Gail Dayton - Hide-And-Sheikh

As they traveled upward, Rudi excused himself and stepped away to make a few calls. He was still talking when the elevator stopped at the top floor, and Ellen stepped out first, like a good bodyguard, into the small, glass-walled enclosure.

Correction. This wasn’t the top floor. They were on the roof, in the lobby area of a heliport. Ellen had been in most of New York’s heliports, but not this one. Rudi shut off his phone and strode to the desk, Ellen at his elbow.

“Your helicopter is waiting, Mr. Ibn Saqr,” the clerk said, gesturing out the window.

There it was, a shiny white helicopter just settling to the pad as if conjured up by a genie’s magic.

“Shall we?” Rudi bowed slightly, offering his arm.

Ellen ignored it, striding to the door. “Don’t waste your gallantry on me,” she said, pushing the door open.

The roar of helicopter blades vibrated through the little lobby until Rudi pulled the door shut again. Ellen let him. Let him have his say without shouting.

“Gallantry is never wasted on a beautiful woman,” he said with a little bow.

Ellen rolled her eyes and shoved at the door again. She was sick of being beautiful, sick of people who could see nothing else. Agreeing to come on this trip was a mistake. She should have known Rudi would be just like all the other men she’d ever met. She stalked out the door and climbed into the helicopter. Just do the job. Ignore the charm. It wasn’t for her, but for the mask she wore.

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