The pilots glance in my direction as I step through the curtain that separates the two main chambers of the jet. The co-pilot, Mike, reddens faintly as he forces his eyes forward again. The other, Taylor, seems unaffected, focusing his attention on the controls required to keep us in the air. I can’t help but notice that their peaceful banter ceased as soon as I stepped through the curtain, and I manage a smile as I stare out ahead of us.

“I’ve never flown to another country before. Russia, of all places,” I sigh happily. Taylor nods his acknowledgement, but doesn’t address me any further. Mike seems to be considering me with an amused expression, and self-consciousness creeps up on me before I can try to stifle it.

“I’m sorry if you’re uncomfortable,” I stammer out. Mike barks out a laugh, only serving to make me even less comfortable.

“Don’t worry about it, kid. Really,” Taylor says with a faint smirk. “You get used to that sort of thing, working this job,” he adds, seemingly as an afterthought.

“Being a pilot?” I offer, and the two share a look.

“Yeah, sure. Just any old pilot,” Mike says sarcastically without elaborating. I breathe a sigh before sinking into the seat in the back of the cockpit. “Shouldn’t you be with Mr. Sharpe?” Mike prompts, and I shrug my shoulders a bit hesitantly.

“He’s a heavy sleeper. He tried to insist I get some rest before we get to Russia; he said there would be very little time for rest once we arrive,” I murmur.

Mike scoffs, and Taylor shoots him an icy look.

“Is there something I’m missing here?” I ask coolly, growing annoyed at how secretive the men are acting. Taylor speaks before Mike can even think of an answer.

“You’re not missing anything, hon. Just go get some rest. We’ve just seen our share of…situations, flying this jet for Mr. Sharpe,” he says brusquely.

I narrow my eyes at him, and Mike seems to shrink away from my stare. Taylor remains cool, almost ice-cold in the face of my agitation. “We’ve got a long flight ahead of us, anyway. There’s no sense in you hanging out in here with us,” he says dismissively. I can’t get past the feeling that these two men think I’m little more than a silly girl.

“I’m not tired. I’m excited. It’s not every day your boss asks you to accompany him on such a prestigious trip,” I snap. Mike snorts, and even Taylor can’t help but chuckle softly. “You two are acting extremely suspicious. I get the idea that you’re hiding something from me. Just come out with it already,” I hiss.

Mike parts his lips to speak, but Taylor shoots him a scathing look.

“Mr. Sharpe’s business in his own. It doesn’t serve us to go around discussing his personal matters,” Taylor says simply.

I resist the desire to roll my eyes at the men; there’s something more to this story, I’m sure of it. I rest a hand on Mike’s shoulder, going for the softer of the two. He stiffens beneath my touch, shooting me a wary look.

“If Carson is keeping me in the dark about something, don’t I deserve to know? I’m sure the two of you are well aware that my relationship with Mr. Sharpe isn’t strictly professional in nature. I’m not like his previous assistants. Carson and I…share a bond,” I declare.

At my announcement, Taylor laughs abruptly and Mike offers me a sympathetic look.

“That’s the thing, Miss…” he trails off, looking more uncomfortable by the minute.

“Rhodes,” I supply, gesturing for him to go on.

He hesitates, looking to his co-pilot for some assurance. Taylor simply ignores the two of us altogether, eyes fixed straight ahead. It’s obvious that he’s washed his hands of this encounter, though I can’t begin to imagine what must have them acting so secretive.

“Miss Rhodes, right. The thing of it is…you’re not going to like what I’m about to tell you. I could lose my job over this. You really ought to go back to the cabin and catch a nap like Mr. Sharpe suggested,” he begins carefully, trying to steer the conversation off track.

“Come on, Mike. You can talk to me. I won’t let the conversation get back to Carson. It’s just between the three of us,” I urge, smiling in the most charming manner that I can muster.

Mike hesitates for a long moment. It’s obvious that this secret is a juicy one—at least, in the eyes of a pilot. I can only imagine what the real root of their secrecy is. I almost expect him to try to lead me astray with some made-up secret that I can neither confirm nor deny.

“You’re not the first assistant that Mr. Sharpe has whisked away like this,” Taylor says abruptly, and Mike seems to choke on whatever gentler version of the statement he intended to offer.

I raise a brow, looking towards the other pilot with disbelief. It’s been obvious from the start that this Taylor guy didn’t particularly care for me, though I can’t imagine why. Is this a lie, intended to throw me off my game? Is there something about me that’s offensive to the man’s senses?

“Surely you must be joking, or exaggerating,” I say nervously, glancing towards Mike. He’s staring towards the other pilot with a plaintive expression; this is clearly not the direction he wanted the conversation to go in.

