Page 1 of On the Fly
Chapter 1
Wednesday afternoon
Ander came to a sudden stop on the jet bridge, the plane’s cabin looming before him. The air crew’s welcoming grins turned to confused stares as he stood there. He couldn’t make himself move. Ander cringed. Stepping inside the plane allowed the shackles of family obligation to twist around his soul, tightening with each mile until they landed in California. No part of him wanted anything to do with his father’s business affairs. He had no respect for his father’s choices, and as a self-made man, he didn’t need to be part of the family business, so how had he been roped into this mess?
You know the answer, bonehead. He couldn’t deny the strong reasons he’d agreed to temporarily return to his childhood home to fix his father’s mess.
His younger siblings ranked high on that list. They all had lives of their own, but they wanted to save the family-owned airline. And while they’d agreed to partner with him, their track record showed he’d be on his own once the allure wore off for them. He’d be big brother stepping up to fix things and they’d leave him to it. Ander almost groaned out loud at that thought. Screw that. He’d not take responsibility for the outcome of the airline without them having their butts right there with him. If they flaked, he was out. Simple as that.
He had the network and skills to dismantle the company, piece by piece, if necessary. It might come to that anyway. Unless they could get over the hurdle of the airline’s limited cash flow.
Ander made his own cash and lived by the dollars he earned. He was a strategist in business, not a risk taker like his father had turned out to be. Just one of the many ways he and his father differed. The books told the story. His old man had accumulated a massive amount of debt these last few years. If the airline could be saved—and that was a colossalif—it would take everything Ander had, emotionally and financially. And, he doubted that would even be enough. Ander had built his career on fixing businesses, making them profitable again, but anytime he considered the plight of Rora Airlines, he envisioned sinking ships. No, not the obvious crash and burn analogy, because he didn’t want to put that into the world when he was literally moments away from stepping onto this plane. If he could make his feet move.
Yes, he could ignore his father’s last will and testament—the one leaving the privately-owned family business to his wife and kids. If Ander could convince them all to sell the airline before the debt vultures circled, they’d potentially make millions, and he’d sever his last tie to the old man and could go on about his life. Clearly, the win-win answer.
But then his mother had called. Ander sighed again. In truth, that was the biggest reason he’d agreed to any of this. Three days ago, she’d called and asked—no, begged—him to salvage the small airline that had always had the potential to do great things.
“You good, Mr. Jorgensen?” A young male flight attendant interrupted his thoughts.
He rarely traveled, but his status as family, and now a new CEO, of the airline came with perks such as early boarding. But Mr. Jorgensen was his father, not him. With the correction on the tip of his tongue, Ander stepped onto the plane. The shackles of this decision wrapped around his soul like a weighted ball and chain, instantly locking him into an unwanted place. The emotion of it all held his tongue from the rebuff.
“We were sorry to hear about your father,” an attractive female flight attendant said. Ander gave a mental eye roll at that description. He’d need another way to distinguish them because the whole air crew was a pretty bunch. As far as he could tell, his father hired based on looks, not skill, which was no doubt a personal preference. As a business move, it had led to an overall 2.9 satisfaction rating from their customers. Ander glanced at each one, then ignored them, turning down the aisle to a currently empty airplane, searching for his seat.
“Sir, first class is this way.”
“They didn’t have an open seat,” Ander said absently, finding his row and seat in the business premium section. He fished around in his carry-on’s side pocket, extracting his headphones before shoving the small bag inside the overhead bin and taking his seat.
“Is there anything I can get you before we board the other passengers?”
Ander glanced up at the ample cleavage heaving his way and big brown eyes staring down at him.
“Treat me like you treat everyone else.”
She nodded then smiled. “I’ll take that as a no. Welcome aboard, sir.”
He didn’t like thesireither, but he recognized his irritation was more with himself for caving to his family than with the aircrew and kept his mouth shut. Ander buckled himself in and put the headphones over his ears, hoping that would be enough to keep him from having to talk to anyone else for the four-hour flight.
~~~
I don’t want to do this. I don’t. I don’t.
Emma Chadwick scanned the rows of the passenger-filled plane, continuing to chant to herself, her pulse beating hard in her ears. The little voice in her head kept her attention diverted from the panic already brewing in her chest. She didn’t need her ticket to spot her seat—the only vacant seat remaining—but her anxiety had her fisting the boarding pass tighter. Flying standby, she’d been lucky to get a seat on this heavily booked route, but at least, by the grace of the heavens, she’d been assigned a premium section. Not that her roomier chair would alleviate any of her anxiety, but the extra room to breathe couldn’t hurt matters any. The guy in the seat next to hers had his eyes closed and headphones on, not paying attention to anyone.
“You need to take your seat, miss. We’re readying for takeoff.”
Emma jerked around at the flight attendant’s words and the soft touch to her shoulder. She almost rolled her eyes at herself. All her manic crazy fear of flying had her edgy and jittery. The panic had to be showing on her face. The attendant gave her a sympathetic smile and prompted her into action again, guiding her toward her row.
“Anything going inside the overhead bin?”
Emma looked down at the purse she clutched against her chest and shook her head. “Is that D-5?”
“Yes.”
Overhead instructions drowned out anything more she might have said to delay the inevitable. Emma took a deep breath, centered herself, then bent over and touched the guy’s arm. His eyelids flew open, a piercing crystal blue gaze landed on her—not in a good or helpful way, more of a why are you bothering me sort of way.
“That’s my seat.” She pointed to the open seat next to him.
“Yeah?” he said, as if it weren’t obvious that he needed to rise to let her by. She hesitated, waiting for him to figure it out. His face wrinkled before a hint of a whispered disgusted sigh escaped his lips. Then he sat straighter and drew his long legs together and to the side. The miniscule space he’d created allowed her to shimmy past.Jerk.
