I get shivers as I run my hand along her soft, smooth curves. She’s beautiful. Sexy even. And she’s my new home.

The Bombardier Global 8000.

It’s the private jet of the eccentric billionaire and my new boss, Marvin Gladstone. I wonder if she has a name. Do rich people name their planes?

I run my hand along the bottom of the spotless white wing and get goosebumps as my fingertips run over the flaps. For an aviation dork like myself, this is better than chocolate.

My eyes take in every inch of the beauty as I inhale the sweet smell of jet exhaust from the Gulfstream G450 taxing down the runway in the distance.

“Nice,” I mumble under my breath when I glance under the belly of the plane at the tires the size of my car. Custom tires. Not the crap Brimstone 620s that come with the model. My new boss does things right.

“Don’t touch my plane!” someone snaps from behind me, and I jerk my hand back like I just touched a hot oven.

Hot redness creeps up my neck and into my cheeks as I turn around with a guilty face. Mr. Gladstone is walking over with his shoulders squared back and a pissed off look on his face. His stunning wife is walking behind him staring at her phone and looking completely disinterested as a man in a chauffeur outfit walks behind both of them carrying all of their luggage.

“Who let you in here?” Mr. Gladstone barks as he approaches. My voice seizes in my throat, and I involuntarily take a step back almost bumping into his precious plane.

It’s only us inside the private hangar at LAX airport. I glance over at the chauffeur, and he gives me a look of sympathy. I’m sure he knows what it feels like to get yelled at by rich people. At least I’m not alone.

He quickly drops the bags and scurries out while giving me a look that can only mean ‘good luck.’

Shit.

“I’m the new stewardess,” I say, finally finding my voice, but it’s squeakier and has more cracks than normal. “Remember, Mr. Gladstone? You hired me a month ago.”

“Oh,” he says, the angry look on his face disappearing as fast as it came. “Of course. Kylie.”

“It’s Riley,” I correct him as I straighten my jacket.

He twists his face up and looks at me funny. “Are you sure?”

“Pretty sure. But you can call me whatever you like,” I say with a nervous chuckle.

That finally gets his wife’s attention, and she snaps her bright green eyes up at me, locking them on mine like heat-seeking missiles. They’re brimming with hate.

Kara Gladstone.

Hidden Pleasures lingerie model. Wife of a billionaire. All around bitch if I’m to believe the many media reports, which right now, looking into her sinister eyes, I do.

She flips her wavy blonde hair behind her shoulders and flexes her toned arms as she crosses them over her spectacular fake tits. She slowly looks me up and down.

I gulp even though I have nothing to gulp about. I’m not going to be anything but professional with her husband, and anyway, I suck at flirting. My attempts at flirting always come across as awkward and stiff, leaving the guy walking away with his head shaking, wondering what just happened.

Mr. Gladstone steps in for a hug, swallowing me in his bear-like arms. He’s a wide, stocky man with a lot of muscle under a layer of fat and thick hair. He has the body of a former college football player who turned in his cleats for slippers.

“Welcome to the family,” he says, crushing me as Kara stares me down with an intense glare.

I take a much-needed breath as he lets me go. “This is my wife, Kara,” he says, turning to show his silicone trophy.

She reaches out for a handshake, and I hold my breath as I slide my hand into hers. A little whimper escapes my throat as she clamps down on it, crushing my fingers in her CrossFit grip. “Nice to meet you,” she says through clenched teeth.

She’s going to be a problem.

“Come,” Mr. Gladstone says, grabbing my arm and pulling me away. “This is my plane.” He points up to it, and my heart starts beating fast when I look into the huge Flat Rated engines that are capable of sixteen thousand, five hundred pounds of thrust. This is so exciting.

Mr. Gladstone starts telling me about the aircraft, but I already know everything about it. I love planes. I nod and pretend like I’m learning it all for the first time. He’s enthusiastic and full of life when he talks, moving his hands animatedly as he nods his head and smiles. He’s a handsome man, in his mid-fifties with wisps of gray on the sides of his dark hair. He has a nice smile and fierce brown eyes that command your attention, which I’m sure is one of the reasons why he has a ten-figure bank account.

“Where are we going today?” I ask when he’s done showing me around the plane. Kara disappeared into it a few minutes ago.

