FOR SOME REASON, everyone was mad at me.

Alex was all, you busted our deal, but like I pointed out, he shouldn't have been making a deal with that guy, anyway. Hello? His brother tried to kill me. That's so not cool. 

Then my brothers were all, something's wrong with you, and I was all, something's wrong with you, and it escalated into this full on smack down, until Alex was like, enough, and I went back down to the galley to assist and observe. But Frank was over me, so I went back upstairs and hung out in the galley until it was time to land.

To add insult to injury, Alex was all, I'm staying in London for a few days. I was all, but hello? I got shot at, and he was all, you'll be fine.

Whatev. So I ended up flying back with Frances and Chelsea, which wasn't as bad as it sounds. After we got back to New York, Vinnie and Paully picked me up and took me back to the townhouse. I figured that was that.

Except that it wasn't. When I showed up for class the next day, Ken was all, you're wanted upstairs. I mean, I hadn't even taken off my coat, for God's sake. Plus, the bastard didn't even bother to whisper. He was all, "Siobhan, they want you upstairs," in that sing-sing way he'd get when somebody was in trouble. Somebody sitting across the room snickered. I shot a dirty look in the general direction with my head held high.

Upstairs turned out to be a row of offices without names on them. They looked empty. I wandered around until I found a man sitting in a conference room. "Hi. I'm supposed to... "

"Miss McIver. Please, take a seat." He gestured at the chair opposite from him. "My name is Abel McAllister. I have a few questions concerning the events that occurred on your recent work trip from JFK to London."

Here I thought I did a fine job on my work trip. I sat down and stared at him. Judging by his looks, demeanor, and overall arrogance he had to be a lawyer. He looked to be older than Alex, with dark hair tastefully graying at the temple and clear blue eyes. I'd almost call him handsome if he wasn't so old. His bespoke suit, his snobbish demeanor, manicure, and his high end Mont Blanc with the calligraphy tip, screamed old school, generational, Ivy League lawyer.

So they brought in corporate counsel. Jeez. Seriously, all I did was point out that pirate boy was meeting his maker sooner than later. Where's the sin in that? I sat ramrod straight, ankles crossed, my expression pleasant and unworried. I am not the stewardess you're looking for.

McAllister glanced up, the overhead lights reflecting off his glasses and making them look opaque for a second. "Miss McIver. I know your brother."

Of course, you do. "Which one?" I asked, because I was supposed to ask.

"Aiden. We were in school together." He shuffled the papers. "I have to say, I'm a little surprised to see you here at TransGlobal. Weren't you going to Notre Dame?"

"Yes," I answered with a pleasant smile.

"What made you leave?"

"Love." I added a sigh for effect.

"Ah, yes. You're engaged. Alexander Cosetino." He leaned back in his chair, an insincere smile on his face. "Bit of an age difference, isn't there?"

"Love is love," I answered. "Age is only a number."

We smiled at each other for a moment until he cleared his throat. "So when are you getting married?"

"December." I spun my engagement ring around. It looked like it needed cleaning already. Cities are so dirty. "After training."

"Next month," he mused. "That's soon."

I nodded. "Very soon."

He sat up and picked up his pen. "You know, Miss McIver, I find you...perplexing. TransGlobal flight attendants are actresses, models, girls looking to marry up, that kind of thing. You don't... fit."

No shit. "Oh, I'm sure I'm not that unique," I demurred.

His smile grew thinner. "Yes, you are. You're unique. You're so unique I have to wonder exactly why you are here." He dropped his smile. "Why are you here, Miss McIver?"

I put on my best confused look. "I'm here because Christophe told me that I had to come to come upstairs."

"Don't waste my time, Miss McIver, you know exactly what I mean." His stare turned frosty. "I will ask you again. Why are you here?"

My stare turned frosty. "I need a job. This one doesn't require a college degree."

His frosty stare melted. "You need a job? Why? I know your family... they're quite wealthy. Plus, you're about to marry a wealthy man. Why would you need outside employment?"

The appropriate, expected, answer was to say I like people, and I love to travel. What I said was, "My family kicked me out, I'm broke, and my fiancé is a man of questionable reputation. If something happens... I need something to fall back on."

He wrote that down. "Alright. Moving on. What aircraft position were you assigned for your work trip?"

"Lower level galley assist," I replied. "Downstairs galley."

"Strange," he mumbled. "Women aren't usually assigned galley positions."

I nodded. "I know. Confused the hell... I mean, heck, out of Christophe, but that's where they put me." I paused for a moment, then added, "It was hard. I broke a nail."

"Pity." He looked up. "Did you stay in the galley for the duration of the flight?"

I shook my head. "No. I had to use the lavatory."

"You went upstairs to use the lavatory," he said like he was writing it down verbatim. "Did you go upstairs for any other reason?"

He asked that a little too casually, which meant he knew the answer. "Well, I went to see my fiancé. He was traveling in first class."

He wrote something else down with his $1000 pen. "So, Mr. Cosetino was traveling in first class on your work flight?"

I nodded.

He looked up at me. "Would you explain why Mr. Cosetino was on your work flight, Miss McIver?"

"It was a business trip." I smiled like the memory of it made me smile. "He was negotiating a contract."

"He was? With whom?"

I made a face. "How the hell... I mean, heck... should I know?"

His smile returned. This was a man who smiled when he was angry. Just like Alex. "Please, Miss McIver. You're being forthcoming. I would ask you to continue."

