Excuse me. No, I'm not doing this. I'm not sitting next to him. Vanessa Whitmore shoved her handbag onto the empty seat and stared up at Malcolm Reed. Sir, you need to find another seat.
Malcolm stood in the aisle, calm. This is my seat. Check the boarding pass. Vanessa gave a sharp laugh. Come on, first class dressed like that.
Malcolm didn't move. Please move your bag. Her smile vanished. Don't tell me what to do. I paid a fortune for this seat, and I'm not spending 6 hours trapped beside someone who makes me uncomfortable.
The cabin went quiet. Malcolm's voice stayed even. I'm only asking you to clear the seat I paid for. Vanessa leaned forward, raising her middle finger inches from his face. Then ask someone else because you're not sitting here.
Malcolm didn't flinch. Vanessa had no idea the man she was humiliating owned 75% of the company that paid her salary. Malcolm Reed stepped through the first class cabin door, his dark green button-down shirt wrinkled from the long drive to LAX. The small black duffel bag hung loosely from his shoulder. He moved with quiet purpose down the narrow aisle, checking seat numbers against his boarding pass.
The cabin buzzed with the usual pre-flight energy. Passengers settled into leather seats, adjusting pillows and ordering drinks. Malcolm's eyes found his row. 3A window seat occupied by a woman in an expensive red dress and designer blazer. Her blonde hair was perfectly styled and diamond earrings caught the overhead lights.
Vanessa Whitmore looked up from her phone as Malcolm approached. Her blue eyes swept over him quickly. The casual shirt, the worn duffel bag, his calm, patient expression. Her spine went rigid. Malcolm stopped beside row three and glanced at his boarding pass again.
"Excuse me," he said quietly. "I believe I'm in 3B." Vanessa's mouth fell open slightly. She stared at him like he'd spoken a foreign language. Around them, other passengers continued their conversations, unaware of the tension building. "No," Vanessa said, her voice rising above the cabin noise.
Absolutely not. Malcolm blinked. I'm sorry. Tiana, Vanessa called sharply toward the front of the cabin. Tiana, I need you right now.
Flight attendant Tiana Brooks hurried over, her professional smile in place. She was a petite woman with kind eyes and braided hair pulled back neatly. Yes, Miss Whitmore. How can I help you? Vanessa pointed directly at Malcolm.