Page 32 of Shared By the Pilots

Luke immediately chuckled. “That old bush pilot? I wouldn’t trust anything he says. He was a cropduster in Iowa. Those guys are all nuts. Too many years inhaling pesticides. What specifically did he warn you about?”

“That’s the thing… he wouldn’t really say. He gave me some vague warnings about working with those kinds of clientele.”

“He’s one to talk. Most of his jobs involve flying oil men down into the gulf.”

“That’s pretty much exactly what I said to him,” I replied. “But there’s nothing else I should know about the job, is there?”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know. Anything else that I should be worried about.”

Luke took one of my hands and folded it between two of his massive palms. “Veronica, I’ve been working for Bernie Langston for six months. I haven’t noticed anything suspicious. It’s the easiest money I’ve ever made in my life. For once, it feels good to actuallythrivein my career, rather than just trying to survive.”

I let my other hand slide up his thigh. “Oh, you’re thriving all right.” His cock stirred underneath my fingertips.

“Care to chart another flight plan?” he asked formally. “This time from a different approach angle?”

I gave him an even look. “How many times have you usedthatline on a woman?”

“More than once. Fewer than a hundred.” He pushed me down onto the bed, holding my hands out to the sides. “Is that a no?”

“You are cleared for landing,” I replied.

The two of us giggled like fools, then quickly forgot all about the silly joke.

16

Veronica

Flight attendant work schedules were different than most other jobs. We received our schedules months in advance, which was the only convenient thing about the job since our actual hours were irregular to the point of chaotic. In any given month, my schedule would require me to work early mornings, late nights, weekends, and holidays—especially the latter, since people tended to fly more often around holidays.

Gulf Airlines only had one or two international routes—including a direct flight from Houston to Madrid, which I was working later this month. Most flights were domestic, and short hops at that. But that still meant working twelve or fourteen hour days sometimes.

The other side of the coin was that we had frequent days off. Often this meant we were technically on stand-by, and had to be prepared to fill-in for any other shifts that might open up. But these weren’t as common for us as it was in other airlines, and I had plenty of days with nothing on the schedule and zero chance of that changing.

It was a day like that when I worked my first shift for Excelsior Air, Bernie’s airline. The uniform was simple: black slacks and a white blouse, which I wore with a comfortable pair of black flats. I quickly realized that working for Excelsior was a lot simpler than Gulf Airlines or any other company. There was no desk to run at the gate, dealing with people crowding around to be the first to board a flight. There weren’t unhappy customers rebooking canceled flights and taking their frustration out on the airline staff.

When I arrived at Houston’s private terminal, I almost had toolittleto do. I checked-in at the front desk to verify my flight. Then I walked right out onto the tarmac, where our Gulfstream G650 was waiting, looking sleek and modern with a blue Excelsior Air logo painted on the tail.

I found Luke going through the pre-flight checklist in the cockpit. “Good morning, Captain Hendricks,” I said warmly.

“CaptainDricksen,” he corrected. “And yes, it’s a good morning now that you’re here.”

“Well aren’t you sweet.” I wanted to give him a kiss, but didn’t know if that was a good idea while we were on the job, even with the cabin still empty. “Okay, what do I need to do?”

Luke gave me a quick run-down on how the job worked. The plane was already loaded up with drinks and food. Our passengers didn’t just walk out to the tarmac by themselves; I had to go back into the terminal lounge and get them. The assistant at the desk pointed them out to me: it was a group of eight guys who were flying down to Cancun to golf. It was a quick day trip: fly down, hang out for several hours while they played golf, then fly back that afternoon.

I collected the eight passengers and led them out to the plane, where a ground crew member of the airline took their golf clubs and loaded them into storage. I checked off their names at the door to the aircraft, then served them drinks while we prepared to take off. Even though it was seven in the morning, every passenger ordered a beer or whiskey—and some more than one. After take-off, I served more drinks and passed around a basket of snacks for them to choose from.

We landed in Cancun, taxied to the private terminal, and the men disembarked and collected their golf bags. Me, Luke, and his co-pilot stood inside the cabin and watched them saunter into the terminal, laughing and making jokes as they went.

“What do you think?” Luke asked. “They weren’t too rowdy, were they?”

“It was the easiest flight of my life,” I replied honestly. “They were a little rowdy, but still better than most commercial flights.”

I was kind of in a daze. Most Gulf Airlines flights had at least a hundred passengers, and it was impossible to make everyone happy. I usually ended a flight feeling mentally, physically, and emotionally drained.

But the flight here was a breeze. Serving drinks and snacks took maybe thirty minutes spread out across the length of the flight. I had spent most of the flight sitting in the jump chair by the cockpit, doing a crossword puzzle.

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