She was young.
She wasn’t dressed like the executives around him.
She had no designer coat hanging from her arm.
No assistant.
No visible parent.
No reason, in Richard Bennett’s mind, to occupy the seat he wanted.
“I have a First-Class ticket,” Zara said. “I heard you.” “Then please move.”
Instead, Richard folded his newspaper. He looked almost offended now. “Do you know who I am?”
Zara paused. “No.”
The passenger across the aisle coughed into his fist. Richard’s mouth tightened.
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