Page 13 of Star Prince

Think fast,he told himself. He forced an expression of serene calm to his face, a skill he had learned from Rom. “Now that you bring it up, how do I know you’re really a pilot?”

Clasping his hands behind his back, as if he were a seasoned space veteran with decades of space travel under his belt instead of an Earth guy four years out of Arizona State, he walked in a circle around her...

Slowly...

…forcing her to turn in order to follow his deliberate and thorough inspection.

“For all I know, you’re just another good-for-nothing space drifter,” he said, “lying your way aboard my ship for the chance at a hot meal and a clean bunk.”

That threw her. Her mouth worked, but nothing came out.

“Or a thief,” he went on, “waiting until my crewand I are asleep tonight to steal us blind—”

“I’m a pilot! My wings were in that speeder.”

“Which is?”

“Gone,” she replied glumly, wobbling on her feet.

“My point exactly. I have no proof you’re who you claim you are, other than what you’ve told me. You feel the same about me, obviously.” He stopped, facing her. Warily, she watched him. “I need a pilot and you need a job. We have no choice but to trust each other. But if that isn’t going to be a possibility, Tee, let me know now, because it’s the only way this is going to work.” That, and her staying sober.

She peered at the row of shops and sleazy bars. Doubt saturated her features. Then she shifted her attention to him, artlessly examining him from his hair to his boots and back again. In her eyes sparked a glimmer of wonder—the look she had given him when they had first met.

He tamped down on the unexpected rush of pleasure he found in that gaze. “So,” he prompted, “what will it be?”

Weaving slightly, she stowed her pistol. “It appears I shall trust you, Earth-dweller.”

“Good. And just so there’s no misunderstanding about my personal life”—he caught her by the arm, bringing his mouth close to one perfectly formed little ear— “when I want sex, I don’t have to buy it.”

Her eyes widened, and then she blushed deeper than before. He had meant the statement as fact, notas a boast, but her irresistible reaction left him in no hurry to explain.

“Now let’s go.” Ian took Tee by the elbow and pulled her along the road leading to where the ship was docked. Harsh sunlight glinted off the tiny beads of sweat on her golden skin, illuminating her angelic face. Unexpectedly, something inside him softened.

But then she hit him with another demand. “What about my money?” she asked.

“It’s in your left pants pocket. I paid the bartender—left him the bottle, though. The last thing I need is whiskey on board, with your partiality to the stuff—”

Her boot heels skidded to a halt on the gravel.

He ground his teeth together. “Now what?”

“I mean my salary.” She screwed up her face, trying hard to focus on him. “I’m a starpilot. I require starpilot wages.”

“You’re an intersystem cargo pilot. There’s a difference.” Yet she had made it all the way to Blunder from wherever she came from; it proved that her skills went beyond short planet-to-planet cargo runs.

Ian thought of what he had paid Carn and raised it ten credits. Mostly out of desperation—and with the fervent hope that this newest stick-monkey would last more than a few weeks. “Sixty each standard week. Plus, benefits. Room, board, medical—”

“Two hundred credits.”

“I’m not paying you two hundred a week!”

Her eyes snapped in challenge from within the shadow of the cap half hiding that...hairdo. “Do you need a pilot or not?”

“Do you need a ship or not?”

She didn’t flinch. “I’ll agree to one-fifty.”

“One hundred.” He supposed he was nuts to risk losing what appeared to be a qualified pilot over the question of a few credits, but if he didn’t act from a position of strength from the beginning, as captain he would never squeeze a worthwhile day’s work out of this drunk. “Take it or leave it.”

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