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“Still a ‘no’.” Callie wouldn’t be used. She’d already been screwed in the last year. Once was enough.
Meg walked to her desk in the rented hangar and jabbed at her computer monitor’s power button. “I told them no, Captain Laurel.”
“Thank you for doing your job.” Callie slipped onto her chair. The olive green, faux-leather desk furniture had come with the space, complete with an infused scent of jet fuel and oil. She lived for that comforting aroma. She’d spent her teen years with her father, mostly in the air, crossing the country for his job as the CEO of his dream business, which was now sold-off and broken up.
Meg gasped. Her gaze locked on her phone screen. “Holy crap!”
“What?” Callie asked, ignoring her friend’s flair for the dramatic and assembling the one pile of a few papers into a perfectly symmetrical stack.
“He’s quadrupled his offer,” Meg clarified with heavy emphasis on the “quadrupled”.
He?
Callie had imagined larger corporations and firms in Denver using their services. A private citizen would be unusual. She replayed what Meg said, and it hit her … quadrupled? The price they charged was commensurate with other charter companies, and occasionally negotiations took place, but rarely for more money … usually only less. Besides, another company had to be available at the going rate. Why the need for her company? She refused to be involved in anything shady, and an increase like that screamed “under the table and outside of the law”. Do nothing to jeopardize the company had been a principal tenet from day one.
“Tell him no.”
Meg huffed. “If you want to throw this opportunity away, then you tell him.”
“What did you just say?”
Meg inhaled a long breath. Her ability to go from zero to bitch was well known. Callie didn’t like it, and she didn’t put up with the disrespect either.
“I mean, Captain Laurel, please, reconsider. This will basically pay for the next three months’ overhead, even if we don’t get another sale. Please, take a minute and think about the opportunity we are offered in this extremely profitable and timely request.”
Callie didn’t like Meg’s attitude but rocked back in her chair, taking a moment to slow down her thoughts. “Who is it?”
Meg bit the inside of her lip and mumbled, “I don’t want to say.”
Callie walked to her friend’s desk, lifted the phone, and flicked the screen back to the application information.
Trent Quinlan?
Callie’s heart sped a little faster, but she stopped the tide of emotion from sweeping her logical side away. She hadn’t seen his name in months. What the hell was he doing in Denver?
After dropping the phone back on the desk, she walked away but spun back around when her curiosity had gotten the best of her. “Where are they going from and to?”
Meg tried to stop her lips from smiling, but they peaked. “Omaha, Nebraska to Mexico—Monterrey, round-trip, there and back in a day. No muss, no fuss.”
That made more sense. He’d never move from Omaha with his family’s law practice there. The Quinlans were like Omaha royalty, if there was such a thing. There wasn’t, but the family played the part well anyway.
Monterrey? She opened her phone. DOS had it as a “high-threat” location for crime in general, but low-threat for terrorism or terroristic groups against Americans. The information made her question why he needed to go, but it didn’t matter. Trent would need to find another company.
“It’s a hard ‘no’, Meg. You know why, so just drop it.” Callie walked away.
She wouldn’t be part of illicit activities, but there were more important things to consider before flight location. Trent. Cheating was a hard non-forgivable in her life, even if he’d begged to be her friend or have this trip happen. Neither was in her best interest.
Her phone rang in her jacket pocket, and Callie pulled it out.
Even though his contact picture was now just a standard human cut-out of white on a grey circle, she recognized the number immediately. He was now as important in her life as a telemarketer. She hit the “decline” button. Her hand tingled with the vibrations of another call seconds later.
She pushed the “Accept” button. “It’s no, Trent. And I don’t want to discuss it.”
“It’s not for me, Callie. It’s for my fiancée’s sick brother.” He rushed the words quickly.
She didn’t know if the whooshing chill through her body was happiness that he’d said, “fiancée,” or regret for hearing the word “fiancée,” or maybe it was just from hearing his voice again. She caught the feeling and stopped the stream of emotions before they eddied rapidly through her body.
“I’d suggest contacting Weston Air or Flight-Now to find a pilot and plane. Have a good day, Tr?—”
