someone, and them looking at me on a date would be a good start.”

“You and me both, babe,” says Matt. “Maybe we will both get a visit from our fairy gay-mother soon to whip up our Prince Charmings,” he says, giving me an elbow in the ribs.

“Ha, maybe you’re right.”

The sound of someone clearing their throat makes me look up—straight into the eyes of Mr. Anderson. They are the brightest blue. My stomach flips. How long has he been standing there? How much did he hear? Matt shoots up off his galley box seat like there’s a rocket up his ass.

“Hello, Mr. Anderson. What can we do for you, sir?”

As I stand up, the corners of Mr. Anderson’s eyes crinkle as he smiles at me and Matt. I can see them properly now that he’s standing close. There’s kindness in them, perhaps a touch of sadness too? But I shove that thought away. What do I know? I know nothing about him.

“I just wanted to say thank you. I’ve had a great flight. You’ve both looked after us so well.” He glances from Matt and back to me.

I’m pretty sure by us, he’s referring to him and Vera. Every time I spoke to her, I got the impression he was listening. He always had an amused smile on his face whenever I left her seat. I’m not surprised though, after some of the things she talked about. I’ve certainly learned a thing or two I didn’t know before. She gave me a list of books she said I must read, insisting they had the best ‘book boyfriends.’

“I thought you may like a couple of tickets I have for the After Hours show tonight? As a way of saying thanks,” Jay continues.

Matt’s eyes widen like a child’s at Christmas. The After Hours show is the hottest talk show in America. They have different celebrity guests with a live audience, and it seems like such a fun show.

“Wow! That sounds amazing! Doesn’t it, Holly?” Matt says as he turns to me.

“Oh, er, yes, absolutely!” I manage, still looking at Mr. Anderson, who hasn’t broken eye contact with me.

“Great.” He smiles. “I will leave them at the door of the studio for you. Tell them I put them aside for you.”

“That’s so kind of you! Thank you!” gushes Matt.

I eye him sideways. This is like a fantasy for him. I can tell he’s barely keeping it together. Mr. Anderson is about to leave but halts suddenly, leaning closer to me. My neck tingles and all the tiny hairs stand up as his breath tickles the side of my face. He smells incredible—a fresh earthy smell combined with citrus. What the hell is that?

“That guy you went on a date with was a jerk, Holly,” he whispers.

He draws back as heat fires between my legs. I try to think of something to say in response, but he’s already gone, his unique scent lingering. I turn to Matt, who is doing some weird, excited dance.

“Oh my God, Holly! Jay Anderson invited us to the After Hours show! It’s going to be amazing!” He squeals with delight.