CHAPTER TWELVE
Tom
I knew we shouldn’t have done the interview with the new girl. There was no need. Joanie had been gone only a couple hours. Hell, maybe she’d stepped out to grab a bagel, who knew?
But Helena had already booked the interview, and it was too late to cancel.
“Naw,” I grunted into the phone. “No need to send a new girl over.”
But the woman had been insistent.
“I think you’ll like Crystal,” she pushed. “She’s just your type.”
And what could we do? The texts we sent to Crystal’s number telling her not to come went unanswered. Likely, her cell was dead or lost. A lot of these girls are so flighty they have no idea where their phone is most times.
So when the knock came on the door, I shot a warning glare at my brothers.
“Keep it real,” I said sotto voce. “We’ll get her out of here in fifteen.”
And the woman who showed up was okay. Helena was right in some respects. We liked her body for sure. Massive Double D tits swung and beckoned. Wide hips curved sassily, begging to be touched.
But the blonde was nothing compared to Joanie. There wasn’t an ounce of sweetness in those blue eyes. Instead, they were canny like a fox, sizing me up in a flash.
“Oh hi,” she cooed. “I’m here for the job with Elite Air.”
And without waiting to be invited, Crystal waltzed inside wearing pink velour sweats that were about two sizes too small, with the word “Hot” emblazoned in rhinestones on the back. Ugly, if you asked me. I much preferred Joanie’s modest yet simple way of dressing. This girl was brassy and flashy by comparison, her hair a too-bleached blonde, ironed straight to look like Paris Hilton.
But fine. Let’s just get this over with. And perching herself sassily on the couch, the blonde introduced herself to my brothers.
“I’m Crystal,” she purred. “But you can call me Crys if you want. Whatever you like boys,” she cooed flirtatiously, tossing a fall of that straw-like hair over her shoulder. “Any time you want,” the girl added lasciviously.
Gross. We like our females to know their place, and clearly Crys didn’t know hers at all. She was so cocksure and confident, used to having men kneel in her presence.
But we weren’t like that. Number one, we’re the kings. We don’t kneel to anyone. And second, there was no job to fill. This was an informational interview at most. Not even that. It was just fifteen minutes of air time to fill, and then she’d be gone.
So we made chitchat about nothing, revealing the barest facts about Elite Air.
“So how many jets do you have?” she smiled acquisitively, almost licking her lips. “Two? Three? Or maybe six? There are six of you,” she grinned.
In fact, we did have six jets. But no need to tell the truth.
“Just one,” rumbled Damien, eyes shuttered. “It’s enough for all of us.”
“Oh,” pouted Crystal, lip sticking out. “I thought there might be one for each billionaire.”
We exchanged looks. Who told her we were billionaires?
“Naw, Helena’s got you thinking we’re Donald Trump,” Charlie said smoothly. “We’re nowhere near that level. Rich enough to share some flight time, sure, but our plane’s mortgaged to the hilt. In fact, Andrew, did you make that last payment?”
His twin slapped his head like a silly schoolboy.
“Oh my god, forgot,” Andrew huffed, rolling his eyes. Shit, my man’s acting was so over the top that I almost laughed. But my lips stayed in a frown, body motionless. No need to give the farce away.
“Is it too late?” Aaron chimed in, fumbling for his cell. “Maybe I can call the bank and get our deadline extended. But we were already late last month,” he said with a mock frown. “I don’t think they’ll be so nice again.”
That did it. The overall impression was that we were guys living above our means. We were rich, sure, but just medium rich. Not the kind of billionaire that you hope to meet as a stewardess for a charter airline. More in the category of the well-to-do dentist from Iowa.
So Crystal’s lips turned into a sneer.
“There’s a mortgage on your plane?” she asked disbelievingly.
“Oh sure,” stepped in Tom. “Absolutely. We bought that thing with a big loan from the bank, no other way we could afford it.”
That sealed the deal with Crystal.
“Thank you,” she said abruptly, standing with those rhinestones winking. “I have another job lined up actually. I forgot to tell you.”
We feigned mock confusion.
“A competing offer?” I said quickly. “We’ll match it. You’re perfect for a position with Elite.”
“How much is your other offer for?” asked Andrew worriedly. “Because maybe we can’t afford it,” he said, shooting a meaningful look my way.
Shit, these twins were hilarious. Fucking incredible. They should be actors with the way they were carrying on.
But it didn’t matter. The blonde was already stalking towards the door, purpose in her movements.
“Thanks so much,” she called over one shoulder. “I’ll just let myself out.”
And with a swish of that imperious ponytail, she was gone.
We waited until the elevator door dinged before bursting into raucous laughter.
“What the fuck?” was Nick’s crude comment.
“Shit,” repeated Charlie. “Shit got screwed.”
But it was more than that.
“She was the right shape,” I growled. “Helena knows what we like physically. But that girl was nothing like Joanie. Nothing at all.”
“Speaking of which, where is Miss Chickadee?” drawled Andrew, looking around like he could find her somewhere. “What’d she get up to?”
I shrugged.
“Should be back soon,” was my confident reply. “Probably just stepped out for coffee.”
Aaron glanced at his watch.
“Been a while,” he growled, eyes getting intense. “What the fuck, how long could coffee take? Isn’t there a bodega on every corner in this city?”
I shrugged again.
“Starbucks has lines that go for miles these days,” was my casual reply. “Something about fall flavors and red cups instead of white.”
“Are you shitting me?” interrupted Nick. “Seriously, is this what we’re talking about? Pumpkin spice and all that bullshit?”
I shrugged.
“Marketing is my thing. If you knew how much Starbucks spends researching their holiday offerings, you’d be astounded.”
Because it was true. Whatever people say about their coffee, Starbucks is a marketing genius. They’ve taken over the coffee industry and prevented newer, cooler upstarts from making headway. So geniuses all around.
But Nick had a point. It was ten thirty now, and there are bodegas all over the neighborhood. Joanie should have been back by now.
“Shit, what if she doesn’t come back?” rumbled Damien, eyes concerned. “Did you guys fuck up big time yesterday?”
The twins and Nick exchanged a glance that was frankly, a little guilty.
“Naw,” Aaron denied. “Nothing that serious.”
“What happened again?” asked Charlie, squinting his eyes. “Seriously, what the fuck went down?”
And they launched into an explanation once more. How Joanie was supposed to be on her way to Atlanta to meet the twins, but Nick kept her here. The twins, enraged, flew up to NYC, confronting the balpha. And there was a blow-out. A massive blow-out that had the girl in tears and apologizing, even though it wasn’t her fault.
“We’ll fix it when Joanie’s back,” I assured them smoothly. “It’s fine. People fight. There’s six of us, and it’s expected.”
“But the girl didn’t appreciate being in the middle of it,” rumbled Andrew reflectively, eyes on the horizon. “Not at all.”
I snorted.
“Did you fuckers think about that before you scared the shit out of our female?” was my growl. “Seriously assholes. Did you have to do that in front of her face?”
The twins and Nick shared another guilty glance.
“Yeah, we fucked up,” admitted Aaron. “Goddamit.”
But Andrew’s hackles went up then.
“We’ll discuss it when Joanie gets back,” he said huffily, making eye contact with us all. “We’ll have a real conversation then and get it sorted out,” he shrugged. “No worries.”
Because that’s why we were here. The dust-up had been serious enough that me, Damien and Charlie took red eyes into the city. Among the six of us, we had to figure out how to share the female because the old methods hadn’t worked so well. Joanie was our one and only … and we had to let her know.