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“What did you say your name was?” he rumbled again.
“I’m Joanie,” I choked out on a strangled breath. But it came out sounding like Jo-Joanie, so I tried again.
“I’m Joanie,” I repeated again with a professional smile. “Joanie MacAllister at your service.”
The alpha flashed a white smile then.
“Well, Joanie, how long have you been working for Elite?”
I blushed. Had I done something wrong? Did he sense that I was a newbie?
“Actually,” I murmured, cheeks pink. “This is my first day. So if I did something wrong, sir, please let me know. I just got out of flight school.”
One black eyebrow raised.
“Flight school, hmmm?” he pondered. “I didn’t know there was such a thing.”
I blushed again.
“It’s not flight school for pilots,” were my fumbling words. “Not like Top Gun or anything like that. It’s flight school for stewardesses, folks like me who want to be air attendants.”
Those blue eyes gleamed my way.
“And what did you learn?” he asked smoothly. “What did they teach you?”
I blushed. Why was Mr. Dawson asking me all these questions? It was so awkward, the air growing steamy and hot as the billionaire took me in. Did they have the fan circulating in this place?
Because there was something in that gaze.
Something hungry.
Filled with secrets.
And the man gestured for me to sit across from him then.
“Oh no, I shouldn’t,” came my demurral. “The seats are for passengers only.”
But Mr. Dawson merely raised his brows again. And mesmerized, my plump form slowly lowered itself into the white leather chair. Oh wow. This thing was like a cloud, soft and cushiony while still providing support. I could fall asleep here.
But not with Damien Dawson looking at me like that. The alpha quirked an eyebrow again.
“So what did they teach you?” he asked in that smooth growl. “What did you learn?”
I blushed.
“Well, they taught me about emergency landings,” I said slowly. “How to inflate the life vest. How to direct panicked passengers to the nearest exit, that kind of thing.”
He nodded thoughtfully, steepling his hands.
“What else?” that low voice rumbled.
I fumbled. This was weird. Really weird. But I had no choice but to go with it. Maybe they evaluated all the new girls this way, doing a pop quiz to test our knowledge.
“They taught us how to lay out silverware,” I said slowly. “The knives facing inwards, bread on the left, and drinks on the right.”
The billionaire nodded thoughtfully.
“Getting closer,” came that smooth drawl. “And what else? What else relating to silverware?”
