“And this is Lady Ivy,” Patterson continued.
Now, she stepped forward, extending her hand. “Mr. Meyer. Please call me Ivy.”
Up close, she was stunning.
Christ.He looked away, jaw tense.Focus.
But when she spoke, his eyes drifted to her mouth. Full lips moving with that crisp accent. He met her eyes—mistake. Blue as deep water under cloud and completely unimpressed with him. When their hands met, hers was cold, her grip firmer than her frame suggested.
“Ryder is fine.” He released her hand quicker than necessary. “Mayor Patterson mentioned you need transport to the offshore platforms.”
“That’s right,” George rubbed his hands together. “We’re eager to see the operation from the air. Get a proper sense of things. Thank you for taking us on such short notice. The civilian craft we had arranged had mechanical issues.”
Wyatt nodded toward his private chopper. “That’s my Bell 407. Better visibility than a Coast Guard bird. It’s ideal for orientation flights.”
“I thought this was verification of safety protocols and operational standards.” Ivy’s brows lifted. “Not sightseeing.”
“It is.” Ryder folded his arms.
“Good. I just want to make sure we’re hitting all procedural markers.” Her fingers found her collar, straightening what was already straight. “If something’s missed, it could delay permit approvals.”
Great. A micromanager.Probably read a Wikipedia article on helicopter safety during the flight over and now considered herself an expert. He’d seen this before—money masquerading as expertise.
“You’ll get everything you need.” He kept his voice level. “We don’t cut corners.”
Fine lines tightened around her eyes. “I wasn’t suggesting you did. I tend to focus on logistics when I’m nervous.”
Nervous?
But there was a tremor underneath the crisp accent. He pushed the thought away as she continued.
“It’s a habit. From work. Better to over-prepare than assume everything will go smoothly.” She was explaining too much, her spine ramrod straight, her nerves wound tight.
“Ivy.” George’s voice held a gentle warning. “They’re professionals.”
She shot him a look. “I’m aware of that, George.”
Ryder rolled his shoulders against the rising tension. “So. Let’s get you all briefed.”
She nodded her agreement, her attention switching to the helicopter.
“That’s the GX variant, isn’t it?” she asked. “Seats six. Single turbine, maximum range of four hundred and twelve nautical miles. Excellent crosswind stability.” She rattled off the specifications rapid-fire.
Lucky guess.Had to be.
Ryder followed her. Anyone could memorize specs from a brochure. But Wyatt met his gaze, one eyebrow angled, and his brother wasn’t easy to impress.
She walked toward the helicopter without waiting for a reply, heels tapping across the hangar floor. Confidence. That’s all it was. Rich people were good at projecting confidence about things they didn’t understand.
Except then she headed around the nose of the aircraft, her eyes tracking the rotor assembly with focus. Not the casual glance of someone trying to look knowledgeable.
Real assessment.
“Four-blade soft-in-plane rotor system. Conventional tail rotor?”
Okay. That definitely wasn't in any tourist pamphlet.
He folded his arms. Maybe he'd misjudged her?—
