The fixed-base operator she flew out of had three hangars. One for the business front, one for maintenance, and one for plane storage. Services provided at the FBO were the usual located at such regional airports; fuel, charts, maintenance, hangar services, lounges for pilots between flights with TV, WiFi, comfy recliners, and even a private room with a bed if needed.
What made the Sunshine Airport different from most of the other small airports around the country was the altitude and the fact that the airport was situated in a mountainous bowl surrounded by the rough and jagged Bitterroot Mountain peaks. Unique wind and weather patterns created a challenge for all types of aircraft and required special skill and training—which she taught.
“Looking real good today, babe.” This from Joe Montoya, operations manager of Shell Corp., which owned and operated the FBO.
Zoe wore her usual flying uniform—black pants and blazer over a white cami. Nothing special and certainly nothing even remotely va-va-voom, so she gave him a knowing look. “What do you want, Joe?”
“Now that hurts,” he said, clapping a hand to his heart. In his midthirties, he ran a tight ship. This was most likely thanks to his two tours overseas, courtesy of Uncle Sam. The guy could bark orders like a drill sergeant. And the airport wasn’t the only thing that was run tight. Joe was so cheap he squeaked when he walked, and was known for understaffing and then getting everyone to work harder than they should have had to.
So if he was complimenting her on a day when she knew she looked rough, then he most definitely wanted something. She went hands on hips.
He grinned. It was the I’m-irresistible smile from his repertoire of a wide variety of smiles including his two personal favorites: the gotta-have-me-now and you’re-going-to-do-this-for-me-cuz-I’m-cute.
Long immune from five years of working together, she arched a brow.
“Tough crowd this morning,” he said. “You forget your Wheaties?”
“Spit it out, Joe. I’ve got a lot to do today.”
“All right, all right. I need a little favor, that’s all. I need you to go out with me.”
She stared at him. “What?”
“Yeah,” he said, and grimaced. “My sisters signed me up for this stupid online dating service. Have you ever tried one of those?” He lowered his voice. “Those chicks are scary as shit. But then my sisters got my mom and grandma in on it, so I lied and said I didn’t need a dating service because I already had a date for Friday night. So now, I need you to go out with me.”
“Why me?” she asked.
“Because you’re looking for dates, right?” At the look on her face, his smile widened. “Yeah,” he said. “Word’s going around that you want to be set up. So I’m setting us up.”
This was all her own fault.
“I’ll pick you up at six,” Joe said.
“No way.”
“Oh come on, I’ll even splurge for dinner,” he said. “Fair warning, they’re going to spy on us, I can guarantee that, so all you need to do is look like you’re really into me.”
She blew out a sigh. “For how long?”
“An hour tops.”
“And you’re buying dinner?” she asked dubiously. “You never buy anything.”
“This will be worth the price. And after, you can dump me if you’re not having a good time. But I gotta warn ya . . .” He flashed a trouble-filled grin. “You’re going to have a good time. You like steak?” he asked. “Most women like steak, right? The bar and grill does steak. I’ll even do the whole bring-you-flowers bit, whatever you want, just please do this for me.”
“So this is a pretend date, right?” she asked.
“Well, I’d rather it be a real date but I’ll take what I can get. You’re a hard one to catch.”
This caught her off guard, which after the morning she’d had was really saying something. “What does that mean?” she asked.
“It means you wear a sign on your forehead that says back the fuck off.” Joe laughed a little. “Don’t get me wrong, I like it. You’re tough as hell, babe, and it’s good for business. It’s just hard to get inside you. And I don’t mean it in a dirty way—well, unless you want me to,” he said with a brow waggle. “So . . . whaddaya say?”