Lauren almost felt guilty, being waited on hand and foot. It wouldn’t be hard to get used to this kind of lifestyle. She planned to ask Mr. Giampalo if adjusting to life as a billionaire had challenges. Experiencing how he traveled, she couldn’t imagine this ever being an issue. Though having a fortune at one’s fingertips didn’t necessarily constitute a perfect life. She knew this from the previous biographies she’d written. Money didn’t guarantee happiness.

Lauren heard a soft chime from the iPhone Felicia had given her. In text message format, she was told to buckle up as they were preparing to taxi. She didn’t hear the engines start up, not a single sound. Maybe these walls were soundproof. She located her seat belt in the swivel chair, clicked it in place, and a second chime from the phone gave a detailed map with instructions on how one must exit the plane in case of an emergency.

“Amazing,” she said to herself. She’d bet the bank her dad would get a kick out of this, regardless of how he felt about the World Wide Web.

Surprisingly relaxed, Lauren kicked off her heels and tucked her feet beneath her. This was how she liked to travel. Maybe it wasn’t the actual flying part that had always frightened her but the closeness, the feeling of being cramped. Stuck. In here she could get up, walk around, nap, take a bath, watch a movie. The choices were endless, though she’d stay seated until they reached altitude. She assumed this rule applied to private aircraft as well. Comfortable, and totally without fear, she relaxed so much that she drifted off. A tap on the door startled her awake.

“Lunchtime,” Felicia announced, pushing a rolling cart into the lounge area of the suite. “You doing okay? Nervous?”

“Actually, I dozed off for a few minutes. No nerves whatsoever.”

“Perfect, now let’s get you fed, then go from there. I have the dining room all set up.” She pushed another button, revealing a dining room that seated at least twelve people.

“You’re kidding,” Lauren said, stunned by the sheer opulence.

“No, it’s the real deal. Mr. G hosted his family Thanksgiving dinner here last year.”

Lauren asked, “Where do I sit?”

“Your choice, as you’re the only passenger,” Felicia said, then started to remove plates from the cart.

Lauren sat at the head of the table, as it made sense. “This smells divine.” She was hungry even after consuming that large stack of pancakes at breakfast.

“I’ll make sure to tell Jean Simone Laurent. He’s our head chef, from France, and he’s the best. He’ll introduce himself when it’s time for dessert.”

A French chef, too?

She didn’t have a reply because who would question having a French chef preparing their lunch on a flight to Seattle?