“The Cayman Islands,” he says, rubbing the salt and pepper stubble on his thick jaw. “I have a meeting with Prince Kalib of Pertoria. Trying to sell him a fleet of yachts. Word on the street is he’s looking to buy sixty. One for each of the girls in his harem.”

I shake my head in disbelief. I’ve stepped into a new world; the world of billionaires and unlimited money. Much different from my world of late rent and double coupon days. I better get used to it. In my world, we buy generic brand aluminum paper and stock up on our favorite gum when it goes on sale for eleven cents off. Yachts and private jets are not things that are normally in my broke little universe.

“Well, good luck,” I say as we head toward the steps leading into the plane. “I hope you make the sale.”

“I don’t need luck,” he says, puffing out his wide chest. “I made my first million while I was in high school and my first billion when I was thirty-four. If there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s selling.”

His enthusiasm is contagious, and I can’t help but smile. I knew this job would be great. Following around a billionaire to exotic locations with the best of everything. Five-star hotels and restaurants. Limousines and yachts. I can’t wait to see all of the sights. I’ve never been anywhere, and Marvin Gladstone is known to travel to the best spots in the Caribbean, Europe, and Asia, and I get to go with him.

My eyes dart to my watch. We’re scheduled to leave at nine forty-six, and I would like to make sure that the galley and cabin are ready for the flight. “Should we head inside?”

Mr. Gladstone nods. “Let’s go make some money!”

My grin widens and my pulse races as I walk up the steps into the aircraft. Adrenaline pumps through my body with every step that I take. This is my dream job. Well, actually my dream job would be the one behind the controls in the cockpit, but this is good too.

Mr. Gladstone disappears into the fuselage as I step inside with wide eyes. Talk about luxury. The hardwood floors alone are probably worth more than my condo. I glance down into the cabin, and Kara is sitting cross-legged on one of the large leather seats that look like La-Z-Boys, flipping the magazine on her lap with an annoyed look on her face.

Her eyes dart up to mine, and I turn around quickly before she can scowl at me. My heart thumps as I stare open mouthed at the cockpit. There are so many lights and buttons. This is what a gambler must feel like when they walk into a casino or a little kid staring at his unopened presents on Christmas morning.

I want to touch everything. I want to slide into the leather Captain’s seat, slip the headphones over my ears, and grab the yoke. I’ve spent so many hours on my computer flying planes in my favorite aircraft simulation game that I could probably take-off and land it without a problem.

I dip my head under the low door of the cockpit and inhale the sweet smell of leather and grease. I’m in heaven. I love cockpits.

That word always makes me shake my head. Only in a male-dominated industry would something be called a cockpit. I’ll never understand men. You don’t hear nurses calling a prep room a pussy pit.

“Pretty cool, huh?” Mr. Gladstone asks, sneaking up on me. I nearly jump out of my stewardess uniform, the one with the excessively short skirt.

“It’s amazing,” I say, admiring all of the instruments.

“It was a little birthday gift to myself,” he says with a wide smile.

“Where are the pilots?” I ask, checking my watch again. We’re supposed to be leaving in twelve minutes, and a plane like this takes at least half an hour to perform all of the necessary safety checks before take-off.

“Dex?” he asks with a shrug of his wide shoulders. “Who the fuck knows? Probably sticking his dick in the female security agent who was in charge of patting him down.”

“What?” I ask, jerking my head back in confusion.

He pushes past me and slips into the Captain’s chair. “I can start it,” he says, flicking on random switches. The lights on the flight deck begin to light up, and the ground under me hums after he turns the engines on.

I rub the back of my sweaty neck as I lean in. “Should you be touching all of that?” I ask with a cracking voice. Only an experienced and licensed pilot should be in that chair.

“Probably not,” he says, flicking a switch over his head that causes a grinding sound from somewhere behind me.

I bite my nails and head into the galley. The nerves rushing through my veins are making my stomach roll, and my mouth is so dry that I can’t even lick my lips. This is too much to handle. I like when things are by the book, and having my unqualified boss fudging around with the controls is making me want to use the airsick bags even though the plane hasn’t left the runway yet.

“Wow,” I gasp when I walk into the galley. It makes me forget about Mr. Gladstone playing around in the cockpit, almost. The galley is just as nice as the rest of the plane, with smooth granite countertops and a large stainless steel fridge. It’s first class all the way.

