One guy in particular stood out. He was immaculately dressed in a dark-blue pinstripe suit, whose jacket fell open to reveal an expensive turquoise silk lining as well as the flat stomach lurking beneath his pale blue shirt and tie. His dirty-blond hair was close-cropped, his rugged face and square jaw softened by a pair of pink lips that made a vague pout as he concentrated on his copy of The Wall Street Journal. If this was the type of man that flew business class, I was going to have to make sure I earned enough money to do it more regularly.

I was so comfortable that the hour's wait went by quickly, and soon my flight to London was called. I was so excited that I was the first one up the stairs and onto the jet. As I sank into the burgundy leather chair, easily as big and comfortable as any armchair in my flat, the stewardess handed me a glass of champagne. Yes, I thought, as I kicked off my high-heeled shoes and curled my bare legs up under me, this is the way to travel. It simply does not get any better.

And then I realized that it did get better, because who should be sliding his briefcase into the overhead compartment other than Mr. Moneybags himself, the very man I'd just spent an hour checking out in the lounge! Up close, I could see that he was a little older than I'd first thought-around forty, forty-five-but this only made him sexier, more distinguished. When he sat down next to me, giving me a formal nod, I could smell his expensive cologne. I also noticed that his nails were manicured and shiny. The man oozed wealth and sophistication in a way that made me feel incredibly aroused.

And I wasn't sure, but I thought that the attraction might even be mutual.