My hand shakes as I pull the seat belt over my body, then I grip the armrest so tight my nails dig into the ivory cushion.

I’ve never been on a private jet before. If it wasn’t for my job requirement, I would never have set foot in one.

Last night, when Gunner came home smelling like a bar, I begged him to let me sit this meeting out, but he told me not a chance in hell.

He slouches in the chair next to me, removing his iPad from his briefcase, placing it on his lap. I close my eyes and say a silent prayer. I’m not religious by any means, but I really need to hold on to some kind of hope we’ll make it through this flight in one piece.

The thought of not having control over the jet terrifies me. My life dangles in someone else’s hands.

At least in a car, you can swerve off the road and get help immediately, but with a jet, if we go down, we will die, catch fire, turning into a piece of burnt toast.

“Are you okay? Your face looks white.” He uses his large hand to palm my cheek. I wish I could say that his touch is comforting, that he’s keeping my anxiety from going nuts in my chest.

“I-I-I . . .” I clear my throat. “I’ve never been on a plane.” I manage to get the words out. “I-I’m s-s-scared.” I bite my bottom lip as unshed tears sit at the corner of my eyes. “W-we’re g-going to die.”

“Hey, hey, it’s okay, you’re safe. Plane crashes barely happen.”

“I-I shouldn’t have googled jet crashes.”

He lifts the armrest that separates us and scoots next to me. “Hold my hand.” His tone is gentle. Hesitantly, I entwine my small fingers with his big ones, and he rests our hands on his thigh. I squeeze his palm like I’m holding on for dear life. His expensive cologne permeates the air surrounding us as I lay my head on his shoulder. As my palm grips his, I feel so protected, like he’s my dark knight in shining armor. And I don’t like it. I want to hate him so much, but I can’t. Instead, I crave him.

Tears leak from the corner of my eyes.

“Shh . . . don’t cry, Rainbow,” he soothes me like I’m a wounded child needing protection as the pilot announces that we’re taking off.

I’m glad this is Gunner’s private jet because this would have been ten times more embarrassing with people around.

As we take off, it shakes, my ears pop, and I glance around, hysterical.

“T-the jet is shaking, and there’s a popping noise in my ears,” I yell as I violently shake.

How the heck do people deal with this? I need to get off this thing ASAP.