Mid-Thirties, Flirty & Frosted

by Lacey Monroe

Book 3 of 3: Mid-Thirties and Flirty Billionaires Series

Romance Tropes

Chapter 1 — Harper

I consider my options and choose defeat, because I’m Harper Beaumont, and if my recent divorce has taught me anything, it’s that I’m a people-pleaser who apologizes too much.

I turn around and start back toward economy—when suddenly the plane hits turbulence.

Not gentle turbulence. Not “please return to your seats” turbulence.

Full-on “Oh God, we’re all going to die” turbulence.

The plane lurches violently to the left. I stumble, arms flailing—

And crash directly into someone.

Someone who is very much not expecting a five-foot-five woman to use him as a human airbag.

“What the—”

I look up…and realize that the person I’ve just crashed into—the person I’m currently pressed against as the plane shakes—is possibly the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen in real life.

Tall. Over six feet, easily, with dark hair, perfectly styled in that “I woke up like this but actually spent twenty minutes on it” way.

And slate-gray eyes currently staring down at me with an expression that says, “Who are you and why are you violating my personal space?”

He’s wearing a suit. On a flight to Vegas.

Nobody wears a suit to Vegas unless they’re going to a business conference or they’re in the mafia.

“I’m so sorry,” I start—

The plane lurches again.

I stumble forward. My hand shoots out to catch myself and lands directly on his chest.

His very firm chest.

“Mon Dieu,” I breathe.

“Are you quite finished?” he asks.

His voice is deep. Clipped. And vaguely familiar.

Have I heard this voice before?

“I was just—” I gesture toward the bathroom, my hand still on his chest because the plane is still rocking and I have zero interest in face-planting into his lap. “Bathroom emergency. The family of four has been in there for like half an hour, and I really—”

“The economy bathroom,” he says slowly, enunciating each word like I’m a particularly dim five-year-old, “is that way.”

The plane steadies, and I step back, peeling myself off him.

“Right. Yes. I’m aware. It’s just that there was a situation—a family situation—and the flight attendant said I couldn’t use the first-class bathroom, which honestly seems like a weird capitalist power play during a legitimate medical emergency, but—”

I’m babbling.

Stop babbling, Harper.

“—anyway, sorry for the whole…” I motion to the space between us. “Crashing into you thing. And the chest-touching thing. That was unintentional.”

His expression doesn’t change. If anything, his jaw tightens slightly.

— Keep reading to find out what happens next —

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