Zara kept her voice even. “You may have 2B,” she said. “Could you please check your pass?”
Richard stared at her for another moment. Then he gave a small, humorless laugh. “You don’t belong in First Class.”
Heat rose behind Zara’s ears. She could feel it spreading down her neck. Not because she doubted herself, but because she understood exactly what he meant.
She was young.
She wasn’t dressed like the executives around him.
She had no designer coat hanging from her arm.
No assistant.
No visible parent.
No reason, in Richard Bennett’s mind, to occupy the seat he wanted.
“I have a First-Class ticket,” Zara said. “I heard you.” “Then please move.”
Instead, Richard folded his newspaper. He looked almost offended now. “Do you know who I am?”
Zara paused. “No.”
The passenger across the aisle coughed into his fist. Richard’s mouth tightened.
“Richard Bennett. Bennett Strategic Holdings.” He said it with the confidence of someone accustomed to watching recognition alter people’s posture.
