Goosebumps sprouted on her skin. Her heart slammed in her chest so forcefully that she was surprised she hadn’t been knocked backward. She swore she could taste him, smell him, though he was nowhere near her. She could feel his rough, gold-speckled stubble on the pads of her fingers. Unbidden, she felt the weight of his stocky, muscular frame on top of her, saw his sweat-glazed skin melded with her own. She heard his whispered words in the dark.
As Elle let her go, Rosie felt three emotions at once: fear, the pull of aqua eyes that saw into her soul, and want unlike any she’d known.
4
Tate sipped truly bad coffee from a too-thin paper cup and did his best to fake being present. Chen was starting flight simulations that morning. Instead of witnessing the milestone, Tate was ensconced in Victory’s fully wood-paneled Veterans of Foreign Wars hall. He had the jet fired up and ready to take him to L.A. for his board meeting at the flight school next. After that, Elle’s architect friend would be coming by, hopefully with a plan that would allow him to stop spinning on the hotel idea and start focusing.
He brought his attention back to the man in front of him. Al from Al’s Automotive Repair was complaining about the ever-rising minimum wage. Tate tried to listen and nod and seem sympathetic. These grim Chamber of Commerce meetings were Quinn’s idea. If you’re one of them, they support you. He agreed, but how badly did they need the support of businesses like Al’s Automotive? OrbitAll had more people on staff than the rest of Victory’s businesses combined. Tate didn’t have to worry about meeting minimum wage when his family’s company was the sixth richest in the world. Still, he came to the meetings each month to appease his cousin.
The boudoir photographer with the perpetual scowl joined them. With her pointed looks and surly commentary, Tate could never tell if Cleo wanted to gut him or fuck him.
“This is why I don’t work for or with anyone. The Man will get nada from me, and I don’t want assholes complaining they need to pay me what I’m worth.”
She poked Al in the chest, which Tate took as his cue to leave. He’d put in his requisite appearance. He wasn’t interested in yet another Al-and-Cleo showdown. Or Cleo-and-anyone-else showdown.
He tossed his full coffee cup in the trash and snuck out the side door of the events hall on Victory’s main drag. The smell of dust and the heavy heat of the sunbaked desert assailed him as he made his way across the cracked pavement to his Mustang. He’d chosen the new model to zip between the day’s meetings. Usually, and in spring especially, he preferred his ’66, but that car was better for leisurely drives between the hangar and home.
Fifteen minutes later he was at the hangar. An hour after that he was in an Uber to Altitude Flight School in Van Nuys, a neighborhood of Los Angeles. Then he was seated around a conference table and getting the evil eye from Gloria, an ancient former pilot who now ran the prestigious flight school.
“Okay, table captains, does everyone have their guest lists and ideas for raffle donations? Event planning is not my forte so I need you to do your damn jobs.”
Tate raised a hand to indicate he’d followed instructions. OrbitAll was the platinum sponsor for the annual auction that raised money for scholarships supporting Altitude students. The other men and women around the table raised theirs, as well.
Gloria nodded curtly at Tate. “Pretty Boy, you’re bringing the money. Who you got at your table?”
He shook his head in mock annoyance. Everyone Gloria worked with garnered a call sign. Tate wasn’t thrilled about his own. She’d initially called him Scrooge McDuck, which conjured the visual of swimming in a pool of gold, so he supposed Pretty Boy was an upgrade.
“Four Geier family members, my brother’s buddy from the Los Angeles Country Club, and four guest spots.” Tate was reserving a few seats. He refused to use Altitude’s dinner and auction as a platform solely meant to pander to his brother’s rich friends, even if the dinner would raise oodles of money for one of his own pet causes: scholarships for women and minorities interested in aerospace.
“Auction item?”
“A spot in our flight simulator with our new pilot. He’s a legit astronaut.”
Gloria narrowed her eyes at him. “Will people bid on a simulator spot? I was thinking more like a trip to the Seychelles.”
Tate fought a snicker. Their sim emulated spaceflight in immersive IMAX realness, from the mocked-up full-scale model of Stratos to the controls to the sound and vibration built into the programming. Their screens showed satellite imagery in real time. If the tech didn’t sell people, meeting an astronaut would. “Yes, people will bid on the simulation.”
She stared at him a beat longer before moving on. “Buzz, you’re up.”
Tate took the opportunity of Gloria grilling Lincoln, a commercial airline pilot with a buzz cut, to text Thomas, his safety director, to see how Chen’s sim was going.
This cocky bastard, Thomas texted back. We can’t trip him up. Never seen anyone handle pitch-up so well.
Tate grinned. He’d known in his gut that Chen was the right choice to replace George. What he lacked in years he made up for in mettle and troubleshooting experience. The different aircraft, spacecraft, and issues he’d handled while with China’s space agency had prepared Chen for any situation. The lunch, then dinner, they’d shared in Chen’s native Guangzhou had solidified the decision he’d already made based on résumé. Since he couldn’t change losing George, their past, he’d decided to look at George’s move as an opportunity to find someone to push them into the future. Besides, he liked Chen, and Tate needed friends beyond his cousin and his housekeeper.
Gloria caught him after the meeting ended. “PB, about those extra spots at your table.”
“Oh, is it PB now?” Tate smiled at the woman old enough to be his grandmother and feisty enough to be his mother. Gloria was one of the few women he knew who was entirely immune to him. Tate knew what he was working with in the looks department. He suspected her nickname for him was based on fact, not feeling.
She ignored his comment. “I’d like to use a spot at your table as a reward for one of our best-performing students.”
She wasn’t asking for permission, but Tate happened to love the idea. “Perfect. Exactly what I had in mind.”
A single nod and she walked away without a word. Tate said his goodbyes to the other board members and called another ride-share. Time to head back to Victory and finally meet this architect.
* * *
He found his core crew in the hangar. Chen was glowing, clearly riding the high from his successful simulation. Elle was scowling at Chen, as usual. He did seem to tease her excessively. The tension between them would end in flaming wreckage or fierce partnership, Tate was sure. He recognized lust and love in others, though only one had ever surfaced in himself. He’d been taught since birth that love was merely a distraction, the one luxury their family could not afford. “Legacy over love” was his mother’s motto, how she lived her life and the way she insisted her sons live theirs. So far, Tate had complied.
His phone buzzed in his pocket. Luz. “Rosie’s here,” she told him. “Where are you?”