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“And you’re going to work for him,” he retorted.
“This was never my dream and you know it,” I said.
“You wouldn’t have this job if you hadn’t hooked up with his daughter.”
I didn’t bother to correct him for how he saw my relationship with her. He saw things his own way. Besides, explaining what happened between us couldn’t be done in the short time I had before takeoff.
I gritted my teeth and instead gave him the short version. “We’re friends.”
She’d become a little too clingy even after I’d made it clear where we stood. Still, she’d offered to get me the interview.
“Whatever. Get James to New York,” he commanded.
While I should have hung up, curiosity made me ask. “Who is she to him?”
She being Jolie.
“Does it matter? He paid for the trip.”
Disgust filled me as I realized she was likely his mistress. What some women did for money. I shook my head. “I have to go.”
The tower was radioing me. I hung up and settled in. The first seven minutes of the flight were always a rush. It was one of the most adrenaline pushing times. Most planes that failed did so at takeoff or landing.
I pushed the leggy brunette from my thoughts. She was a stunner, especially in that red see-through number with a swimsuit underneath. The spiky flesh-colored heels with matching red bottoms made her legs appear like they went on for days. It was like she walked off the beach and decided to go to New York where a massive snowstorm was on the way. I shouldn’t care she wasn’t dressed for the weather. Likely whoever picked her up would have a wardrobe waiting for her.
As I taxied to the runway, I cleared my thoughts. Though my dick wasn’t in agreement. It had risen to the occasion imagining her straddling me on this very seat and showing me just how grateful she was that I was taking her to see Grandma.
Picturing a little gray-haired woman was all it took for me to get my thoughts on track as I lined up on the runway.
“Alfa Romeo Tango Zulu. You are cleared for takeoff,” came through my headset.
And so it began. I pushed up on the throttle. The speed increased, as did my excitement, and what I loved about flying began.
When I hit our cruising altitude, I flipped the switch so I could speak to my passenger.
“You are now free to move about the cabin. When seated, please keep your seat belt fastened for any unexpected turbulence.”
I smiled at myself, wondering if that’s what I’d say when I captained my first flight for Skyland Airlines in a Boeing 787 or an Airbus A330.
The plane I flew now was fine and allowed me to fly solo under the exemption granted by the FAA based on my current pilot rating. But my dream was always bigger than private jets.
I’d wanted to laugh in her face at her comment that I was young. She had no idea how long I’d been flying. I’d flown small aircrafts with my father since I was a kid, sitting in the co-pilot’s seat as Dad taught me to fly. Of course, I hadn’t actually flown in the role of captain or alone until I was legally old enough to do so.
Thinking about her reminded me of my duties. I turned on the autopilot and unstrapped myself before getting up. This might be my last private flight for a long time if I could help it, I didn’t want my father’s business to go under. It was best to make nice to the client, or rather his well-taken care of mistress, as the man in question was according to the headlines happily married for over thirty years.
I opened the door and came to a sudden stop. Jolie’s back was to me and her well-shaped ass was high in the air as she bent to shrug jeans on. Instantly, I was hard whether I wanted to be or not.
She stilled about the same time I did, probably having heard the door open. Very slowly, she stood as much as she could with the low ceiling. Gone was the red number that had a hood, reminding me of the classic Little Red Riding Hood outfit. She continued pulling up her jeans to cover that toned ass before turning to face me.
A red single-piece swimsuit that barely contained her generous breasts greeted me before she zipped up curve-clinging jeans.
“Are you just going to stare?” she asked, aiming dagger-filled eyes at me.
“You can’t wear that and expect a guy not to look.”
“Are you slut-shaming me?”
“No,” I said. “But you didn’t wear that and expect not to be noticed.”
