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Of course he has a radio voice. The kind that probably tells pilots exactly where to go while making them grateful for the privilege of being told. I bet he’s arrogant as crap.

“Did you summon him?” I ask Rick.

“No.”

“I’m here for a meeting,” Christopher says.

“Then go to your meeting.” I tell him.

Rick coughs again.

Christopher’s eyes stay on mine. “I will.”

“Great.” I say with a nod of approval and a slight turn of my body to dismiss him.

His eyes stay on mine and he doesn’t move. “But you’re still not flying.”

I stare at him. “You understand that you are not my instructor.”

“Yes.”

“You’re not my boss.” I add for good measure. Maybe I want him as my boss. Wait just a second here, brain. What are you even thinking?

“Yes.”

“And yet you keep telling me what to do.”

“Yes.” No apology in it whatsoever. Something about the lack of one almost makes me laugh. Almost.

Instead, I say, “Is this an air traffic control thing? Do you just walk around ordering strangers onto vectors?”

“When they’re making bad decisions near aircraft, sometimes.” He says with a shrug. There’s nothing apologetic about this damn man.

“I am making an excellent decision.” I reassure him.

“No.”

I look at Rick. “Can you remove him from the server?”

Christopher’s eyebrow lifts. “The what?”

“The server.”

Rick is openly grinning now. “You’re on your own.”

Betrayal. Absolute betrayal, and I will be composing a strongly worded letter to management.

Christopher folds his arms. That makes his forearms more noticeable. Which I resent, deeply, on principle. No one should have forearms that well defined and a face that beautiful. It’s unfair. Really.

“You compete professionally,” he says.

I blink. “What?”

“Gaming.”

Now I really stare at him. “You know who I am?”

“I’ve heard your instructor talk about your schedule.”