A Simple Nurse Boards Billionaire’s Jet by Mistake! Now She’s on a Romantic Trip in Paris With Him…

Elena Morris rubbed her tired eyes as she hurried through the airport terminal. Her worn sneakers squeaked against the polished floor as she checked her watch for the tenth time. She was late, again. After working a twelve-hour night shift at Memorial Hospital, she had barely made it home to shower and grab her already packed backpack before rushing to the airport. Gate 23B, she muttered to herself, squinting at the boarding pass on her phone. Her first vacation in three years, and she was already messing it up.

Since her parents died in that car accident two years ago, Elena’s life had become an endless cycle of work, bills, and taking care of her younger brother, Tommy. At 26, she felt like she was 46. This weekend, getaway to Atlantic City with her nursing school friend, Megan, was supposed to be her big break.

Two days of no responsibilities, no overtime shifts, and no worrying about Tommy, who was staying with their aunt. Elena’s phone buzzed with a text from Megan. Where are you? They’re boarding now.

Almost there, Elena texted back, though she wasn’t sure where there was anymore. The airport signs blurred together as exhaustion clouded her vision. Two hours of sleep wasn’t enough for anyone, especially someone who had spent the night monitoring ICU patients.

Elena turned a corner and saw a small gathering of people near a doorway. That must be it, she thought. The sign above read, Private Aviation Terminal.

That didn’t sound right, but she was too tired to think clearly. A woman in a crisp uniform smiled as Elena approached. Ms. Jenkins, we’ve been expecting you.

Elena opened her mouth to correct her, but was interrupted by another uniformed staff member. We are ready for boarding now. Mr. Carter is already on board.

Elena blinked in confusion. Mr. Carter, who was that? Before she could form a coherent question, she was being gently guided down a walkway toward an aircraft that looked nothing like the commercial planes she was used to. Wait, I think there’s been a mistake, Elena finally managed, but the flight attendant was already taking her backpack.

Don’t worry about a thing. Mr. Carter said you might be running late. He’s very understanding.

The interior of the jet made Elena’s jaw drop. Cream leather seats, wood panelling, and what looked like a fully stocked bar greeted her. This was definitely not her budget flight to Atlantic City.

A man sat with his back to her, looking out the window. As the door closed behind her with a pressurized whoosh he turned, Elena’s tired brain registered several things at once. He was younger than she expected, maybe around 30.

He was wearing clothes that probably cost more than her monthly rent. And he was strikingly handsome in a way that made her conscious of her faded jeans and simple t-shirt. His eyes widened slightly as he saw her, then narrowed in what seemed like curiosity.

You’re not Vanessa Jenkins, he said. It wasn’t. A question.

No, I’m Elena Morris, she replied, clutching her phone like a lifeline, and I think I just got on the wrong plane. The man’s serious expression cracked and a small smile appeared. It would seem so.

The engines of the plane hummed to life and Elena felt panic rising in her chest. I need to get off. I’m supposed to be on a flight to Atlantic City with my… Friend? I’m afraid we’re already cleared for take-off, he said, gesturing to the window where the ground crew was already moving away from the aircraft.

I’m Damien Carter, by the way. Where is this plane going? Elena asked, sinking into the seat opposite him as her legs suddenly felt too weak to support her. Paris, Damien replied simply.

Paris, as in Paris, France? Elena’s voice rose an octave. Damien nodded, studying her with interest. You really did get on the wrong plane, didn’t you? I don’t even have a passport, Elena exclaimed, then remembered she actually did.

It was in her backpack, virtually unused since that one college trip to Canada years ago. The staff obviously thought you were my companion for the trip, Damien explained, choosing his words carefully. Vanessa Jenkins is a model I occasionally date.

We were supposed to spend the weekend in Paris, but it seems she’s been replaced. The full reality of the situation hit Elena like a truck. She was on a private jet to Paris with a complete stranger who thought she was a model, and the plane was already moving.

This can’t be happening, she mumbled, running her hands through her messy brown hair. I need to call Megan. I need to figure out how to get back.

I need to breathe. Damien finished for her, his voice surprisingly gentle. He handed her a glass of water that seemed to appear from nowhere.

Drink this, Elena took the water with shaking hands. Mr. Carter, Damien please. Damien, I can’t go to Paris.

I have a shift on Monday. I have my brother to take care of. I have responsibilities.

Something in Damien’s expression shifted at the word responsibilities. He leaned back in his seat, studying her. What do you do, Elena Morris? I’m a nurse at Memorial Hospital, she replied automatically.

Intensive care unit. Damien nodded slowly. And the brother you mentioned? Tommy, he’s 18.

Our parents died two years ago and I’m all he has. The words came out before she could stop them. Why was she telling this stranger her life story? The plane was now taxiing down the runway, picking up speed.

I understand responsibility, Damien said, his voice taking on a more somber tone. More than most. For a moment, they sat in silence as the plane lifted into the air.

Elena felt a strange mix of terror and something else. A feeling she couldn’t quite name. Look, Damien finally said as the plane leveled off.

We’re going to Paris, whether we like it or not at this point. Once we land, I can have you on the first flight back to wherever you need to go. You do that, Elena asked, surprised by his offer.