2: Justin.

“You doing okay back there?” the pilot calls out, and I look up from my barf bag.

Thankfully nothing came up, but that flight might have been the roughest of my life. “All good,” I manage to say as I tuck the paper bag back into the emergency pocket.

“We must have been the last flight before they grounded all the other ones,” he laughs as he brings the plane down.

“Lucky us,” I mumble to myself. I would have preferred to skip this retreat altogether.

The wheels touch the tarmac, and I close my eyes, thankful to be firmly back on earth. I normally don’t have a problem on planes, but a tiny one like this flying around the edges of a hurricane isn’t my first choice for travel.

I’m late, and there’s nothing I hate more than not being on time. My company was bought out by Topher Wilson, and I’ve spent the last week on planes, trains, and automobiles around the globe transitioning it for him. I don’t know why I agreed to it, but when I got the call that he wanted to take over, there was som