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He marched over and snagged it from the floor. “Let me take care of that,” he said with a mocking smile and false cheer.
He walked it over to a small closet located near the door and tossed it in all while watching me.
I would have apologized if not for his complete arrogance. He assumed he knew me and probably wouldn’t care if I told him the truth. I didn’t bother, just rolled my eyes, wanting this flight to be over as soon as possible.
“I should probably go over the safety rules, but my guess is you know the drill. This is a Cessna Citation V. There is the exit there.” He pointed at the door I’d entered. “The rest I’m sure you’re familiar with. Stay seated and buckled unless I tell you otherwise.”
His eyes slid down my body, which wasn’t exactly hidden underneath the dress, which doubled as a coverall for the swimsuit I wore.
I should have been put off, but fire burned a path of his perusal of my body to where it stopped at the juncture between my legs after coming back from the length of my legs.
“I hope you brought something else to wear,” he said, a sneer on his face.
And that broke the spell.
“Don’t worry about what I’m wearing,” I said, chin lifted high.
“I’m not.”
He spun around, although a bit awkwardly, as he was hunched so his head didn’t bump the ceiling.
I couldn’t help the snicker that escaped me. He stilled but didn’t turn. A second later, he closed himself into the cockpit, leaving me alone.
Forget about him, Jolie, I told myself.Remember what happened the last time you fell for a pilot.
Cal Cline had broken my heart into a thousand pieces and I would be damned if I let that happen again. Besides, this asshole had no interest in me. Not really. He liked what he saw. That much was obvious. But like all the other men—those who constantly hit on me and thought of me as some sort of slut—he didn’t really know me at all.
2
Grant
Rich girls thoughtthey owned the world. I was looking forward to the day I didn’t fly another one on a spur-of-the-moment trip.
This one claimed to be going to see her grandmother. More than likely she needed more money to shop or travel or cement her claim on some inheritance. Whatever this was, this was the last time no matter how much my father begged me.
Monday wouldn’t come soon enough. My dream of flying the friendly skies on a Boeing 787 were coming.
My phone rang. I pressed the speaker. “Dad.”
“Is she on board?” he asked.
“You realize I’m not supposed to be talking on the phone.”
“But you are. You haven’t left yet.”
“No. Waiting on clearance, which could happen at any moment.”
“So she’s on board?”
“Yes. Jolie James is stowed in the back.”
“Good. Get her to New York.”
“You realize I might not make it. If that storm gains momentum—”
“Get her there. We need this client.”
“Dad, you need him. I’m done after this. We’ve talked about it. Besides, he owns a fleet of airlines. He’s never going to use you outside of the odd job.”
