Bella walked up to the Virgin Atlantic First-Class ticket counter. You should have a reservation for Bella Grant? she asked.
Ms. Grant. Yes, your tickets are not available at this time. Ive been instructed to ask you to wait in the First-Class lounge. Your party is already there, replied the clerk.
Thank you, she said. Approaching the door to the lounge, to herself, Here we go
She walked in and glanced around. There were several men waiting alone. None was immediately apparent as a television photographer. Crap whispered to herself. Then she heard a deep voice behind her.
Bella? She turned to see a man with deep brown eyes looking her way, his closely cropped salt and pepper hair matching his mustache and goatee. He was tanned as though he spent a great deal of time outdoors.