I got to the desired place quickly, but before the entrance to the hall there was a small hitch. I was blocked by a guard who asked me if I had a ticket. And the ticket had to be a business class ticket. In fact, I didn't have any.

" My boss has the ticket, I'm a secretary," I said cheerfully.

" Secretary? And the director of the company has the ticket? " The guard asked incredulously.

I sighed, knowing exactly what he was talking about. Usually it's just the opposite, the secretary has the tickets, passes, minty motion sickness pills and bags if the pills don't help. I had to pull out my phone and call Andrew , not to argue with the guard, proving that the tickets were ordered much earlier than I was employed!

" Are you Rina? " asked one of the waitresses and, after waiting for my confused "Yes", continued: " I'll show you to your table."

I exhaled with relief and smiled gratefully at the girl. Trying not to look at the confused guard, I followed her.

Andrew was sitting at a corner table, in front of him there was one glass and an almost finished bottle of whiskey. The man himself was already quite tipsy. I greeted him once more in surprise and sat down carefully.

" I hate flying," the boss confided.

I blinked in surprise, not expecting such a confession from a man. Everyone I'd known before had been desperately brave or angry, but they'd never admitted their weakness.

Andrew filled the glass. I managed to move forward and cover it with my hand, preventing him from drinking. A little more would definitely keep us off the plane. According to the rules, the crew has the right to deny boarding to people who are intoxicated or not only intoxicated, but also behaving inappropriately. And who's to say that a man who's just drinking doesn't throw a tantrum before the gangway? Or do the rules not apply to millionaires?

" No need to continue, we're about to board," I muttered.

Andrew suddenly nodded in agreement and moved the glass away from you. Encouraged, I called the waitress and ordered two coffees. In the remaining forty minutes you should try to put him in order.

For that, I'd have to feed him.

" What's our flight? " I asked.

Andrew slid an envelope to me. As I expected, the envelope contained our tickets, hotel reservations and, most pleasantly, the transfer. So, if he doesn't hold back and gets completely drunk on the plane, I won't have to worry about how to get him to the hotel.

" Anything else? " the waitress asked, setting our coffees down in front of us.

" If I could get something to eat, we would have less than forty minutes to board.

Of course, we should not expect the cook to cook a steak and we will be able to eat it in the remaining time. When time is limited, it's always better to ask the waitresses what is available in the kitchen."

" Maybe there are some preferences? " Still, the girl clarified.

I shook my head negatively and assured her that I didn't. I don't suffer from any food allergies, and I don't count calories.

The girl smiled faintly with only the corner of her lips. Most likely, she does not meet such visitors often, who do not demand to fry a piglet in five minutes, and only fresh and do not torture about the exact number of calories in each piece.

Andrew had been sipping his coffee gloomily all this time. If I had known about his problem in advance, I would have bought a light sleeping pill and intercepted it before he could drink it. Of course, there's a pharmacy around here somewhere. Except sleeping pills don't mix well with alcohol, you could end up like Merlin Monroe!