“Every year or so, Mr. Sharpe selects a woman under his employment to entertain him beyond the workplace. Under the guise of keeping them as a personal aide, he lures them on extravagant trips to catch them in his snare. You’re one of many, kid,” Taylor continues, paying little word to my obvious distress.

My heart begins to pound in my chest, and I try to think of some way to prove him wrong.

Carson has clearly felt a connection with me from the start, hasn’t he? He didn’t bring me into the first meeting with the intent of selecting me as some sort of addition to his line of conquests. He hadn’t even known I would be at the meeting…had he? Has this entire situation been a facade, some elaborate act to take me as his own?

Furiously shaking off the thought, I try to tell myself that I’m just being paranoid. The men in the cockpit have fallen silent, and while I’m sure they care very little about whether or not I believe them, I tell them anyway.

“So Carson is just using me. That’s what you’re saying, isn’t it? That’s what this all boils down to?” I spit venomously. It’s more of a confirmation than a question, but the two men simply nod.

Mike, at least, has the decency to look as if he feels bad for me. Taylor, on the other hand, seems entirely unimpressed—as if this were a conversation he’d taken part in a dozen times already.

“Personally, I think there’s always a chance that Carson will settle down once he finds the right woman. It’s really only a matter of time, and hey! Who knows, his special someone might be right under his nose,” Mike says in an attempt to be cheerful, but I narrow my eyes upon him at the same time as Taylor.

“Don’t patronize her. Sharpe’s not paying us to keep his dirty secrets, and he’s not paying us nearly enough to comfort every heartbroken girl that steps into the cockpit,” Taylor growls sourly. Mike frowns, focusing his attention on the controls in front of him again.

“He’s right. I appreciate the thought, Mike, but Carson isn’t going to suddenly change for me, of all people. I have nothing to offer that the dozens before me haven’t had,” I manage weakly.

I wrap my arms around myself, inhaling a shuddering breath before turning my back on the pilots. They remain silent even as I step through the curtain, and I feel more foolish than ever.

To make matters worse, Carson had been so insistent that I allow the men to hear my desperate cries of pleasure. Yeah, desperate was right. Desperate for something that’s so obviously out of my reach, I had ignored common sense in favor of it. I know I should plan to have a long talk with Carson when I slip back into the seat beside him. However, I’m reluctant to throw either of the pilots under the bus, even with as callous as Taylor had been towards me.

It just seems so…unnecessary. I like to think Carson could have been upfront with me about his true feelings, and perhaps I wouldn’t be hurting so much now. It makes sense, though. He’s the sort of billionaire playboy who only cares about himself. I wish I could say he’s different, but every man boils down to the same formula, at base level. All he cares about is eating, screwing, and sleeping.

Speaking of, he’s gotten two of those immediately upon boarding the jet with me. I watch his sleeping form with disdain, my heart aching at how fondly I had considered him what seemed only moments ago. Strange how much things can change in so short a space of time.

I watch his face, tracing my eyes along the well-sculpted features. He looks so peaceful in his sleep, so sweet, that I can barely stand the thought of being cold towards him. I try to ignore the voice in my head that insists it’s my fault. I should have known better. It’s not as if a man like him would see anything of value in a simple woman like me.

Just as well, I’m not about to let him under my skirt again, knowing where those hands have been. I don’t know how I’m going to explain the abrupt shift in my attitude, but the nice assistant who had been so eager to play is no more. I imagine he’ll be cold, seeing little use in me without the appeal of my body. Perhaps he’ll send me home ahead of schedule. Or maybe, just maybe…

Maybe Mike was right. Perhaps Carson just needs to meet the right woman. Maybe I’m the one who will change his outlook, the one he can’t look into his future and see himself without.

Realizing that I’m just fooling myself, I exhale a bitter chuckle. I slouch in my seat, chills going through my body. Carson hadn’t been as kind to explain where the spare blankets are, and apparently is doing just fine without one. Then again, he has the satisfaction of a plan well executed to keep him warm. All I have is my misery and disappointment to keep me company.

Shivers run through my body as I turn away from him, an unbidden tear streaking down my cheek. Get it together. He’s just a fling. It’s not as if I had expected to find my happily-ever-after with someone like Carson Sharpe. At least, that’s what I tell myself as I stare out the window of the jet.

The clouds look like fluffy piles of cotton candy, sweet and delicate. The jet rips through them, not caring what effect it might have on the skies around it. I suppose it’s fitting. The perfect metaphor to describe the owner of said jet and the women he’d torn asunder.

I squeeze my eyes shut against the thoughts, trying to tune out the sound of the engines. Moreover, I try to ignore the gentle lull of Carson’s snoring—an obnoxious, but strangely comforting sound that a lesser woman would find herself falling for.

Allowing everything to slip away, I drift into a fitful sleep.