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But we weren’t like that. Number one, we’re the kings. We don’t kneel to anyone. And second, there was no job to fill. This was an informational interview at most. Not even that. It was just fifteen minutes of air time to fill, and then she’d be gone.
So we made chitchat about nothing, revealing the barest facts about Elite Air.
“So how many jets do you have?” she smiled acquisitively, almost licking her lips. “Two? Three? Or maybe six? There are six of you,” she grinned.
In fact, we did have six jets. But no need to tell the truth.
“Just one,” rumbled Damien, eyes shuttered. “It’s enough for all of us.”
“Oh,” pouted Crystal, lip sticking out. “I thought there might be one for each billionaire.”
We exchanged looks. Who told her we were billionaires?
“Naw, Helena’s got you thinking we’re Donald Trump,” Charlie said smoothly. “We’re nowhere near that level. Rich enough to share some flight time, sure, but our plane’s mortgaged to the hilt. In fact, Andrew, did you make that last payment?”
His twin slapped his head like a silly schoolboy.
“Oh my god, forgot,” Andrew huffed, rolling his eyes. Shit, my man’s acting was so over the top that I almost laughed. But my lips stayed in a frown, body motionless. No need to give the farce away.
“Is it too late?” Aaron chimed in, fumbling for his cell. “Maybe I can call the bank and get our deadline extended. But we were already late last month,” he said with a mock frown. “I don’t think they’ll be so nice again.”
That did it. The overall impression was that we were guys living above our means. We were rich, sure, but just medium rich. Not the kind of billionaire that you hope to meet as a stewardess for a charter airline. More in the category of the well-to-do dentist from Iowa.
So Crystal’s lips turned into a sneer.
“There’s a mortgage on your plane?” she asked disbelievingly.
“Oh sure,” stepped in Tom. “Absolutely. We bought that thing with a big loan from the bank, no other way we could afford it.”
That sealed the deal with Crystal.
“Thank you,” she said abruptly, standing with those rhinestones winking. “I have another job lined up actually. I forgot to tell you.”
We feigned mock confusion.
“A competing offer?” I said quickly. “We’ll match it. You’re perfect for a position with Elite.”
“How much is your other offer for?” asked Andrew worriedly. “Because maybe we can’t afford it,” he said, shooting a meaningful look my way.
Shit, these twins were hilarious. Fucking incredible. They should be actors with the way they were carrying on.
But it didn’t matter. The blonde was already stalking towards the door, purpose in her movements.
“Thanks so much,” she called over one shoulder. “I’ll just let myself out.”
And with a swish of that imperious ponytail, she was gone.
We waited until the elevator door dinged before bursting into raucous laughter.
“What the fuck?” was Nick’s crude comment.
“Shit,” repeated Charlie. “Shit got screwed.”
But it was more than that.
“She was the right shape,” I growled. “Helena knows what we like physically. But that girl was nothing like Joanie. Nothing at all.”
“Speaking of which, where is Miss Chickadee?” drawled Andrew, looking around like he could find her somewhere. “What’d she get up to?”
