“Well, no shit. I figured that out this morning when I had a very awkward conversation with her about you. Her number is still listed on your contact sheet. For fuck’s sake, Roth, she was two seconds away from crying. I was on a Goddamn landline and had to fake static just to get off the phone with her.”
If it hadn’t been for the idea of her crying, I would have laughed. Instead, my stomach wrenched with guilt.
“I’m sorry.”
“You should be. But you should be more sorry for ducking my calls because your ass is hungover.”
My back shot ramrod straight. “Uh…”
“Anyway, good news is I don’t need you to fly today. Bad news is you’re fired.”
My entire body tensed. “What? No! Jackson, wait—”
“Sorry, son. I lost a client this morning. As much as you know I’d like to, I can’t afford to keep you anymore.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose as my head pounded almost as loud as my heart. This morning had just gotten a hell of a lot worse. Just what I fucking needed.
“Come on, man. Is Craig back? Why don’t you let me fill in for him for a while? I can’t afford to be unemployed right now.”
I heard him chuckle. “You want to know what client I lost?”
Not really. I mainly wanted to hear the part that ended with me still being able to pay my mortgage without cashing a mutual fund out.
He didn’t wait for me to answer. “Henry Alexander.”
Oh, fuck. Suddenly, getting fired made a whole lot more sense. I was the last one to fly him. And, despite how he’d acted toward me on the flight back, he wasn’t happy at all with Jackson’s replacing Craig with me. Not to mention that the fuel pump on his plane hadn’t passed maintenance inspection the following morning. Something that had absolutely nothing to do with me, but Henry had implied I’d broken his plane.
I stumbled back a few steps until my ass found one of my barstools. “Did you tell him that a pilot can’t fucking break a fuel pump?”
“I sure did. I also told him you were one of the best pilots I’d ever had the pleasure of working with and that it was going to be a great loss to me to let you go.”
Story of my fucking life. When the hell did the best become not good enough?
“Right.” I mumbled. “Thanks.”
“You should be thanking me. I also told him I pay you three times what I really do and that you are worth every penny. You start next week.”
“I’m sorry. I start what?”
“Personal pilot for Henry Alexander. Full time. Salaried. One-year contract. He asked for you specifically. The money’s some of the best I’ve seen.”
I jumped to my feet. “No fucking way.”
“Now, don’t get cockier than you already are. I’ll still be overseeing flight plans and maintenance for your aircraft. But he’ll be signing your paychecks now.”
I wasn’t sure how I felt about this new job Jackson had clearly already accepted on my behalf. It worried me that I’d heard Henry only flew a few times a year. I couldn’t imagine why he needed a personal pilot. However, Jackson had said three times my current salary. And, if my calculations were correct, that would be doubled again considering I’d be full fucking time.
I was vaguely aware of Scott coming back into the room, but my mind was still counting dollar bills. Making a career as a pilot was a labor of love. The jobs were few and far between, and job security was almost laughable. But I loved flying. I’d take it any way I could. Especially the way where I was well paid, contracted for a year, and captain on my own private aircraft.
Yeah. I’d especially take it like that.
Hope roared through my veins. Maybe this was it. The opportunity I’d been praying for. This could be my in in the business. Even if Henry only kept me for a year, I was sure I could get a nice recommendation and move on to some other celebrity with more money than sense. Adding Henry Alexander’s personal pilot to my résumé definitely couldn’t hurt.
“Please tell me you aren’t kidding here,” I breathed.
Jackson laughed. “No joke, kid. You deserve this. But hey, considering you informed me earlier that we aren’t sorority sisters, I’ll let you go giggle with your girlfriends. But you need to get your ass up here. I have new paperwork for you to sign.”
And just like that, he hung up, leaving me in state of shock with the phone still secured to my ear, too afraid to pull it away.
Scott nudged my knee.
I lifted my dazed eyes and found him fully dressed and watching me with concern. Water from the shower still dripped from his short hair.
“You okay, man?” he asked.
Adrenaline surged through me.
Was I okay?
I had a job. A real fucking honest-to-God job—after almost a year of busting my ass to keep my head above water. Leaving the Air Force hadn’t been an easy decision for me. But, as an officer, I’d spent entirely too many hours behind a desk. I wanted to wake up every morning, crawl into the confines of a cockpit, and leave it all behind. I was free from the weight of the world up there. In complete control no matter how out of control my life felt on the ground.
“Evan?” Scott once again tried to catch my attention.
I was lost in thought of what I prayed was my new reality.
Flying.