Page 1 of Come Fly with Me

One

Taylor

I’m late.

This never happens to me, and right now I’m losing it because of my new first officer.

“Oh my god,” I mutter to myself as I once again pace the narrow corridor just outside the pilots’ lounge, wrapping my hand around the back of my neck. I’ve been waiting in the lounge for over an hour and growing more and more annoyed as the minutes tick past. I like to arrive early to decompress before my flights, but there’s no decompressing going on at all.

We’re about to have a serious conversation when he gets here. This is not the kind of thing Crescent Airways represents, and while I’ve had my fair share of incidents, this will not be one of them.

I glance down at my watch, and as I look up, the doors to the lounge slide open and in walks a man who would normally be able to bring me to my knees. But I’ve changed, and that kind of shit is left for the newbies.

He’s tall and tanned, and even with his uniform on, you can tell he has the type of body that’s made for women. His eyes are the most striking shade of green, and they take me in as he nonchalantly strolls up, like he’s about to blow right past me.

My brain finally has a second to catch up and remind me that this is the guy I’ve been waiting for.

I point my newly manicured finger at him as he walks straight for me now, my heart racing in my chest, which is a totally foreign feeling for me. I don’t get this way in the company of men. I’m Taylor Patterson, queen of casual when it comes to guys. When it comes to my job, I’m anything but.

“I’m late because of you,” I hiss, and he stops in his tracks. His beautiful emerald green eyes start at my legs and trail up my body, lingering for a second too long on my breasts, before he moves to my face.

My hands are on my hips, my legs wide as I prepare myself for this showdown because it’s going to be anything but civil.

“Are you talking to me?” he asks, and I catch a hint of an accent hanging in his words.

“Yeah, De Niro, I’m talking to you.” His arrogance shouldn’t astound me, but for some reason, it does. His flippant attitude and laid-back look are even more bothersome considering I take my job very seriously. His dark brown hair is slicked back, longer on the top and buzzed short on the sides. He’s wearing a five o’clock shadow that used to be frowned upon back in the day, but things have grown a little more lax around here.

In three quick strides, he’s standing directly in front of me, a smirk on his face that, like his body, screams he’s made for women. He smells of salty sea air, and for a split second, I contemplate closing my eyes to bask in him. If he smells this good standing just mere inches from me, I can only imagine what he’d smell like with his body wrapped around mine.

But no. I’m his superior, and that is never going to happen.

“No, I’m not,” he instantly argues, and I wrinkle up my nose in disgust. He is late, and now he’s arguing with me. This isn’t off to the best start, and I’m not one to back down.

“Yes, you are. I’ve been waiting here for you, and you’re just casually strolling up here like I’m supposed to thank you for finally showing up.”

“I was in the bathroom,” he quips back, a snip to his tone that makes me want to argue with him even more. “You know, too much coffee. Nature calls.” He shrugs now, then hits me with a wink as if I didn’t grasp that he was trying to tell me he was taking a shit.

“You’re disgusting and acting like a child.”

“You’re beautiful.”

I let out a perturbed huff of air, but my stomach gives a quick flutter at his words, making me huff again. I brush off his last comment, not bothering to dignify it with a response.

“Tell me you’ve notified scheduling of your arrival at least?”

“Yep, no worries. I’ve got things under control, Taylor.”

Bullshit.

The only thing he has under control is the woman he just crawled out from under, I’m sure.

“It’s Captain Taylor Patterson,” I correct.

Being in this role has caused me to have to defend my title more times than I can count. This is a male-dominated occupation and being the only female captain means I’m rarely taken seriously.

“Sure thing, Captain,” he quips back and there’s nothing funny about his smart-ass response. He’s starting to get under my skin, and if I can’t get myself under control, this fourteen-and-a-half-hour flight to Sydney is going to be really brutal.

I whip around, just outside the doors to the main lounge, my finger jabbing right into his chest. “Listen, I’m paid less than you. Men far outnumber me, with there being only a whopping seven percent of us women in the industry. I experience sexual harassment and mockery on a fairly regular basis, right now being a prime example. And I’ve had to literally beg on my hands and knees for a two percent raise. Something I’m sure you’re given by just walking into a room.”

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