A woman three rows back peeked over the top of her seat, her eyes fixed on the bundle of pink flannel in Henry’s arms. He shifted Nora to his other shoulder, but the movement only made her wail louder, her small legs kicking against his ribs.
“Just look at the numbers, Henry,” he whispered to himself, his voice lost under the din.
The projected acquisition cost was fourteen million six hundred thousand dollars, a figure he had negotiated himself over three grueling weeks in Boston. Now, the words on the screen seemed like a foreign language, and the heat in the cabin was rising.
He closed the laptop with a soft click, realizing the document would have to wait until they reached Swiss airspace. He needed to change her diaper before the cabin lights went down for the transatlantic crossing.
He scooped up the heavy canvas diaper bag with his left hand, balancing Nora against his chest with his right, and stood up.
The first class lavatory was a narrow metal box that smelled faintly of lavender soap and blue chemical disinfectant. Henry backed into the tiny space, his shoulder bumping the soap dispenser and sending a thick dollop of white foam onto his sleeve.
