TheBillionairesPilot

by Suzanne Graham

  The importance of securing this deal weighed heavily on Evan and made his stomach clench. It was the biggest challenge he’d faced yet as the new head of Mitchell Industries, and he felt wholly unqualified for the task. His inner Dom growled in frustration, demanding to be released on a willing sub.

  Chapter Two

  “You want me to do what?” Cassie spun around and stared at Dan Jacobs as she tried to make sense of his ridiculous request. Her fist tightened around the rag she’d been using to wipe down the helicopter.

  “Mr. Mitchell needs a dinner companion tonight. I would like you to accompany him,” Mr. Jacobs explained, standing next to her on the roof of Nippon Securities in Boston.

  She groaned. “You want me to be his date? I can’t.” Shaking her head, she resumed polishing the bird, the familiar smell of engine oil and cleaning solution calming her.

  She hoped Ron wasn’t listening to this conversation from the other side of the helicopter. She really wanted her copilot’s respect, and being viewed as the boss’s plaything on the very first day of her new job was not conducive to earning her coworker’s esteem.

  “You have other plans this evening while we’re in Boston?” Mr. Jacobs asked, obviously not accepting Cassie’s first refusal.

  “Yes, I’m sure there’s something on TV that I must watch,” she said and instantly regretted her smart mouth. It was that same battiness that had got her in trouble on a regular basis with her former Dom.

  Even though Mr. Jacobs wasn’t her direct supervisor, he was the executive assistant to the owner of the company and certainly had enough clout to get her fired.

  He pulled himself up a little straighter, which seemed impossible as he always stood with perfect posture. No slouching for this paragon in a business suit. “As an employee of Mitchell Industries, I am insisting you offer your services to Mr. Mitchell at dinner tonight.”

  Her mouth fell open at the meaning behind the older man’s formal words. She whipped around to face him. “Just because I’m talented at handling a stick between my legs on this bird, it does not mean I am willing to offer my services to Mr. Mitchell at dinner or anywhere else. You hired me to fly this helicopter, and that is all I plan to fly.”

  How could this be happening to her again? She’d done everything she could to act and dress professionally. She’d even worn this hideously ugly suit, yet the boss was still propositioning her…by proxy this time.

  Mr. Jacobs’ face remained impassive, but his ears glowed bright red against the contrast of his white hair. “I apologize, Miss Maynard. I, in no way, meant to imply this request was anything other than a dinner invitation. I am very sorry.” He practically bowed as he backed away from her. “I will have to come up with another solution.”

  He looked so repentant she nearly felt sorry for him. “Solution? Why is it so important that he have a dinner date tonight?” she asked, letting her curiosity get ahead of her intellect. She had a history of acting impulsively when someone needed help, and she was treading on dangerous ground by continuing this conversation.

  Mr. Jacobs stopped backing up and stood at attention again. He seemed to hesitate for a moment before he spoke. “Actually, Miss Maynard, if I may be honest with you?”

  “Well, I certainly appreciate honesty more than lies.” She stuck her hands on her hips while she waited for him to explain.

  He cleared his throat. “The dinner isn’t as important as the question Mr. Mitchell has to propose.”

  Crossing her arms over her chest, she glared at him. “Are we back to propositions again?”

  He held up a placating hand. “No, no, Miss Maynard. This is a business proposal.”

  “I’m his helicopter pilot. Why would he need to take me to dinner to propose something business-wise?”

  Mr. Jacobs shook his head. “I’ve probably said too much already. I should have let him explain this.”

  “If you want me to go to dinner with him, then you will explain now. I won’t be taken by surprise.” Her tone was clipped. She wouldn’t normally speak to a superior this way—unless she was itching for a spanking—but she wanted Mr. Jacobs to fully comprehend her stance.

  His eyes lit up. “So, you’ll accept his dinner invitation?”

  “Tell me what he has on his mind, first. Then maybe I’ll consider it,” she conceded.

