Page 36 of Fly Boy
“Yes, Captain,” he replies, then takes off down the stairs as Colin reaches the bottom.
I turn the corner and find Mr. Cartwright on his feet, engulfing his daughter in a hug and trapping her arms by her sides.
“Pippa,” he gushes, squeezing her to his chest. She awkwardly lifts a hand and pats his arm until he lets her go but keeps a grip on her bicep.
“Dad? What are you doing here?”
“Nancy and I decided to fly out and bring you home.” He gestures to his wife and Phillipa’s stepmom, smiling at them from her seat.
Phillipa shrugs out of his hold. “Okay. But why?”
“I read the report, honey.” His eyes soften sympathetically as he glances at me and then back to his daughter.
“What report?” she asks, confused.
“Wyatt’s report following the bad weather last Sunday.”
She whirls around, her gaze accusing as she locks eyes with me. “You mentioned me in your report?”
I grimace, a pang of guilt surfacing like I somehow betrayed her confidence by relaying her vulnerability during the flight. But before I can explain further, Mr. Cartwright answers, oblivious to the tension seeping from Phillipa.
“Of course he did. He needs to inform me of everything that happens in a flight, and my baby girl being almost catatonic is definitely something I should be told about.”
“Dad.”Her jaw clenches as her cheeks flare bright red. “I was fine.”
“Pippa, don’t lie to me. It’s okay if you were afraid.” Stepping toward her, he brushes a lock of hair behind her ear. She bristles, clearly hating the attention, but he continues. “You take after your mother with more than just her love of skating. She hated flying, too…” he pauses, chuckling as he glances back at Nancy. “Honestly, the slightest bit of movement and she’d be clutching onto my arm like the whole thing was going down.”
“I don’t hate flying,” she says emphatically.
Nancy smiles warmly, shaking her head at her husband. “Charlie, I think you’re embarrassing the poor girl.”
“And I was not scared,” she repeats. A vein in Phillipa’s forehead pulses as she glares at her father, the color on her face traveling down to her neck. “It had been a long week at the rink. I was tired from another weekend of training. Anyone would have acted the same way.”
“I know, I know. You’re right, but I wanted to come all the same and fly home with you myself,” her father says, draping an arm around her, pulling her into the side of his body, and kissing the top of her head. “Besides, I agree with Wyatt’s assessment outlined in his report and until we get the Phenom reviewed by an engineer, you’ll use this plane.”
She screws up her face. “An engineer? Why? Nothing major happened. It was a bit of weather.”
“Be that as it may, I still agree with him.” Phillipa’s gray eyes narrow on mine like she can see straight through my lie. The plane’s fine. There’s no reason it would be unsafe.
It’s more my thoughts when we’re alone that are the issue.
“So, Liam will be flying me with Wyatt, too?” she asks, her tone clipped. “And what if you need to go somewhere? Wasn’t this the whole point of having two aircrafts?”
“It was, but Alistair is in desperate need of a vacation, so while he’s off, Liam will be paired up with Wyatt to fly you, and if I need the plane…” He shrugs, itching his chin in thought. “We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it. But until the Phenom gets a clean bill of health, I want my little girl to feel safe when she’s in the air.”
“But Idofeel safe already,” she says indignantly.
Something about the way she says that makes my skin prickle. The buttoned collar around my neck feels too tight, the air in the cabin thinning, even with us still on the ground.
Mr. Cartwright waves her off, walking toward the table where several documents are scattered. “But since we’re talking about it, I think I might buy a new plane to replace the Phenom.”
My ears perk up, and the four greatest words in the English language make my pulse spike:Buy a new plane. My mind whirls with ideas. The Phenom is, and always will be, my baby, a sort of sentimentality I get with the first plane I fly for a new boss, but the booklets Mr. Cartwright is rummaging through are making my blood pump. Hard.
I try not to watch as Phillipa reaches up to put her bag in the overhead lockers, keeping my gaze fixated on the pamphlets, knowing all too well how the soft, silken skin that undoubtedly peeks out from under the hem of her sweater feels under my hands.
“So, let me ask you, Wyatt…” Mr. Cartwright brandishes a glossy booklet in front of him. Gesturing around, he asks, “What do you think of the Gulfstream?”
“Flies like a dream, sir,” I answer without a second thought.
