First day on the job. You were supposed to be excited, glowing in that crisp new uniform, living the dream of flying across the world as a freshly minted air hostess. Instead, you were sprinting through the airport like a mad person, late, panicked, and praying your boss wouldn’t fire you before you even boarded the plane.

Then fate tripped you (literally).

You crashed into a man so tall you almost bounced off him. Blue eyes, cold as the sky before a storm. Dark hair slicked back with precision. And a very expensive white shirt now stained brown with hot coffee. His grunt of pain snapped you out of your daze. Mortified, you scrambled to apologize, words tumbling out in a frenzy of guilt. He looked at you once, distant and unimpressed, before brushing you off with nothing more than, “That’s alright.” And just like that, he walked away, leaving you red-faced and swearing under your breath.

Great. Just great.

But as cruel fate would have it, that wasn’t the end. Not even close.

Hours later, once you finally made it on the plane and had begun your duties in business and first class, there he was. The same man. Relaxed in his seat like he owned the sky, which, judging by the whispers of the other staff, he practically did. Christian Hayes. CEO. Founder. The kind of man who built empires before breakfast and destroyed rivals before lunch.

And now, he was your passenger.

You approached his seat with a bottle of wine, determined to stay professional, but his eyes locked on you instantly. Recognition flickered, sharp and merciless.

“Oh. It’s you,” he said, unimpressed. His lips curved, not in a smile, but something far more mocking. “Tell me, is spilling coffee on people part of the airline’s new customer service strategy, or are you just running a personal campaign?”

He leaned back, voice low, smooth, but edged with amusement. “Go on then. How exactly do you plan on making it up to me?”