"Are you a writer?"
The sudden whisper in his ear made Jack subconsciously close his laptop. He looked up and was startled.
A beautiful, wide-eyed girl curiously tilted her head toward the seat next to him. Her sweet smile tinged with curiosity and inquiry, and she covered her mouth with her hand as she spoke, looking mysterious.
Not all airlines have first-class cabins, and not all first-class cabins on flights offer comfortable beds like Emirates or Singapore Airlines.
For example, the Delta Air Lines Airbus A350-900 Jack was currently flying on didn't actually have a true first-class cabin. Instead, it had a premium business class cabin called "Delta One."
To put it bluntly, it was a business class cabin with slightly better seats and service, somewhere between true business class and first class. The seat layout was similar to the business class cabin Jack had been riding on high-speed trains in China.
Jack wasn't so hypocritical as to disdain economy class just because he'd just made a killing. He simply wanted a quiet and private environment where he could spend some time typing.
After all, as a relatively unknown author with a bestselling detective novel under his belt, Jack still had some image baggage, especially since he didn't want to be known for writing some "low-brow" novel.
Furthermore, economy class wasn't ideal for quiet typing. The flight from Seoul to New York had over ten hours to spend on the plane, and he couldn't afford to waste it.
Of course, this had nothing to do with the fact that he'd been partying with Ma Xidao all night long the previous day, leading Justin to threaten to hack all his devices because of his demanding work.
"Sorry, did the noise of my typing bother you?"
Jack apologized politely. His thoughts were flowing so fast that he was typing so fast that his keyboard was practically leaving ghost images.
Then, his pupils involuntarily narrowed slightly, because the girl in the seat next to him looked more and more familiar after she lowered her hand.
If there were any Hollywood actresses Jack remembered from his past life who could rival Alexandra Daddario's sapphire eyes, it would probably be Anne Hathaway.
In the Eastern aesthetic, large eyes are a plus, but a large mouth is often a minus. Jack, for example, wasn't particularly fond of Angelina Jolie's large mouth and supposedly voluptuous, thick lips.
But a mouth of the same proportions would look perfectly natural on Anne Hathaway, especially when she smiled, creating an incredibly sweet impression.
Of course, what struck Jack right now wasn't the girl's exact resemblance to Anne Hathaway in "The Princess Diaries," but rather a reminiscence of a familiar face he'd encountered on a plane in his past life. He wondered if there would be another hiccup on this flight.
He began to wonder if Anne Hathaway had ever starred in some goddamn disaster movie. He instinctively glanced out the window. The weather outside the stratosphere was as good as ever, and the clouds below looked normal.
"Huh? It's nothing to do with you. I'm just... uh... damn, honestly, I'm just jealous,"
the girl said, gesturing to the side in front of her. Jack leaned in slightly to see a laptop on the table in front of her. A blank Word document was open on the screen, but it didn't even have a title.
It had been over three hours since he boarded the plane, and Jack had been so absorbed in typing that he hadn't paid much attention to the passengers around him.
But putting himself in her shoes, he could understand the girl's feelings. She was so stuck in a writing slump, and watching the guy next to her banging away at the keyboard was a bit of a bummer.
"Jack Tawaller, barely a part-time writer."
Seeing the girl's embarrassment, Jack offered his hand and introduced himself.
"Angelia Sykes, my dream is to be a columnist or a journalist digging into current affairs. Sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt you."
The girl extended her hand apologetically and shook Jack's. Her long, slender fingers were impressive.
Jack thought for a moment, then confirmed that the name didn't belong to any heroine in any air disaster movie he knew, and finally breathed a sigh of relief.
"It's okay, it's time for a break."
Jack asked the flight attendant for another iced Coke. A moderate intake of sugar helps the brain think.
Since the pretty girl had already approached him, Jack naturally tried not to make the situation too awkward. He leaned over slightly, imitating the girl's previous move, and whispered quietly enough to not disturb the others.
"So, you're saying your dream hasn't been realized yet?"
"At least it's nowhere near what I set out to do when I graduated from Northwestern University. I'm currently working as an assistant to Miranda Priestley at a fashion magazine."