  If this really was just business, she wasn’t about to turn away the chance to make some extra money that could get her out of the hole faster. She hated that six months of unemployment had emptied her bank account and forced her into deep credit card debt. Not that she’d had all that much in her bank account to begin with.

  She was a whiz when it came to engines, but a dunce with money. It flowed through her fingers like motor oil, except oil clung better. Working in a war zone, she’d faced how fleeting life was, and she’d spent money freely. She’d lived for the moment.

  Moving to New York City had given her a better chance of finding work as a private pilot—and was far away from Chicago—but shit, it was so expensive. She was maxed out, and her rent and her car payment were overdue. Plus, she had the responsibility of repaying the loan she’d co-signed for her recently deceased Army buddy, when he’d wanted to surprise his wife with a new car. There was no way she could deliver the bad news to Jeff’s widow that he still owed fifteen grand on the family’s minivan, not when Marilyn and her two kids were barely getting along as it was on his death benefits. Until Marilyn got steady on her feet, Cassie planned to continue making the payments as best she could.

  “Mr. Mitchell has business in San Miguel this weekend,” Mr. Jacobs began when he realized he had Cassie’s attention.

  “Yes, I know. I’m flying him to Logan in the morning, where he’s meeting the company jet. Then I’m taking this bird back to New York.” She patted the sleek side of the company’s helicopter.

  “Yes, well, this weekend is supposed to be a combination of work and pleasure.”

  Uh oh, this was not sounding like something she should get herself involved with at all. Not with her newly built earthquake-proof wall separating those two spheres of her life.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Jacobs. That isn’t something I would be interested in,” she said, putting an end to the discussion. She turned back to wiping down the helicopter.

  “He just needs a female companion,” he continued, obviously not accepting her refusal, “to accompany him to San Miguel. No hanky-panky involved.”

  Cassie nearly cracked a smile at proper Mr. Jacobs saying “hanky-panky”, and she tried to imagine him saying some of the toy names from the world of BDSM—nipple clamps, butt plugs, whips, floggers… She had to stop herself before her resolve to steer clear of that world weakened. Just the thought of those toys had her getting soft in the knees and warm between her legs.

  “This is a very important deal for Mitchell Industries. You would be doing a great service for the company.” He paused as if to give weight to his words. “Would you please consider dinner with Mr. Mitchell, so he could fully explain it to you?”

  She cursed mentally. Her first day on the job, and she was practically being forced to go to dinner with the boss. Not that he was an ogre to look at or anything, but she’d wanted this job to turn out differently than her last one.

  Behind her, she could feel Mr. Jacobs watching her intently, waiting for her response.

  She looked over her shoulder at him. “Don’t tell me the fate of the free world rests on my decision.” She couldn’t resist the tease. The man was much too serious.

  The corners of his lips slid slightly upward, rewarding Cassie for her quip. “No, Miss Maynard, only the future of Mitchell Industries.”

  “Right, and my status as an employee, I’m sure.” She blew out a discouraged breath and glanced down at her ugly suit. “I don’t have anything to wear.”

  Mr. Jacobs’ eyes seemed to twinkle in the sunlight. He’d won, and he was enjoying this in his quiet way, while keeping his face fairly emotionless. “I will arran
ge to have several dresses brought to your hotel room for you to try, along with someone to do your hair and makeup.”

  “A dress will be fine. I can do my own hair and makeup, thank you.”

  He looked pointedly at her tightly pulled back hair and cosmetic-free face. “I’ll send someone in any case.”

  “Fine,” she capitulated, working hard to not take offense at his unspoken criticism. She could always refuse the styling services in the privacy of her room without the indomitable Mr. Jacobs in attendance.

  “Very good.” Mr. Jacobs nodded. “When Mr. Mitchell is finished with his meeting here, you will fly him to the hotel, where you will dress for dinner.”

  “What about the bird?” Her original instructions were to drop Mr. Mitchell off at his hotel. Then she and Ron were to take the helicopter to the airport and find cheap rooms nearby.

