Page 30 of Angel In Armani

“Why isn’t it fixed?”

“Because the insurance company is dicking me around,” she snapped. “And I don’t have the money to hire a team of lawyers or whatever it takes to speed up insurance companies these days.”

“I see. Okay. We’ll deal with that in a moment. But you haven’t answered my first question. Do you want the job?”

“You haven’t told me what the job is.”

“Helicopter pilot for the New York Saints,” he said. “You know I own one-third of the Saints, yes?”

She nodded as her brain tilted and spun a little. Piloting for the Saints—baseball team or not—sounded a lot better than working a reception desk for Ron Harris.

“I believe someone might have mentioned that,” she said. No way was she confessing to Internet-stalk—er—researching him.

“Good. Anyway. We need to someone to ferry people around. Here in New York and in Florida.”

Florida? She hadn’t expected that. “What’s in Florida?”

“Spring training,” he said. “February to April, the teams go to states where it’s warm and not snowing and we try out players and start getting ready for the season. Play games, shuffle things around, get everyone fit again. Half the teams go to Arizona and half to Florida.”

Florida. Sunshine. Warmth. Oranges. Disney World. Alligators. That was about all she knew about the state. She’d never been there. She looked past Lucas at the gray sky outside. It had rained earlier and snowed last night so there was nothing but freezing gray slush on the ground. That made sunshine and warmth seem pretty tempting. As did the man standing before her. “And the Saints go to Florida.”

“Yes.”

“And why do you have to go?”

“Like I said, we’re trying out new players. The guys I bought the team with—well, Alex is good with money and Mal is more the security guy. Because I’m the doctor, I get to deal with the players.”

“You pick the players?”

He half shrugged and shook his head. “That’s mostly up to the coaching team. But if they’re not sure they’ll ask me my opinion. And it’s good for me to know what the players can do and work with the coaches on how they’re being trained. After all, I’d rather that none of them end up in my operating room.”

“Baseball players get injured?” She asked the question and then realized what a dumb thing it was to ask. Her mental image of baseball involved a lot of guys standing around a field not doing much that was dangerous, but that wasn’t the reality. “Sorry, stupid question.”

“Lots of minor scrapes and bruises and sprains,” Lucas said. “Playing so many games in a season is hard on their bodies. But in terms of serious injuries, well, shoulders and arms mostly. Pitchers get those. And batters. And then of course people fall when they’re running bases or fielding, et cetera, and screw up knees and legs.”

“Well, your team will be lucky, you can fix them.”

“That’s the plan. But it doesn’t always work. An injury can end a career.” He hitched his shoulder again—the right one—and grimaced.

Thinking about athletes he hadn’t been able to fix or something else? “So you’re down there supervising. How does that work with you being a surgeon up here?”

“It means I don’t get a lot of sleep and I’m going to clock up a lot of frequent flier miles over the next few months. All year, really. I want to see as many games as I can, though my partners can share that load during the actual season. Florida isn’t so bad. It’s only a two-and-a-half-hour flight to Orlando. And it’s the same time zone as New York. So no jet lag. But I’m currently commuting between New York and Florida at least twice a week.”

“That’s a lot of travel.”

“Yes, and I’m looking to cut down on the time it eats up. And Alex and Mal—those are my partners—need some transportation, too.”

“So you want a full-time pilot?” It was nearly the perfect solution to her problems. Of course, it was only nearly perfect because she’d had sex with Lucas. And just looking at him had certain parts of her voting to do that again. Which absolutely could not happen. Because he was offering her a job.

“Yes.”

She gestured at the office around her. “I kind of have this.”

Lucas nodded. “Yes, but your helicopter is out of commission, so I imagine this”—he echoed her gesture—“is just costing you money at this point.”

“That’s none of your business.”

“Yes it is. I’m offering you work.” He looked around the office, and Sara suddenly saw it through his eyes. She did her best to keep things tidy, neatness having been drilled into her by first her mother and then her army training, but there was no hiding the fact that it had been a while since they’d painted the walls or gotten new carpet.

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