AINSLEY

The sudden plummet of the helicopter as it hits a pocket of turbulence had my stomach churning and roiling. You’d think as the only daughter of an oil magnate, I’d be used to them. Newsflash, I wasn’t. Not by a long shot. I spent the majority of my life avoiding these flights, thoroughly convinced I was going to be one of those fatal statistics that randomly crashed out in the Gulf.

The shudder that rattled through the helicopter had me slamming my hands down onto the arm rests and locking into a white-knuckle grip. This was it. It was finally going to happen. I was going to die. I squeezed my eyes shut and bit my lip, holding my breath. I hope my father was pleased with himself for making me do this. As I bounced around in my seat, sweating, I made a mental note to move him up to the number one spot on my ‘People to Haunt’ list.

“Miss Montgomery? Ainsley, are you all right?”

The worry in the voice punched through the gut-wrenching fear of death, and I pried open an eyelid and peered at the man across from me. Steve Jones, the main engineer of the Meridian, eyed me with concern. I grimaced a tight smile.

“Sorry, Steve. I’m fine,” I managed to grit out. It was obvious he didn’t buy my pathetic attempt at lying when he glanced where I maintained my death grip on the armrests. Despite my best efforts, it wasn’t loosening.

He gave me a sympathetic smile. “The trips in and out are always a little choppy here in the Gulf.”

A little choppy? That’s what he considered this? The idea of what he considered threat of fiery death didn’t bear contemplation.

He cleared his throat and reached over into his nylon bag and pulled out a stack of folders. He flipped through them for a moment before he leaned over and handed them to me. “Here. Why don’t you look through these, get familiar with your new crew members before we get there? It’ll keep you distracted for a few minutes at least.”

With a deep breath, I forced my grip to loosen from the seat and held out a shaking hand to take the folders. It was with some surprise I didn’t see finger grooves in the rests from where I’d held on for dear life. Almost dropping the files, they managed to safely land in my lap where I could look through them. Steve was right; I could use something to keep my mind off the fact we could crash at any instant.

I began leafing through the papers—standard personnel files every safety officer was provided: background information on employees, identification photos and all infractions or incidents that affected safety standards. It wasn’t very stimulating reading, but it passed the time. Although, I was surprised and awed at the accomplishments some of the employees listed on the files, and wondered how they’d decided to work far off into the sea, living on a metal island, away from their families. They couldn’t have had the same deal with their fathers. One in particular stood out and I had to do a double take at the murderous glare on his company photo. Some guy named Reed Darcy Anderson did not like getting his pictures taken apparently. Too bad, he could have been good looking.

The next thing I noticed was the Meridian being probably the most safety-conscious rig ever. While there were a few incidents, most were minor oversights. There hadn’t been a major safety violation in over four years. Color me impressed.

I spent the remainder of the flight going over the files, making notes and asking Steve questions about some of the employees. I was determined to prove I could do this job. My father had sent me to work for his company with the full intention of my failing on an epic scale. The understanding was if I couldn’t do this, I’d come home and marry Bradford King III without question, spread my legs and pop out two point five kids, preferably boys.

The kids I could take…on my own damn time. But I wasn’t marrying Brad King. No power on earth would make that happen. I’d already sworn to join a convent before I’d let that man touch me. Just the thought of it had my skin crawling. It wasn’t that Brad was a bad…oh, who the hell was I kidding? He was an asshole–a smarmy, smug, condescending douche nozzle asshole–who expected me to sit at home, have his children and run his social calendar. In short, Brad King was a trust fund baby with no concept of equal rights.

Therefore, I had no choice but to succeed in this position. And since Carlos Martinez never learned his lesson about sexual harassment and not to do it in an executive setting, a brand new spot opened for me to prove myself. I was going to take this opportunity and soar. It was going to be an R. Kelly song level of achievement.

Provided I didn’t crash on the way there.

I had several files remaining when the the helicopter slowed and began making its descent. I looked out the window beside me and saw the brilliant blue of the Gulf of Mexico’s water, topped with white caps as we made our way to the massive oil rig. The Meridian might be one of our older platforms, but it was one of the largest in the Gulf. It rose up out of the water like an iron giant.

Before the helicopter made its way over to the landing site and hovered. A quick glance around showed that everyone was now in the process of gathering their things to get off. I scooped up the files and tossed them into my work bag, frowning at the expensive leather. It was hardly what anyone would take on an oil rig, but the trip had been decided at the last minute. I was violating all sorts of safety regulations wearing my favorite Louboutin’s and skirt suit. I was going to stand out like a sore thumb. My day was definitely not going as I’d planned and I wished for a hard hat and a pair of steel-toed boots.

With a soft bump, the helicopter landed and the next rotation of workers heading back to shore waited to climb on. Everyone stood up and started talking loudly as they began to make their way off the helicopter. The nerves made themselves known once again and my stomach churned. It was time to put up or shut up. I took off the headgear, got up, squared my shoulders, took a deep breath and forced myself to make that walk out onto the platform.

The unexpected brightness of the Gulf sun had me frantically blinking in order to overcome to sudden bout of blindness. The wind whipped my hair around, causing it to catch in my mouth. The blades of the helicopter compounded the chaos with its steady thumping as they rotated around loud. I jumped when Steve reached a hand out to my shoulder to usher me off the open area where we landed. I hurried after him, following him onto the grated walkway that led us across to the main rig.

I took the final step onto the walkway and promptly stumbled to a halt. In confusion, I looked down to see what was keeping me from moving forward and felt my face go up in flames. This wasn’t happening to me right now. I tried to lift my foot and was again met with resistance. Great, wonderful. This was just my luck.

One of my favorite shoes was firmly stuck into the grated walkway. What a fabulous way to make a first impression.