  “Ron?” Mr. Jacobs called to the other side of the helicopter.

  “Yes, sir,” Ron answered readily, which surely meant he’d listened to the whole embarrassing conversation. He walked around the tail blade to join them, a grin on his face.

  Oh, yeah. He’d definitely heard everything—so much for maintaining the proper image with her co-worker. She could only imagine what kinds of thoughts were going through his head.

  “Can you take the helicopter to the airport and secure it for the night on your own?” Mr. Jacobs asked.

  “Of course, sir.”

  “Good.” Mr. Jacobs turned to Cassie. “Everything is set.”

  Great, then why did she feel like she had just signed on to the last mission of her new job? Why couldn’t she have kept her big mouth shut and allowed Mr. Jacobs to find another solution?

  She went back to cleaning the helicopter as the voice of her conscience whispered in her ear. Because you’ve never backed down from a challenge, and you’re looking forward to sitting across the dinner table from the owner of Mitchell Industries to hear his business proposal, especially because he gives off the intense energy of a natural Dom.

  Groaning internally, she admitted the truth behind the words as she wiped more vigorously at a smear on the side of the bird. Why did she always end up tangling with the cute boss? At her age, she should be able to use the discipline she’d learned both in the army and the dungeon to keep herself safely on the other side of the street, far away from temptation. But her neglected inner sub was jumping up and down at the possibility of finding a new Dom.

  Silly, silly little sub. Only heartache waits at the end of that path. Yet, the internal warning wasn’t enough to keep her from anticipating her dinner with Evan.

  * * * *

  Several hours later when Cassie sat across the white clothed table from Evan Mitchell, she was glad she’d submitted herself to the stylist Mr. Jacobs had sent to her hotel room.

  Once she’d slipped on the burgundy silk dress and caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror, she’d felt at a loss for how to polish the rest of her look. Having been self-taught in the feminine arts, she was certain she couldn’t match the classiness of the dress, and she’d yielded willingly to the expertise of the hair and makeup professional.

  Apparently, it had been worth the surrender because Evan seemed to be having a hard time keeping his eyes off of her. The pushup bra that had been sent over with the V-neck wrap dress gave her enough lift that she displayed a shadow of cleavage, and she was secretly thrilled with the effect.

  Evan’s glance skimmed her with appreciation in his dark eyes, sending ripples of pleasure through her veins. She felt utterly feminine, a sensation she avoided in her vanilla life where she spent most of her time trying to blend in with the men. She couldn’t remember ever feeling this graceful outside of a D/s scene.

  When Evan had appeared at her hotel room to escort her to the limo, his freshly showered scent had made her momentarily forget this was a business meeting as her body reacted on a purely physical level, warming to his masculinity. Her female parts had tingled at the sight of his powerful build accentuated by his charcoal suit and navy shirt, and how his black hair, curling over his collar, gave him a slightly roguish look. But it was his perusing gaze that had really lit the fire inside her.

  Here in the restaurant, Evan stared at her across the table as if he were trying to see inside her thoughts. His eyes seemed intent on penetrating through her newly acquired feminine façade, filling her with both apprehension and excitement as she anticipated his forthcoming proposal.

  When she began to feel uncomfortable under his close scrutiny, he spoke. “I appreciate you agreeing to have dinner with me on such short notice.”

  Taking a sip from the sparkling water in her glass, she glanced around the elegant five-star restaurant and the tables filled with posh-looking couples. “Thank you for the opportunity to dine so tastefully tonight.” Setting down her glass, she added, “It sure beats a pepperoni pizza out of a box in a motel room.”

  He lifted a single brow. “Was that your original plan for the night?”

  She nodded. “Something like that.”

  “Then you must be glad Dan convinced you to join me,” he said it as if she should be grateful to him when, in reality, she was the one honoring his request for a dinner companion. The man certainly knew how to do arrogant, and she absolutely refused to give in to the weaker side of herself that responded with a tingle between her legs.

