Fear Of Flying

Fear Of Flying

By

Leigh Court

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This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.

Fear Of Flying

Copyright © 2014 by Leigh Court

First E-Book Edition

Cover by coversbykaren.com

Formatting by coversbykaren.com

All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Epilogue

About The Author

Chapter One

"You’re never going to die in a plane crash."

Jessie Jordan stared into the piercing blue eyes of the old fortune teller, her mouth going suddenly dry. She didn’t believe in fortune tellers, or psychics, or any paranormal stuff, but one of her girlfriends had given her this reading as a birthday present, and Jessie’s curiosity had gotten the better of her. She’d expected the gray-haired woman to spout some generic drivel, like ‘you will meet a handsome stranger’ or ‘you will come into some unexpected money.’

Not to predict something that would hit so close to home.

How… How could you possibly know I’m afraid of flying?

This. The woman opened her palm, where Jessie’s pearl ring was nestled. It vibrates your fear.

The fortune teller had requested a personal item that she’d claimed would help her see Jessie’s future. So Jessie had handed over the simple pearl ring she always wore – the one her parents had given her for her eighteenth birthday a decade ago, and which had been on her finger a month later, when her parents had taken her to Italy for a two-week vacation.

Her first airplane ride.

And the most traumatic experience of her life.

Nervous as Jessie had been about stepping onto the huge plane in New York that summer, the overnight flight had been fine until the aircraft had started its descent into Leonardo da Vinci airport the next morning. The 747, as Jessie later learned, did a common ‘step landing,’ which entailed descending a few thousand feet, gliding, then descending a few more thousand feet on its approach to landing.

Trouble was, every time the plane sank on its glide path, Jessie had been convinced they were going to crash. She’d never been very good with roller coasters, and the wavy motion of the plane had made her sick to her stomach. The minute she’d felt a sour taste in her mouth, she’d known she was in trouble.

The flight attendants had ordered everyone to buckle their seatbelts for landing, but Jessie had shakily unhooked hers and scrambled into the aisle, making a mad dash for the bathroom in case she was going to throw up. She’d never made it. A flight attendant at the back of the plane had blocked Jessie’s desperate beeline down the aisle and literally shoved her into an empty seat in one of the last rows, ordering her to buckle up for the landing.

That’s where a guardian angel had come to her rescue. A young man in military uniform in the next seat had urged her to put her head between her knees and just breathe. As Jessie had bent over, shaking with her effort not to get sick, she’d felt his hand gently stroking her back, trying to calm her. With his other hand, he’d slipped an air sickness bag between her knees, just in case. But it turned out she hadn’t needed it.

His advice worked. The plane landed without her making a scene.

Jessie gazed at the fortune teller in front of her, her mind lingering on that old memory. Odd, but she hadn’t thought about that guy in ten years. She’d never even found out his name, although she could still remember the brilliant smile of approval he’d given her when the plane landed.

To this day, she was still a nervous wreck whenever she had to fly, but she’d tried hard during the last decade not to let that fear dictate her life. In fact, she’d taken a job three years ago as a book publicist, which entailed flying around the country with authors promoting new book releases.

Jessie believed in facing her fears.

Here. The fortune teller handed back Jessie’s pearl ring with a knowing look. You didn’t believe in my ability when you sat down at my table. Do you believe now?

Jessie looked at the woman as she considered her answer. A colorful silk scarf was tied around her gray hair. She had rings on every finger. Ornate lanterns hung from the ceiling of her tiny storefront, casting mysterious shadows around the room.

This whole setting was a cliché.

And yet, there was no way the old woman could have known about Jessie’s fear of flying. Even a wild guess wouldn’t have led her to such a precise statement. Maybe Jessie should reassess her belief in the paranormal.

She cleared her throat. Actually, I expected you to tell me I’m going to meet a tall, dark stranger. I mean, there’s no wedding ring on my finger. That would have been the obvious thing to say.

The fortune teller laughed. Oh, that will happen, too, my dear. In fact, the two things are intertwined. But it seemed more important to reassure you about your fear of flying.

Oh, brother. She was going to meet a tall, dark stranger? Okay. Time to get out of here.

The old woman tilted her head and gave Jessie a perceptive, all-knowing look. Just remember what I told you.

Chapter Two

Jessie waved to the receptionist as she headed down the main hallway of the Blackfield Agency. Blackfield was one of the top marketing and public relations firms in the country, with a long list of clients, including a major publishing house. Posters of various client products and books lined the walls of the hallway she walked down.

Jessie specialized in book tours. It was a great niche for her, because she was a voracious reader, and even toyed with the idea of writing a book herself one day. But if that ever happened, it would be a romance, considering that her own love life was so pathetic. New York City seemed to have more than its share of neurotic, egotistic and self-absorbed men, which meant the few relationships she’d had never seemed to get past the three-month mark. Yes, if she ever wrote a book, it would be a romance with a happy ending. Definitely fiction.

Blackfield’s publishing client, on the other hand, was a non-fiction publisher.

What Jessie loved most about her job was the interesting variety of authors she met, and the myriad subject matter they wrote about. Last year, she’d accompanied a veterinarian on a one-month tour of the country, and learned more about cats and feline psychology than she’d ever thought possible. Like the fact that every cat's nose has a unique ridged pattern, as distinctive as a human fingerprint. Or, oddly, that most female cats are right-pawed while most males are left-pawed.

After that, there’d been a two-month tour for the release of a coffee table art book by a painter who used pieces of broken glass to create giant mosaics recounting the stories of Greek and Roman myths. Her one-of-a-kind pieces hung in galleries all over the world, and Jessie had been thrilled to be able to watch the artist at work in her studio during one of their initial meetings.

This upcoming book tour was with a travel writer named Regan Quade. According to his bio, he’d written a series of guide books on almost two dozen countries, but his latest was a bit of a departure. A single-title release on eco-tourism.

Jessie came to a stop halfway down the hallway at a familiar door frame. Hi, Hilary.

Hilary Jamison, the head of the public relations division, looked up from behind her desk, and smiled. Hey, Jess. Come on in.

Jessie settled into the chair in front of Hilary’s desk. This should be a fun tour. At the very least, this guy should have interesting stories to tell about his travels, right?

True. His editor is really hoping his fan base will embrace this new direction in his writing, but she wants to start light. Two weeks. Hilary glanced at her watch. Regan’s scheduled to arrive any minute. I’d like you to sit in on his media training.

Jessie nodded. Media training was just one aspect of her job, but an important one. As a book publicist, she was a combination of travel agent, personal assistant, media coach, and image consultant. Her job description read like a jack-of-all-trades, but she was a master of them all. She was very good at what she did.

Hilary’s phone rang, and she picked up the receiver. Yes? Show him to the conference room. Easing the handset back down, she smiled. He’s right on time.

What do you expect? Jessie said, rising from her seat. He’s a travel writer. Being on time is important in his line of work, right? Planes and trains don’t wait.

Hilary laughed. Good point.

The two women made their way down the hallway to the conference room at the end of the corridor. When they entered the room, Regan Quade had his back to them, texting something into his phone. He turned to greet them.

The breath stopped in Jessie’s lungs.

You will meet a tall, dark stranger…

The fortune teller’s prophetic words came rushing into Jessie’s brain.

Regan Quade was drop dead gorgeous. Black hair. Green eyes. Easily six foot two, with the rugged, toned body of someone who looked competent enough to travel off the beaten path.

Hmm. Maybe that old woman really did know what she was talking about.

Jessie stood a little straighter.

Hilary stuck out her hand. "Mr. Quade, I’m Hilary Jamison. And this is