I do not feel safe with certain people sitting so close to me." Rachel looked mortified. She glanced at Julian, who was typing on his tablet, unbothered. "Ma'am, Mr. Cross is a diamond medallion member. He is in the correct seat." "Mr. Cross?" Lydia scoffed, sipping her drink aggressively. "Sounds like a made-up name.
Probably a rapper or something." Julian stopped typing. He turned his head slowly to face her. The cabin went silent. "My name," Julian said softly, "is Julian Cross. And I would advise you to enjoy your drink and the flight, Mrs. Beaumont. It is a long way to London, and it would be a shame to spend it in a state of distress." It was a warning delivered with the grace of a diplomat, but Lydia did not hear the warning.
She only heard a challenge. The plane had reached cruising altitude. The seatbelt sign flicked off with a soft chime. Lydia had ordered her third drink, a large glass of red wine, a bold cabernet. She was already feeling the buzz, and the alcohol was fueling her sense of entitlement. She watched Julian out of the corner of her eye.
He was working, typing furiously on a laptop now. He had ordered a sparkling water with lime. No alcohol. Lydia felt a strange, irrational rage bubbling up. Why was he so composed? Why was he not intimidated by her glare? She stood up, feigning the need to use the lavatory. As she passed his seat, the plane hit a pocket of turbulence.
It was minor, a slight bump, but Lydia used it. She lurched to the left. The glass of red wine in her hand did not just spill. It launched. The dark crimson liquid splashed across Julian's chest, soaking into the white silk of his dress shirt, staining the lapel of his charcoal suit, and splashing onto his open laptop keyboard.
"Oh!" Lydia shrieked, but there was no apology in her tone. Julian froze. He looked down at the spreading red stain. He closed his eyes for a brief second, inhaling deeply through his nose, then exhaled. He did not jump up. He did not scream. He simply lifted his hands away from the sticky keyboard. "Look what you made me do!" Lydia yelled, wiping a few droplets from her own hand.
"You have your leg stretched out all over the aisle. You tripped me." Passengers from rows two and three gasped. Julian's legs were tucked neatly beneath the seat in front of him. He had not moved an inch. Rachel ran over, towels in hand. "Oh my god, Mr. Cross, I am so sorry. Let me help you." "Get away from him," Lydia snapped at the flight attendant.
"He is the clumsy one, and look at my dress. I got wine on my hem. This is a $3,000 piece." Julian unbuckled his seatbelt and stood up. He towered over Lydia now. The cabin fell deadly silent. The red stain looked like a wound on his chest, but his face was stone cold. "Madam," Julian said, his voice dropping an octave, vibrating with restrained power, "you deliberately threw your drink on me. That is assault.
" "Assault?" Lydia laughed hysterically. "Do not use legal words with me, you thug. It was an accident caused by your carelessness. I want you moved now. I cannot sit next to this man. He is aggressive. I feel threatened." She played the card she had played her whole life, the victim, the damsel in distress, threatened by the scary black man.
"I want the pilot!" Lydia screamed. "Move him to coach where he belongs, or I will sue this airline into oblivion. Do you know who my husband is? Victor Beaumont, CEO of Beaumont Logistics." At the mention of the name, Julian's eyes flickered. A strange light entered them. He reached into his pocket, pulled out a handkerchief, and dabbed at his shirt.
"Victor Beaumont," Julian repeated. "Interesting." "Yes, interesting," Lydia sneered. "He eats people like you for breakfast. So, grab your little bag and get back to row 40 before I make a call from this plane and have you arrested when we land." The flight attendant, Rachel, looked between them, terrified. "Mrs.
Beaumont, please sit down. Mr. Cross has not done anything. We have a spare seat in row four, but I am not moving." Lydia shrieked. "He moves! He is the problem! He is dirty! He is rude! And he assaulted me with his presence!" Julian looked at Rachel. "I am not moving either, Rachel. However, I will need Wi-Fi access immediately, and I need you to document this incident in the captain's log, word for word.
" "Document this!" Lydia spat. And then, in a moment of pure, unadulterated malice, she leaned in close to him. "Nobody will believe you. It is my word against yours. And look at you. You are just a diversity hire in a cheap suit." Julian stared at her. He did not look angry anymore. He looked like a man who had just been handed a winning lottery ticket. "Very well," Julian said.
