Chapter 9: Newhaven's Top-Tier Opening: The Flight Attendant Makes the First Move

Southern Airlines Flight CZ3372. First class. River Lyson reclined in a leather seat, his gaze resting on the clouds beyond the window. A black T-shirt. Dark casual pants. Not a logo in sight. But clothing could never conceal a person's presence. Most men in their early twenties either tried too hard and came off greasy, or let their eyes wander, unable to hide their nervousness. River Lyson did neither. His back was straight, and he sat perfectly still. The seven to eight million dollars in his accounts gave him a confidence no designer brand could match. "Sir, may I get you something to drink?" A gentle voice sounded beside him. River Lyson turned his head. The flight attendant pushing the meal cart had bent over slightly, a professional smile on her face. She was beautiful. Not the manufactured beauty of an internet celebrity. Hers was a bright, almost aggressive kind of beauty. Red lips, hair pinned up, and a uniform that accentuated her figure to perfection. There was something distinctly Hong Kong-star-like about her features. Mandy Sowden had only been making a routine inquiry. But the instant she saw River Lyson's face, her professional smile faltered for half a beat. He was handsome. Not in the pretty, delicate way of a young actor. His looks carried a quiet pressure, held in check by an unshakable calm. His eyes were especially striking. Deep. Still. When ordinary men saw a beautiful woman, they usually couldn't hide their appraisal. He merely gave her one glance. "A black coffee, please. Thank you," River Lyson said. He added nothing else. He made no attempt to flirt. "All right... Of course. Please wait a moment." Mandy Sowden turned to pour the coffee, her fingers slightly stiff. In the galley, a heavy curtain had been drawn to block the passengers' view. Mandy Sowden held the bid support and poured coffee into a cup. "Well, well. Why is our Mandy so distracted while pouring a cup of coffee?" A round-faced flight attendant leaned over and nudged her with a shoulder, her eyes darting suggestively toward the cabin. "I saw everything. You're talking about the handsome guy in 3A, right?" Mandy Sowden rolled her eyes and said nothing. The tips of her ears had grown warm. "He really is handsome," the round-faced flight attendant continued, smacking her lips. "Those shoulders, that profile, tsk, tsk. The important thing is his presence." Another flight attendant, who had been arranging blankets, came over and lowered her voice with a laugh. "Tell me about it. He's far better than that coal baron yesterday who wore a Rolex and insisted on touching your hand to read your palm. A catch like him is almost impossible to find." Mandy Sowden placed the coffee spoon on the saucer. She bit her lower lip. She had always been picky. There were plenty of wealthy businessmen in first class. At least eighty or a hundred of them had slipped her business cards or passed her notes. But they were either potbellied or reeking of alcohol and cigarettes. The way they looked at her made her feel as though they were estimating her price. She had never spared any of them a proper glance. The young man sitting outside was different. There was something about him that made her want to know where he came from. "If you're not going to make a move, I'll take the blankets over in a minute," the round-faced flight attendant teased, reaching for the bid support. "A catch like that doesn't come along every day. If you don't want him, I will." "Hands off." Mandy Sowden slapped her hand away. After a moment's hesitation, she pulled a sticky note from her uniform pocket and uncapped a pen. The pen hovered over the paper for two seconds. Then she quickly wrote a line. She tore it off, folded it in half, and gently tucked it beneath the white ceramic coaster under the coffee cup. A few minutes later, Mandy Sowden returned to River Lyson's seat with the bid support. She bent at the waist. The faint scent of Chanel No. 5 drifted through the cool cabin air and reached River Lyson's nose. "Sir, your black coffee." Her voice was softer than before, with a hint of nervousness. She set the cup on the small table in front of him. As she withdrew her fingers, she tapped the edge of the coaster twice. River Lyson drew his gaze back from the window and let it fall on her long, pale fingers. Then he saw half of a pink sticky note peeking out from beneath the coaster. He looked up. Mandy Sowden was watching him. Nervousness and boldness warred inside those beautiful, foxlike eyes. The corner of River Lyson's mouth lifted. He said nothing. He only nodded. Mandy Sowden straightened, then pushed the meal cart toward the next row. Her steps felt lighter than before. River Lyson lifted the coffee cup. Steam curled upward. He pinched the folded note between two fingers and shook it open with one hand. The handwriting was delicate and graceful. "Mandy Sowden. 