There’s a small bar filled with bottles of alcohol that I’ve never heard of, but they all look expensive. A Porto from Italy with the old faded label curling up in the corner. A whiskey from Ireland that’s written in what looks like Gaelic. The date on the bottle is eighteen sixty-two. It smells like paint thinner.

The thump of shoes walking up the metal steps outside makes me flinch, and I place the old bottle of whiskey back on the glass shelf. It’s one of the pilots. He walks into the plane, and I try to busy myself, looking in the cupboards and fridge, making sure that everything is stocked up. I don’t want to look like a slacker in front of my co-worker, even if he is the one who’s late.

“What the hell, Marv?” he says, his deep masculine voice giving me warm shivers. “Get out of my office!”

Mr. Gladstone chuckles. “I was just warming her up for you,” he says as he heads into the cabin where his wife is waiting.

“Do I look like I need help warming a girl up?” he calls out with a hint of annoyance in his voice.

I take a deep breath and smooth out my uniform, pulling up my top which keeps trying to show more cleavage than I want it to and pulling down my skirt which is ridiculously short. The uniform looks like it was designed by a teenage boy. Way more sexy than professional.

I bend over and take a quick glance at my blurry reflection in the stainless-steel fridge. My brown hair is pulled tight behind my head with my hat secured firmly on top. No lipstick on my teeth. I’m good to go.

I push down my nerves and walk back to the cockpit to introduce myself to the pilot. I really want to keep this job and am nervous to make a good first impression, which is not one of my strengths. I usually babble on awkwardly while the person I’m meeting stares at me with confusion in their eyes, or worse, pity.

He’s sitting in the cockpit with the light blue sleeves of his tight shirt rolled up his thick tattooed forearms as he presses some buttons on the flight deck.

“Hi,” I say, my voice coming out like a timid mouse.

He turns and his crystal blue eyes hit me like a punch in the gut. He grins as he drags his mischievous eyes down to my skirt which is hiked up my thighs, dangerously close to the bottom of my ass cheeks.

I don’t even move. He’s stunningly gorgeous. His bright eyes pop against the contrast of his short, dark brown hair and tanned skin. His pilot cap is tilted on his head, and his tie is loose around his muscular neck like he doesn’t give a fuck.

His sexy lips curl up into a smile and I gulp a little too loud. His face is beautiful with sharp cheekbones and a short-cropped beard covering the hard line of his jaw. I had an image of an older pilot in my head, so it catches me off guard when I see this beautiful specimen who is the epitome of a confident male, leaning back in the seat, fucking me with his eyes.

“Hi,” he answers with a velvety voice that makes my knees turn to Play-Doh. “Dex,” he says, sticking out his hand.

“Riley,” I say as I slide my hand into his. He grins as he squeezes it, giving me just enough pressure to let me know that he’s the boss. I just hope my palms aren’t too sweaty.

He has an edge to his look. He’s not like any pilot that I’ve ever seen before and trust me, I’ve seen a lot. I used to collect pilot baseball cards. Samuel Goldstein Rookie Card. Ron Willard Sunshine Airlines MVP. He flew fourteen thousand, three hundred and sixteen hours in nineteen-ninety-seven! Yes, I’m that much of an aviation nerd.

“It’s nice to meet you,” I say, taking my hand back when he finally releases it. “Where’s your co-pilot?”

He chuckles. “You’re looking at him.”

I jerk my head back in surprise. “But this is a multi-crew aircraft,” I say, shaking my head. “The FAA requires that all jet air transport aircrafts have at least two pilots.”

Dex smirks. “That’s a bullshit law. I can fly this thing while taking a nap. It’s on auto-pilot the whole time.”

“Auto-pilot has been known to fail,” I say, straightening my shoulders as my voice speeds up. “We really should have another pilot.”

“Well, we don’t,” he says with a shrug. “Is the cabin ready for take-off?”

My hands clench into fists so tight that my knuckles burn. “It will be,” I say as my stomach hardens.

He turns and flicks on a switch which makes the ground under my feet vibrate even more. “Better hurry up. We’re leaving in sixty.”

“An hour?” I ask, checking my watch. “We’re already late.”

