Page 28 of Angel In Armani

“That could take a while.”

“I’m working on it,” she said defensively.

Her dad nodded. “I know you are. But darlin’, if we need to close, then this would be money in the meantime.”

Money. Money they needed.

And it wasn’t like pilot jobs were a dime a dozen. There were plenty of pilots—more than ever thanks to the war—and she knew all too well that given a choice between a guy and a woman, 95 percent of the charter companies would pick the guy. It was a boys’ club in all too many ways and her trump card—her dad, who formerly could’ve opened those doors for her—was persona non grata. A jinx. Pilots could be a superstitious bunch, and none of them would want to catch a dose of the current Charles bad luck.

Which left her with the option of going out and doing something completely mind numbing like temping—she at least could claim some office skills on her résumé—or setting her sights a bit lower and taking any job with a charter company that she could with the hope that luck would swing her way and at some point they’d need a fill-in pilot and she’d be right there on the spot.

Or maybe the insurance gods would suddenly smile on her and decide to cough up the money to fix the A-Star.

Both options seemed equally remote. But here was Ron Harris with his offer and her dad looking wretched about it. Blaming himself for their current predicament, probably. Or blaming her.

She stared down at her plate a moment, willing the urge to scream a protest at the sky away before she either gave in to it or burst into tears.

Working reception for Ron and Evan. It was a job, no matter how much it might stick in her craw to watch Evan swan past her and jump into a helo—she could fly the pants off him any day. A job. Money. Survival.

But she couldn’t quite say yes. Not yet. “Let me think about it, Dad, okay? Just for a couple of days.”

Chapter Seven

“Die, you little bastard,” Sara muttered as she shoved down on the hole punch and pierced the last of the day’s bills with a satisfying chomp.

She tugged the paper free, wriggled it into place in the binder, clipped the rings closed, and shoved the whole thing back into place on the shelf next to her in-tray. Another day conquered, and there was still some money in the bank.

Some. Not that much. And there was that job offer staring her in the face. A job. Cash. Something to keep them going. The offer she’d been avoiding giving an answer on for nearly two days now.

A job with no flying.

She pushed away the nasty little thought, her gaze straying to where the A-Star sat in its hangar, rotor still broken. Sadly no magic helicopter repair fairies had appeared to get her out of this jam. She looked away, setting her jaw. Getting the helo trucked up from the Hamptons had been another expense she couldn’t afford, but she couldn’t leave it sitting out in the open at the Jaceks’ airfield. Where anything else could happen. She rubbed her temples, trying to think. Just a few more days. Surely the insurance company would get things in motion by then?

If she just kept on them. Kept nagging. Or begging.

Hell, she’d get down on her knees if it meant not having to work with Evan Harris. She really didn’t know what she’d seen in him, except she’d been young and foolish and Evan had been one of the few guys her age who hung around the airfields as much as she did.

She really didn’t want to be reminded of her past every day of the week. See him smirking past her as he got to fly and she sat in reception taking bookings. He would love that.

He’d never been slow to gloat, Evan.

If only the flow of bills could slow down until she could pry the money out of the insurance company.

They had to slow down.

She pushed her chair back, finger poised over the OFF button of the computer, and then the bell over the office door chimed.

“We’re closed,” she sang out as she swiveled in her chair. “I’m sorry?—”

The words died on her lips as she saw who was standing there.

Lucas freaking Angelo.

The suit was black this time and the shirt a pristine icy white. The tie was black, too, with only a few small dark-red diamonds breaking up the silken darkness. Against all that black and white, his eyes were very blue.

Lucas freaking goddamned Angelo.

Her chest suddenly felt like it had been stomped on, her mind a blur of kiss-night-hands-touch images that ended in oh-God-I-kind-of-stole-his-car, which was almost enough to cool the rush of heat warming her skin. Almost.

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