Page 32 of The Billionaire and the Nanny: Part 2

Bailey

I’m standing on a tarmac.About to get on a small jet plane—aG7.

Had Zayden told me ahead of time that he’d be taking me on a plane ride, I would’ve locked myself in Olivia’s room, handcuffed myself to her crib. When I said I wanted him to take me on dates, I meant like The Cheesecake Factory or a Mets game. I didn’t think we’d board a private jet piloted by Zayden Hawthorn himself and fly over the Hudson River Valley.

“Since when do you know how to fly?” I follow him up the aluminum steps. Toward impending doom. I’m going to die today. It was nice knowing everyone.

“I didn’t think I should open a private jet rental business without actually knowing how tofly.”

“Make sense.” I swallow hard, my stomach twisting with anxiety.

He leads me into the cockpit where he turns on a few switches. “I’ve had a license for eight years now, Bailey. You can relax.” The panel has a bunch of controls, buttons, levers, switches, and my stomach starts to hurt. Seatbelts too, which strikes me as funny, because if the plane goes down, I’m not sure how the seatbelt is supposed to help. “Come on, let me show you theback.”

He leads me out of the cockpit and into the fuselage. “Holy hell, it’s the Ritz Carlton in plane form.” My eyeballs nearly fall out. There’s leather seats, coffee tables, sinks, sofas, flowers in a vase, and… “Is that champagne?”

“Yes, it is. Would you like some?” He begins unwrapping the bottle and uncorks it like a pro. I cover my ears and shriek like a total girl, as he pours champagne into a glass that probably costs more than my old laptop.

I sip it, enjoying the tickly bubbles under my nose. I’m grateful that Zayden isn’t having any himself, considering he’s going to be piloting this hunk of metal through the air. “Is this a typical plane you rent out in your business?” I don’t know anything about planes, but this one is gorgeous—sleek and sexy. If I was a famous rock star and I was late to my concert in LA, I’d want someone to take me there in thisbaby.

“Yes, we have G6s and G7s, and some bigger planes for larger groups. Did you want to lounge back here for a while or come with me where the action happens?” he asks. “In the cockpit, Imean.”

My eyes widen evenmore.

“Do you want to watch me pilot?” he clarifies once and for all. “Come on, dirty girl.” He squeezes my waist, wrapping his arms around me, and kisses my cheek. His warm breath so near my ear makes me wish someone else were piloting so we could fool around in the back and join the Mile HighClub.

But considering I nearly accused him of using me only for sex last night, it makes sense that today he’s focused on showing me around. I’m grateful for it, and by the time we sit, put our headsets on, and Zayden says all the things he’s supposed to say to the air traffic controllers to get him ready for takeoff, I’m no longer mad athim.

I’m inawe.

Seeing him outside of the home, in control of this aircraft, really changes things. I’ve been living inside of a bubble for two months now, and sometimes I forget that Zayden has a life outside that bubble. In his nice shirt, jeans, wearing that sexy watch and pushing all those buttons, he’s a man in charge. My life is in his hands.

His hand reaches over and rests on my knee. “Bailey…it’s okay. You’re safe withme.”

I nod. “Iknow.”

Finally, it’s take-off, and the engines scream, revving up that potential energy you feel right before you race down the runway on a commercial flight. My nerves are in my throat. I’ve never liked flying, but I have to push out of my comfort zone and try new things. How many people can say that their boyfriends fly a private jet? Not many. Every so often, I steal glances at Zayden, so handsome and sexy, hands on the controls, eyes vigilant as he controls the aircraft.

Is he my boyfriend?

The status still isn’t clear, but at least we’re out together.

We soar over the countryside and Hudson River, the hum of the engines a steady ambient white noise. He switches between talking to the air traffic controllers and talking to me, and he tells me when we can speak to each other through the headsets.

“So?” heasks.

“It’s amazing. Really amazing. Look at all those houses. Those cars look like littleants.”

He nods. “You know my favorite part?” he asks, like a child with a glint in his eyes. “Going through the clouds. It blows my mind every time, that we’re that high up, close enough to touchthem.”

“Please don’t touch them,” I say, gripping the armrests. “Please keep your hands on the steering wheel.”

“On the control wheel,” he corrects. “Here, see this? This is the altitude indicator. And this, these are the navigation controls. This is your radar, this is the throttle, and these are the rudder/brake pedals.”

“What’s this?” I point to a panel in the middle displaying a bunch of graph lines.

“That shows you how hot you think I am. See how the needle keeps going up?” He gives me a slight arrogant smirk. “Damn, slow down, Bailey, or you’re going to start melting.”

“Ah, thanks for clarifying. I thought that was your bullshit meter,” I say with a straight face. “Watch out. It’s going off the charts!”

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