I shifted in my chair. "He was Russian. Con...connislov... I don't know, something like that."

"Constantinov?" He opened a file and pushed out a picture. It was black and white, big brother Constantinov standing on the sidewalk, cell phone in hand, talking to the asshole from the plane. 

Even in black and white, he was handsome... I shoved that thought back down to wherever pit of hell it came from. "That's him." I looked up. Something didn't feel right about this whole thing. "What did you say you do again?"

"I didn't." He tapped his pen on the table a few times. "Do you remember your conversation with Mr. Constantinov?"

Busted. I was so fired. Oh well. I wasn't cut out for this gig, anyway. I slouched down and crossed my arms. "I don't know. I don't remember."

The man pulled an iPhone out of his pocket and tapped on it. I heard me saying, "It's written in the stars. From the first time I threw a Molotov cocktail at his head to whatever it is I do to push him off into his eternity, it's all because of God's will. Here's to Nick. The cheap, ugly pimp. Nick the dick. Nick the sex trafficking piece of shit."

Aw, shit. "I made a poem," I pointed out. "Right there, on the spot."

The man was unimpressed. "I assume you're talking about Nikolai Constantinov?"

"Yeah." I nodded. "For what it's worth, he is a sex trafficking piece of shit."

"I wholeheartedly agree." The man looked over my shoulder. "You can come in now, Detective."

I glanced over my shoulder. Well, lookie here. I knew that expensive trench coat and handmade shoes. "Detective Reilly," I greeted. "How's tricks?"

"Tricks are for kids." He winked and took the seat next to me. "You got some balls, McIver, I'll give you that. Do you even know who Constantinov is?"

I shook my head. "Nope. And I don't care."

The Detective glanced at the man, who nodded and pulled out a wallet. Inside was a badge and a government ID that read National Security Administration. 

"NSA?" I looked up at the guy. "You're NSA?"

He nodded and put his wallet back. "We would like to offer you a job, Miss McIver."

"I already have a job," I protested. "It's a fine job."

"Actually, you don't. TransGlobal is ready to end your employment." He put the picture back into the file. "They have agreed, however, to keep you on as a courtesy to us. You're welcome."

Cat, meet canary. I turned to Reilly. "Are you in on this?"

He shrugged. "I told you, I'm your contact. Here's me, being your contact."

"Are you sure I can't have Donnelly?" I asked. "I liked Donnelly."

"You'll like me better." He waggled his eyebrows. "I swear. Eventually."

I stared at him, then looked back at the Fed. "I want Donnelly."

"Detective Reilly remains your contact," he replied. "I will need a verbal response."

I bit my lip. This had to be bullshit. "I don't believe you. I want somebody from TransGlobal to confirm it."

The Fed nodded and swiped open his phone. A minute later the obnoxious tap tap tap of high heels echoed down the hall. "Miss McIver." The Director teetered into the room, her hair as big as her heels were high. "Am I firing you?" she barked in her broad Long Island accent. "Please say yes."

I blinked. "They say I either sign, or I'm getting fired - "

She glared at me. "You don't sign, I'm throwing you out. Do you know you violated of Company policy by going up to first class? Only flight attendants assigned to work in first class are allowed in the cabin."

They are? "Really? Oops." I tried to look contrite. "My bad. It was only because of my fiancé - "

"That's not all." She stuck a long and artfully crafted nail in my face. "You also threatened the life of one of our first-class passengers?"

My mouth dropped open. "I did not! It was his brother, who probably doesn't even fly TransGlobal - "

"Not to mention the senior flight attendant working the galley who said you were irritating and unhelpful."

"Frank said that?" I was aghast. "What an asshat - "

"Miss McIver, please." She folded her arms. "Please let me fire you."

I shook my head. "No, let me tell you about Frank - "

"I know about Frank." She scowled at me. "I don't care."

So much for a choice. I either join the government or go back to doing whatever it was I was doing before. A memory of lunch with Molly and Amelia passed through my mind. 

I turned back to the Fed. "Sure. I'll do it. Where do I sign?"

"It's a verbal acceptance." He put the phone in the middle of the table. "Do you, Mary Siobhan McIver, agree to aid and assist your nation, your state, and its law enforcement officials in any and all capacities?"

"You betcha." I grinned at him. "When do I get my gun?"

"You don't get a gun." He tapped the phone and put it into his suit pocket.

"Does that mean I'm stuck with her?" My boss glared at me. "Yes or no?"

"She's staying," the Fed replied.

"Dammit!" My boss threw up her hands and tap tap tapped out of the room.

That was one tightly wound old lady. I watched her teeter down the hall, then turned back to the Fed. "Are you sure I don't get a gun? I think I should have a gun."

"No gun." He scowled at me. "You don't need a gun."

"I think I need a gun - "

Reilly nudged me. "Nah, you don't need a gun. You're a McGuiver. Get it?" He started laughing. "Get it? McGuiver. That guy on t.v. who can do all kinds of shit with a paper clip?"

I shot him a dirty look. "It's not McGuiver. It's McIver." I punched him in the forearm. "McIver. Mc-I-ver. " I gave him another punch. "Say my name, bitch."

_____ * _____ * _____ * _____ * _____

Yep, another change, but I liked the idea of Siobhan being a nark. Plus, it was really the only way she could keep her job after everything else that had happened!

Thank you so much for reading! Let me know what you think, and if you like it, please vote!

©Copyright Liz Charnes June 2018

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