"I am the VIP," Alara said, stepping closer. The wind whipped her hair across her face. "Now get out of my way. I'm cold, I'm tired, and I want to board." Ryan placed a hand on her shoulder and shoved her back. It wasn't a hard shove, but it was firm enough to make her stumble on the slick tarmac. "Listen to me, you little liar," Ryan hissed, his face inches from hers. "I don't have time for panhandlers or crazy fans trying to sneak a peek at the rich and famous. If you take one more step toward this aircraft, I will have you arrested for trespassing. Get lost."
Alara regained her balance. The shove had shocked her. In her world, the world of high-stakes biotech and boardrooms, people fought with words, with lawyers, with stock prices. No one had put their hands on her in anger since she was a child. She looked at Ryan Sterling. Really looked at him. She saw the fear behind the arrogance. He was a man terrified of losing his status, so he punched down at anyone he perceived as lower than him. And right now, in his eyes, Alara was the dirt beneath his polished shoes.
"You touched me," Alara said quietly. "And I'll do it again if you don't evacuate the area," Ryan threatened. He turned to Tara. "Tiff, call the FBO security. Tell them we have a vagrant harassing the flight crew." "On it, Ryan," Tara said, pulling out her phone with a smirk. She held the phone up as if filming Alara. "Say cheese, sweetie. This is going on my story. Things you see at the airport, hashtag trashy."
Alara didn't move. She stood her ground in the rain. "I'm giving you one chance, Captain Sterling. One chance to fix this. Look at your iPad. Look at the passenger profile. Look at the photo ID on file." "I don't take orders from street rats," Ryan shouted, losing his composure. "Do you know who owns this plane? This jet belongs to the Banks Corp Holdings. Do you know who that is? That is a multinational conglomerate. The owner is a distinguished, powerful individual. Not some wet, hoodie-wearing girl from the ghetto."
The racism was subtle, coded, but it hung in the air like a toxic cloud. "Girl from the ghetto." Alara's jaw tightened. "I see," she said. "So, you have a specific image of what the owner looks like." "The owner is a person of class," Tara chimed in, looking up from her phone. "Someone who knows how to dress. Someone who wouldn't be caught dead looking like a drowned rat. Honestly, it's embarrassing that you're even standing near the plane. You're bringing down the property value."
"Last warning," Alara said. The rain was dripping off her nose now. "Let me board, or you will regret this day for the rest of your life." Ryan laughed. It was a deep belly laugh that echoed off the fuselage. "Regret? The only thing I regret is that security is taking so long to drag you away. You want to play games, fine." Ryan walked halfway up the stairs to the plane's cabin, placing himself on a pedestal above her. He looked down like a king addressing a peasant.
"I've flown Saudis, I've flown Russian oligarchs, I've flown tech billionaires from Silicon Valley," Ryan proclaimed, his voice booming. "I know money. I can smell money. And you, darling, smell like wet dog and desperation. You're a scammer. Probably trying to get on board to steal some silverware or snap a selfie for your little Instagram. It's pathetic." "Is that what you think?" Alara asked, her voice dropping an octave. She reached into her pocket.
"Don't!" Ryan yelled, flinching as if she were pulling a weapon. Alara slowly withdrew her phone. The screen was wet, but she tapped it twice. She wasn't calling the police. She wasn't calling security. She was calling the one man Ryan Sterling feared more than God. She dialed the number for Marcel Thorne. Marcel was the CEO of Apex Aviation Management, the company Alara paid $4 million a year to manage her aircraft, hire her crew, and ensure her travel was seamless. Marcel was a shark in a suit, and he answered on the first ring.
"Ms. Banks." Marcel's voice came through clear, despite the wind. "We were tracking your car. You should be boarding the Obsidian right now. Is everything all right? The pilot hasn't filed the departure clearance yet." Alara put the phone on speaker, turning the volume all the way up. She held it out like a shield. "Marcel," Alara said, staring dead into Ryan's eyes. "I met at the foot of the stairs, but there seems to be a problem. The crew is refusing to let me board."
"What?" Marcel's voice crackled with confusion. "Refusing? Who is refusing?" "Captain Sterling and flight attendant Blair," Alara said clearly. "They seem to be under the impression that I am... What was the word? Ryan, a vagrant, a street rat." Ryan's face went pale. The color drained from his skin so fast it looked like he'd seen a ghost. He recognized that voice. He had sat in Marcel Thorne's office 2 years ago begging for this contract because it paid 30% above the industry standard.
"Ms. Banks," Ryan whispered. His voice trembled. "Wait. Banks?" "Yes, Marcel," Alara continued, not breaking eye contact with the terrified pilot. "They have physically blocked the stairs. The captain shoved me. Tara is currently filming me for her social media calling me trashy. I'm standing in the rain, Marcel. I've been here for 10 minutes." Silence on the other end of the line. A cold, deadly silence. Then Marcel spoke. His voice was low, vibrating with suppressed rage. "Put him on. Put Sterling on the phone. Now."
Alara took a step forward. Ryan didn't move back this time. He looked like he was about to vomit. Tara had lowered her phone, her mouth hanging open in a perfect O of horror. "Captain," Alara said, extending her wet phone toward him. "It's for you." Ryan's hand shook as he reached for the device. He held it to his ear like it was a bomb. "Mr. Thorne," Ryan stammered. "Ryan!" Marcel's voice was so loud Alara could hear it from where she stood. "You have exactly 3 seconds to explain to me why the owner of the aircraft, the woman who signs your checks, the woman who pays for your daughter's private school tuition via your bonus is standing in the rain while you insult her."