“Not sixty minutes,” he says with a grin. “Sixty seconds.”

My mouth drops open in shock. “You haven’t done any of the pre-flight checks.”

He huffs out a frustrated breath. “You worry about the coffee. I’ll worry about the plane.”

I’m clenching my jaw so tight that my teeth feel like they’re about to shatter as we stare each other down. He gives me a little wink, and I spin on my heels and storm off into the galley with heat flushing through my body.

Why are hot guys always the most frustrating?

I’m whipping out the in-flight lunch and slamming cupboards in such a heated rage that I don’t even hear him slip into the galley behind me. He slides his hand along my sweaty lower back and I let out a scream.

“Wound a little tight?” he asks with a laugh as he opens the fridge. “Is that why you’re named Riley? Because you’re all riled up?”

I slam the fridge door closed with his hand still on the handle, and he looks at me with an amused expression on his arrogant face. His beautiful, sexy, arrogant face.

“What are you doing here?” I snap. “I worry about the coffee. You worry about the plane. Isn’t that what you said?”

He opens the fridge door easily even though I’m pushing on it as hard as I can, trying to keep it closed. He’s big. A head taller than me with broad muscular shoulders and a full chest that’s hiding behind his tight pilot’s shirt. “I’m not here for coffee,” he says, reaching into the fridge.

“Oh, hell no!” I yell when I see what he took. A cold can of beer.

He cracks it open and winks at me as he takes a sip.

I’m shaking with anger. “That is against so many Federal regulations,” I say, sweeping my arms wildly as I talk. “It’s dangerous and just plain irresponsible.”

He chuckles as he turns and walks back to the cockpit. “That’s what makes it so good.” He raises the beer over his shoulder and tilts the can like he’s toasting me from across the room.

“No, no, no, no, no, no,” I mutter to myself as my nostrils flare and my muscles quiver. I’m not being an accessory to this. I’m doing the responsible thing. The mature thing. The decent thing.

I’m telling.

I storm into the cabin and walk right up to Mr. Gladstone with my chin held high. “Sir,” I say with a shaking voice. “I regret to inform you that the pilot of this aircraft is drinking beer in the cockpit.”

“What?” Mr. Gladstone yells, jumping out of his seat. He storms past me into the front of the plane, and I can’t help but smirk as the arrogant, cocky pilot is about to get his ass handed to him by our boss. I’m giddy with anticipation as I follow him.

“What the hell?” Mr. Gladstone yells at the entrance of the cockpit.

Dex looks over his shoulder at us. His eyes dart down to my legs when he sees me and an angry flood of heat rushes into my chest. I’ve always had a thing for pilots but this arrogant ass is probably going to cure me of that.

“What’s up, Marv?” he asks, sounding like he doesn’t have a care in the world. His lack of giving any fucks is really getting to me. I’m really going to enjoy this.

“Why are you drinking my beer?” Mr. Gladstone asks, sounding pissed off. “You know that’s my favorite beer, and I only have one case left. Drink the scotch. I bought it for you!”

“Sorry, boss,” Dex says, grinning at me as he takes another sip. “Want to ride shotgun?”

“Yeah!” Mr. Gladstone says, jumping into the empty seat which is supposed to be reserved for a licensed, qualified pilot and not a crazy billionaire who probably has had no formal training.

“Sir,” I say, giving it one last try. “I don’t think this is all very wise. If even a fraction of his reaction speed is affected by the depressive effects of alcohol, we could crash.”

Mr. Gladstone shrugs as he slips on the green headset. “You don’t become a self-made billionaire by being afraid of taking chances.”

Dex shoots me a smirk as he shakes the empty can, as if I’m going to get him another one. I give him the finger instead.

I turn and head to the seat in the hallway to strap myself in for the take-off when Mr. Gladstone calls me back. “Riley,” he says as the plane jerks forward and Dex begins to taxi out of the hangar. “Bring us a couple of beers, would ya.”

My body stiffens, and all I can do is shake my head as I head to the fridge like a zombie and bring back two beers. The engines are rumbling, and our airplane is rolling toward the runway where another jet is taking off.

Dex flashes his straight white teeth at me as he takes the beers out of my stiff hands.

“Buckle up,” he says with a grin. “It’s going to be a bumpy ride.”