Page 9 of Final Approach

“It was lovely.” I pursed my lips and waited for the inevitable request. “But if you’re calling, I can assume you’d like it to be over?”

How I missed my seniority. When I switched carriers two years ago, I’d lost my footing in the company rank, dropping to Junior Flight Attendant once again. Standby shifts with rubbish schedules kept me from getting into trouble, but I’d intended to enjoy the rest of my limited time with Bianca.

“Sorry, Nikki,” came the canned reply, though she didn’t sound apologetic in the least. “You don’t have to take it, but it's a turnaround to Mexico City, and the overtime pay will be doubled. Small flight—you’ll be the only cabin crew.”

Anticipation rippled through me at the prospect of a new adventure; I hadn't flown to Mexico City for over a year. Maybe I could find enough time to hit up La Santa, get laid by a pair of fraternal twins, and drink my weight in tequila before I was forced to get back on a plane to South America.

No, that was the old me. New Nikki was going to be the responsible, post-breakup mate who did not drink to forget.

Was I really considering this?

I eyed Bianca, who stared curiously across the small bistro table. “Who’s the pilot?”

“Amelia West and Jameson Adams. You’re in excellent hands.”

Marley.

The image of the beautiful woman came to mind — an exact replica of the voluptuous goddesses in 14th-Century paintings my father pretended he could afford — with sun-bronzed skin and full lips designed by God himself for kissing and fucking.

A hell of a pilot, and any man with a heartbeat and two cells in their brain would snatch her up without thought. We were friends. Good friends. Though we hadn’t flown together in an age, with nothing on the schedule in the last few months.

I thought back to the last time I’d seen her, at the previous year’s holiday party where I’d swindled a single dance and discovered the painful fact my brilliant pilot had all the grace of a rhinoceros in stilettos.

Besides, micro-dosing this reconnection with Bianca was probably best. Today was lovely, best not to ruin it with an accidental trip down memory lane tomorrow or the next day.

“Okay,” I announced, my decision made. “I’ll be there.”

Shoving my phone into my pocket, I turned toward my expectant sister. “Looks like I’m being called in. I’m so sorry.”

I reached across the table and clasped my sister’s hands in mine, guilt warring in my gut at the genuine disappointment in her frown. Wild horses wouldn’t drag it out of me I’d opted to leave.

“I’ve had an incredible day with you, Bianca. Don’t think I haven’t for a second. This is a quick turnaround, and I’ll be back in two days. I have a friend who would love to spend tomorrow with you, if you’d like the companionship? He loves British women, and he’s an excellent time,” I wiggled my eyebrows suggestively. “When I get back, we can finish your trip off with a bang, I promise.”

My sister delicately sniffed, adding to my discomfort. Who would have thought we’d enjoy each other’s company to this level? I’d barely thought about Timothy all day.

Eventually, she nodded and forced a smile before raising her hand from mine to summon the server for another drink. “He’d better be handsome,” she mused, daggered eyebrows raising in challenge.

“If you think Henry Cavill is handsome, this man is an Adonis,” I promised. To my relief, she giggled.

I tore into my taco with renewed gusto, anticipation replacing the guilt deep in my belly. Lady Luck was shining upon me, and I certainly would not reject this new fortune. When it came to Captain Marley West …

Well, I’d waltz through the jungle in bare feet if it meant she would give me another one of those horrid dances again.

18 hours before takeoff …

“Your pitch is very inclusive, senhor Park. You’re sure your company can accommodate our needs?”

Sweat, oily and warm, slicked the insides of my suit jacket as I sat on the unconditioned patio of their chosen restaurant, drowning in the thick, humid air while my Brazilian counterparts looked drier than the California desert.

Jesus, it was hot.

Searching for some saliva to coat my equally dry mouth, I forced a confident smile. Nothing could fuck up this deal. Nothing.

“Ravi, you know we can.”

Leaning forward, I hoped like hell the stupid cream-colored fabric wasn’t showing off the waterfalls under my arms. “I didn’t fly 6000 miles to sell you a product you can’t use. Our technology is going to completely change how you do business. It’s not a promise, it’s a guarantee, which is why I wanted to come down myself. Who better to show you its value than the owner of the company?”

The $40,000 watch my father chastised me for buying when he’d retired flashed in the afternoon sun, catching the eyes of the two men seated across from me.