The girl pursed her lips, then pulled the corners of her mouth together, her tone tinged with self-deprecation and a hint of tears.
"I haven't done any serious writing in six months. I finally had some time today, but I couldn't even type a single word at my computer."
Northwestern University, also in Illinois, boasts a prestigious Medill School of Journalism, recognized as one of the best in the country, second only to the Columbia University School of Journalism, where Taylor Kelly graduated.
"Uh, sorry, I know next to nothing about the fashion world. Who is Miranda Priestley?" The girl's tone suggested she was a well-known figure.
However, Jack remained unanswered until he disembarked from the plane. Angelia Sykes seemed quite pleased with his ignorance and shifted the conversation directly to writing techniques.
The two chatted intermittently, whispering to each other for quite a while. It was a good thing the girl, a journalism major, opened up and couldn't stop. They discussed writing techniques, then discussed her experience as editor-in-chief of the school newspaper, winning first place in a national college journalist competition, and moving to New York after graduation to pursue her dreams.
But after arriving in New York, she sent out countless resumes, all to no avail. Ultimately, she was forced to choose between Automotive World and her current position at Runway. One
misstep led her to a life of misery under the tyranny of a demanding boss.
Jack looked at her Chanel jacket and the Valentino handbag beside her, wondering if there were many other women vying for this kind of miserable existence.
As if reading someone's mind, Angelia Sykes took the handbag and pulled out two beautiful cards, handing them to Jack.
"Perhaps only my underwear is my own. The rest was given to the magazine by various fashion brands, and technically, I have to return
them after wearing them," the girl said, winking slyly. "But this is probably one of the few perks of this job. Please accept it as compensation for interrupting your writing."
Jack unfolded the card and saw it was a VIP invitation to a Prada show at New York Fashion Week. A VIP invitation meant a seat three rows from the runway.
New York Fashion Week takes place twice a year, in February and September, lasting anywhere from a week to nine days.
At shows featuring major brands like Prada, the first two rows are reserved for celebrities and editors-in-chief of major fashion magazines. These two invitations to the third row are quite valuable.
Jack, though unaware of this, knew it wouldn't be easy to come by, so he pulled out his FBI business card.
"As I said, I'm just a part-time writer. This is my real job. If you run into any trouble in New York, you can call me, but I sincerely hope you won't need this card."
Angelia Sykes covered her mouth in surprise, her eyes filled with disbelief. After a moment, she lowered her voice and whispered, "You're the most handsome FBI agent I've ever met."
"Aren't you also the most handsome writer?" Jack raised an eyebrow.
"So, what's your work?" The girl leaned forward again, trying to get a glimpse of Jack's computer screen.
"Jack Reacher, have you seen it?"
"No, is it an autobiography? You're really narcissistic."
—
"Aha, Miranda Priestley. From Paris to New York, everyone knows her, well, at least in the fashion world."
Danny Regan happily accepted the gift box Jack handed him and opened it, but frowned when he saw the Korean ginseng inside. "What the hell is this? Dried radish?"
"Don't be so ignorant, Danny. Ask Linda to put some in your chicken soup later. It's guaranteed to be better than goji berries. If you don't like it, I can replace it with kimchi." Jack
was about to take it back, but Danny snatched it away and put it in the trunk of the car like a treasure.
"So you met this 'Miranda girl' on the plane, and she gave you two invitations to New York Fashion Week?" Danny continued the previous topic as he drove out of the airport.
"What's a Miranda girl? It sounds like you know a lot about the fashion world?" A series of questions popped up in Jack's head.
"Linda's sister has been in the fashion world for years, obsessed with raising her daughter to be a supermodel. So even if I don't want to know some things, I can't avoid them at parties and small talk. You know,
Miranda Priestley is known as the 'Devil Queen' in the New York fashion world. She's said to be incredibly mean, and she's fired hundreds, if not thousands, of assistants. But girls eager to break into the fashion world still flock to become 'Miranda girls.'"
After hearing Danny's explanation, Jack suddenly realized this was the plot of the movie "The Devil Wears Prada." No wonder he'd met a girl who looked exactly like a young Anne Hathaway.
(End of Chapter)