  “Mr. Jacobs led me to believe this was of the utmost importance to the company. Though, I can’t imagine why having dinner with your helicopter pilot could be so important.” Her fingers fidgeted with the napkin in her lap, the only outward sign of her nervous energy, she hoped.

  “As the president of a multi-billion dollar conglomerate, it is very important who I have dinner with—just as it is important who I take with me on my upcoming business trip.”

  Forget arrogant, this guy had reached the highest altitude of egotistical, and unfortunately, her inner sub was responding by waving her hands and yelling, “Pick me, pick me. I want to be important.”

  Damn girl, get yourself under control. She squeezed her thighs tighter together.

  “But I need to get to know you better before I go into those details,” Evan continued.

  “Mr. Mitchell, I only agreed to this dinner because your assistant insisted you had a business proposal for me that had to do with a trip to San Miguel. I don’t see why getting to know me better should influence when you get to the details.”

  “To begin with, you need to call me Evan. And this isn’t just about business. There’s also a personal side to it.”

  Red flags waved in front of Cassie’s eyes. She absolutely could not get personal with her boss…again. “In that case, I’m afraid I’ve made a mistake in coming here, Evan.” She set her napkin on the table next to her plate and pushed back her chair, but before she could stand he reached for her hand and firmly grasped it. His palm was rough, as if he engaged in physical labor, which surprised her. Why would a man of his position bother to exert himself when he could just pay someone to do the work for him? Could those possibly be calluses from a wielding a whip? She shivered with the thought and immediately dismissed the idea as crazy thinking.

  “Miss Maynard, please stay long enough for me to explain the situation.” He held her gaze as if challenging her to stay.

  She waited a moment for her pulse rate to slow. It wasn’t fair that his touch should send her blood pounding so hard through her veins, or that she found it nearly impossible to back down from a challenge, especially one from a man who was behaving like a Dom.

  She drew in a breath and released it slowly. “What exactly are you proposing?”

  “I would have preferred we went over the details after becoming better acquaint—”

  “It’s now or never, Evan,” she cut him off, using her captain voice and shifting back into her safe vanilla persona.

  “I see that.” He withdrew his hand from hers, and she strongly reminded herself that was for the best, even as she regretted the loss of his
warm contact.

  “I’m proposing a paid weekend vacation on a Caribbean island with light social duties. You get to dress up, meet interesting people, and professionally represent Mitchell Industries at my side.”

  “Sex?” she asked, wanting all the cards laid out on the table.

  Both his brows shot up as his eyes widened. Then his lips slanted to a cocky angle as his eyes scanned her open neckline appraisingly. “If you’d like.”

  “No,” she firmly stated.

  For a moment, she thought he’d push her further to agree, but then he settled back in his chair with a resigned look. “As you wish.”

  “And if I don’t agree to go with you?”

  “I’m not threatening to take your job away if you’re worried about that. But having you accompany me would be a great help to the company you now work for, and you’ll be compensated for it accordingly.”

  Thinking about the very real threat of being evicted from her apartment before she could cash her first paycheck at the end of the month, she scooted her chair forward. “How well compensated?”

  Tilting his head slightly, he looked thoughtful. “What do you earn an hour?”

  “I’m salaried.”

  “Give me a number to work with.”

  Having been forced to count every penny as she planned how to get out of debt, she knew her salary broke down to twenty-six dollars an hour, but she was going to shoot higher. She had to catch up on Jeff’s car payment, or his family was going to lose their only vehicle. “Forty dollars an hour,” she bluffed.

  His measured gaze didn’t reveal whether he believed her or not. “Okay. We’re talking about forty-eight hours of weekend employment, which I’ll round up to fifty to make it easier to calculate.”

  Had he just insulted her? Did he think she was mathematically incompetent and couldn’t multiply forty times forty-eight? What a conceited ass.