Streets That Cross

The wheels of the private jet screeched against the runway, rubber kissing asphalt with a force that made Ayisha’s stomach tighten. The cabin jolted, and she clutched her champagne glass, refusing to spill even a drop. Ethan Grant, sitting across from her in his charcoal three piece suit, smirked faintly at her stubbornness.

“Still holding on to champagne while the world shakes,” he said, his voice a low, amused rumble. “You’re stronger than you think.”

Ayisha ...