All The Wrong Places by Jerilee Kaye

"I don't care what the FAA regulations are, just keep this plane in the air," Harper snapped, her knuckles a bloodless white as her fingernails dug into the leather armrest.

Through the oval window of the private jet, the glittering, suffocating grid of Manhattan was shrinking into the black ocean below.

The intense G-force of the steep ascent pressed her spine hard against the seat.

On her lap, a deep blue velvet ring box sat heavy and mocking, a physical weight crushing her sternum.

Her father's voice echoed in her ears, cold and absolute.

*Sign the marriage certificate with Sterling, Harper, or I freeze your trust and strip your shares.*

A wave of acidic nausea clawed up her throat.

With a sharp, violent flick of her wrist, she grabbed the velvet box and hurled it across the cabin. It hit the stainless steel trash bin in the aisle with a dull thud and vanished inside.

A private flight attendant rushed over, her face pale with concern. "Ms. Bright? Is everything alright?"

Harper waved her away frantically. "Leave me alone. Bring me a double Scotch on the rocks. Now."

The attendant nodded quickly and retreated to the galley.

The phone on the mahogany tray table began to vibrate violently. The caller ID flashed her mother's name: Camille.

Harper slammed her finger onto the red reject button, a rush of adrenaline making her fingertips tingle.

Two seconds later, the phone buzzed again.

This time, the screen displayed a custom ringtone. Howard Bright.

Her stomach twisted into a tight, painful knot. She knew her father. If she ignored him, he would freeze her credit cards before the plane even landed.

Gritting her teeth, she swiped the screen and pressed the phone to her ear.

"Where the hell are you?" Howard's voice barked through the speaker, loud enough to rattle her eardrum.

Harper forced her breathing to slow.

"I'm on the plane with Sterling," she lied, her voice flat. "We're heading to Maui to work on our relationship, just like you wanted."

Howard let out a harsh, metallic laugh. "Do not play games with me, Harper. Send me a picture of the two of you right now, or I'm calling your pilot to turn that jet around."