Public Relations

"So, this one is supposed to have a bedroom," Andrea says as she sifts through the stack of papers given to her by Joe, the sales representative from AeroLuxe Jets. She had kindly asked him to hand over the brochures on the private jets and for a bit of privacy after he was rendered speechless the moment he saw me walk into the hangar.

It turns out he's a huge Maisie Rhodes fan and has tickets for the opening night of my world tour in New Jersey this summer.

Joe is now stationed at his desk, attempting to appear busy, even though I keep catching him peeking up from his computer screen about every thirty seconds. Meanwhile, Andrea and I amble through the hangar, which serves as a showroom for their impressive fleet of jets.

It's unusually warm and sunny for April in Massachusetts, and everyone appears to be taking advantage of the beautiful weather, including AeroLuxe. Their hangar doors stand wide open, allowing the balmy sunlight to filter in and bathe the half a dozen jets parked neatly inside.

A stray strand of hair is tossed into my face by the breeze sifting through, and I quickly tuck it behind my ear before responding to Andrea, "A bedroom, really?"

"And a shower, it seems," Andrea adds, following closely behind me as I make my way up the stairs to the entrance.

"Wow," I breathe out, stepping into the jet's cabin and pausing to take in the interior. The jet boasts creamy white leather seats, light beige striped carpet, sycamore wood lining the back wall and trim work, and satin nickel glossy metal plating on the knobs and handles. I twist back to Andrea. "Do I really need a shower on a plane?"

"I'm not sure, but," she says, glancing around before settling into one of the passenger seats and running her hand over the leather, "this is really nice."

"It is." I plop into one of the chairs across from her, giving it a spin before pressing the buttons on the side to activate the TV in front of us. "This by far will be the nicest thing I've ever bought."

She swivels her chair to face me, and I steal a glance, watching her drum her olive-toned fingers on the armrest. Her lips are pressed into a thin line. "So," she starts.

"So," I echo.

"Did you speak to him?"

I immediately spin in my chair again, swiveling to face the plane's wall. Fiddling with the buttons on the side, I toggle the lights and fans above me on and off. "Hmm?"

"Did you talk to him?"

I feign innocence. "Talk to who?"

From the corner of my eye, I watch her tilting her head, shooting me a pointed look. I make a conscious effort to avoid her sharp brown eyes, knowing that one look will make me feel the need to tell her everything.

"Do you really need me to spell it out?"

I blow out a breath between my lips as I rise from the plush leather chair, reluctantly admitting, "Yeah, I talked with August."