138XXXXXXXX. "I'll be grounded in Newhaven for two days. If you're free, I'd like to take you to dinner." It was simple. It was direct. River Lyson looked at the string of numbers, and the curve of his lips deepened. In his previous life, when he had hauled bricks at construction sites, not even an ordinary girl, much less a flight attendant of Mandy Sowden's caliber, would have spared him a second glance. Things were different this time. He wasn't flattered or overwhelmed, and he didn't hurry to save the number in his phone. He simply folded the note and slipped it into his trouser pocket. Then he lifted the coffee and took a sip. It was bitter. The moment, however, felt good. Two hours later, the plane landed at Newhaven Richmond International Airport. The instant the cabin door opened, the damp, stifling air of the south rushed inside, carrying a faint salty tang from the sea. Newhaven in the year 2000 was growing at a feverish pace. Scaffolding filled every direction. Bulldozers roared everywhere. Santanas and Jettas raced along the streets. Fleetcom was still struggling through a quagmire of losses, while Alibabba was begging investors everywhere for several hundred thousand dollars in financing. Whoever understood this land first would get the first bite. River Lyson put on his sunglasses, pushed his suitcase with one hand, and walked out through the VIP passage. Outside the arrivals hall, voices surged through the air as waves of heat rolled over the pavement. The moment River Lyson stepped through the automatic glass doors, a middle-aged man in a black suit and white gloves hurried over to greet him. He was one of the hotel's front men. The man's eyes swept quickly over River Lyson. Once he confirmed his identity, he bent deeply at the waist. "Hello, Mr. Lyson." His voice was respectful and professional, carrying the polished steadiness of a luxury hotel's training. "I'm Old Looske, the Shangri-La Hotel's dedicated driver. Welcome to Newhaven." River Lyson had booked him by phone before boarding the plane. The Shangri-La Hotel. A presidential suite. In an era when average monthly wages were only $100 to $200, a nightly rate of nearly $2,000 could buy the highest level of respect and service the city had to offer. "Mm." River Lyson released the suitcase handle. Old Looske immediately stepped forward and accepted it with both hands. His movements were swift, practiced, and steady. "The car is waiting outside. Please follow me." Old Looske led the way, keeping half a step behind River Lyson as he cleared a path through the crowd. In the VIP lane, a brand-new black Mercedes-Benz S600 waited quietly by the curb. Its long body gleamed in the sunlight. The hood ornament stood proudly above the grille. Even the license plate bore an eye-catching sequence of repeating numbers. In the year 2000, when most cars on the streets were still Fiat Seicentos, the vehicle needed no introduction. Businessmen carrying briefcases and laborers hauling plastic sacks instinctively veered half a step away as they passed. Their eyes held both awe and curiosity. Old Looske hurried to the car and opened the rear door. He placed his left hand against the top of the door frame to keep his guest from bumping his head. "Mr. Lyson, please." River Lyson removed his sunglasses, bent down, and settled into the spacious, luxurious back seat. The door shut, sealing the heat and commotion outside. As the Mercedes-Benz S600 eased into motion and prepared to leave the airport, Mandy Sowden and several other flight attendants emerged from the arrivals hall a few dozen meters away, pulling their rolling flight bags and chatting among themselves. They had changed out of their uniforms into light summer clothes, and their long bare legs drew plenty of attention from the crowd. "Mandy, should we get seafood tonight or go shopping at Eastgate?" the round-faced flight attendant asked, looping an arm through Mandy Sowden's. Mandy Sowden seemed distracted. Her hand remained in her pocket, fingers wrapped tightly around her phone. From the moment she had left the plane, she had been waiting for the number to call. Had she not been forward enough? Or had he never even looked at the note? "Mandy!" The round-faced flight attendant suddenly tugged at her arm, her voice rising sharply. "What is it?" Mandy Sowden asked, frowning. "Look over there... Who is that?" The round-faced flight attendant pointed toward the VIP lane, her eyes widening in disbelief. Mandy Sowden followed her finger. The black Mercedes-Benz S600 was gliding slowly over the speed bump. Its dark windows were not fully raised. As the car passed them, Mandy Sowden saw the profile of the man in the back seat with perfect clarity. Carefree. Composed. It was the same man who had ordered nothing but a black coffee on the plane. Mandy Sowden stopped short. Her breathing faltered. "Oh my God..." The other flight attendant swallowed hard, her voice coming out thin. "That is the Shangri-La's top-tier guest car. When I flew to Dubai before, I heard a rich man mention it. In Newhaven, only guests who book presidential suites are entitled to airport pickup in one of those." The round-faced flight attendant turned to stare at Mandy Sowden, who stood frozen in place. Her tone held a tangled mix of envy and shock. "Mandy..." "You slipped him a note..." "Someone who spends nearly $2,000 a night on a presidential suite could actually be interested in girls like us, who eat at street stalls?" The black Mercedes-Benz S600 accelerated onto the main road. Its taillights flashed once in the sunlight. Then it quickly disappeared into the traffic.