Noelle remained still.
“Those tables are used for passenger meals. Your shoes don't belong there.”
The man's smile widened.
He turned toward Claire.
“Is she serious?”
Claire swallowed.
“Sir, I've already asked you to remove your shoes from the table.”
He rolled his eyes.
“And I already told you I don't take instructions from glorified waitresses.”
Noelle's expression hardened.
The billionaire looked back at her.
“Now, sweetheart, why don't you find the economy section?”
For a second, the cabin became absolutely silent.
Then Noelle glanced toward her boarding pass.
“There is no economy section on this aircraft.”
The man laughed.
“Exactly. Which means you're on the wrong plane.”
Noelle looked directly into his eyes.
“Seat 1A is assigned to me.”
He leaned forward.
“Then whoever assigned it made a mistake.”
She raised the boarding pass.
“Confirmed reservation. Registered passenger. Seat 1A.”
He waved one hand dismissively.
“Do you know who I am?”
Noelle remained composed.
“Yes.”
The answer surprised him.
For a brief instant, he seemed pleased.
Then she continued.
“Which makes your behavior considerably more disappointing.”
His smile disappeared.
Claire looked toward Noelle.
Something about her voice had changed the atmosphere.
She wasn't arguing like an offended passenger.
She was speaking with the calm authority of somebody accustomed to having difficult conversations with powerful people.
The billionaire leaned forward.
“My name is Gavin Royce.”
Noelle nodded.
“I know.”
“I own companies worth more than your entire family will ever see.”
She tilted her head.
“Congratulations.”
He stared.
Then his face darkened.
“You think you're funny?”
“No.”
She glanced toward his shoes again.
“I think you're going to remove those from the table.”
Gavin laughed sharply.
Then deliberately pressed both soles harder against the polished surface.
“Make me.”
Claire stepped forward.
“Mr. Royce, please—”
He raised one hand.
“Quiet.”
The attendant stopped.
Gavin turned toward Noelle.
“You know what your problem is?”
She waited.
“You walk onto a private aircraft dressed like you belong in some fashion advertisement and suddenly think you can order everyone around.”
Noelle said nothing.
He looked toward her emerald-green outfit.
Then smirked.
“Who bought you that? Some rich boyfriend?”
Claire's eyes widened.
Noelle felt the insult.
She had encountered versions of it before.
In hotel lobbies.
At investment conferences.
At private terminals where people assumed she was somebody's companion rather than the person responsible for the aircraft parked outside.
But this time, something about the situation disturbed her far more than the insult.