Love In The Jungle Read Online Free Page B

to exotic places.”
    Though I could never be an engineer. From my university
days, I remember their crazy workload and chaotic schedule. PR was hard work,
but it was nothing compared to the stress my few engineering friends endured.
    “And what’s work for you?”
    There was no way I was telling a successful engineer that
I’d been fired for not following instructions. “Public relations mostly.”
    “Ah.” He seemed neither impressed or put out; instead he
started packing up his laptop. “I don’t think I could do PR work… People are so
frustrating.”
    I let out a short laugh, thrilled with his reasoning. People are frustrating. “You can say that again.”
    “I don’t want to be presumptuous,” he said as he started to
stand, still packing his things away, “but would you care to accompany me to
the gate? I think they’ll start boarding soon.”
    “Why sir,” I chuckled, thrown by the formality of his
request. “I’d be delighted.”
    I didn’t have much to put away, but I did chug the remainder
of my coffee and stuff the rest of the pastry in my mouth. After disposing of
the trash, I threw my backpack on and strolled beside him out of the café. I
felt small beside him, which was a rarity.
    I had always been at that height where I wasn’t exactly
tall, but I still towered over all my friends who were of “average” height. I
hadn’t worn heels on a date in years, worried that I’d breach the six foot
marker even though I was still a few inches under. Grant was a head taller than
me, obviously in the six foot plus range, and now that we were next to each other,
I noted that he wasn’t huge—broad was a good word, I guess, but there was a
sleekness to him that I liked.
    It must have been the fancy clothes. I had dressed for
comfort, and looked like a total slob next to him. I wore my old university
sweatpants and a plain crew-neck t-shirt. I had a sweater rolled up at the
bottom of my backpack, as planes tended to get cold, and I’d chosen an old pair
of sneakers to bring with me—no need for high-end shoes where I was headed.
    We kept our conversation light as we strolled to the gate,
commenting on the airport’s shopping venues and the way people rushed to and
fro. Once we’d reached our destination, he pointed to the sign.
    “Business class can board now, apparently,” he noted,
nodding a bit. “I hope you don’t mind if I…”
    He trailed off and pointed a thumb toward the attendants
manning the entryway. Of course he was flying business class. Smiling, I shook
my head and tucked some hair behind my ear. “Not at all.”
    “It’s nice to have met you…” He extended his hand to me again,
and he seemed to be struggling to recall my name. Just as I was about to help
him out, a sarcastic, snippy tone on the tip of my tongue, he said, very
softly, almost appreciatively, “Clara.”
    I took a deep breath, willing away the color in my cheeks,
then grabbed his hand. “You too.”
    We both held on a little longer than necessary—anyone
watching us could see it. I pulled back first, my palm tingling again, and
nodded to the gate. “Hope you enjoy your fancy meals and your cushy seats.”
    “They’re not much cushier, I promise.” He almost seemed
embarrassed to admit it, which was kind of endearing. My eyebrows shot up, and
I let out a snort.
    “Uh huh,” Like I’d ever believe a business class seat wasn’t
better than an economy class one. I mean, why would people pay thousands of
dollars more to sit in seats that weren’t any better?
    We held one another’s gaze briefly as a woman’s voice called
for all business class passengers to check in. I nodded toward the gate once
more.
    “See you on the other side, maybe,” I offered, giving him my
most genuine smile.
    “Yeah.” He nodded, lingering still, until he seemed to work
up the resolve to pivot on his feet—which were wrapped in shiny, polished black
shoes—and make his way toward the counter. I waited, and then