by Kimberly Fox
Heavy Turbulence
Kimberly Fox
Contents
About
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Epilogue
Cancun
Bonus Book
About
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Epilogue
Out Now!
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This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Contains explicit love scenes and adult language.
18+
www.AuthorKimberlyFox.com
Cover Model: Shawn Dawson
Photographer: Allan Spiers
Cover by: Cormar Covers
Editing by: Beverly Bernard
Copyright© 2017 by Kimberly Fox
My Cockpit. My Rules.
Dex Jameson is an arrogant ass.
It’s my first day on the job as a stewardess working on a billionaire’s private jet, and the cocky pilot is already trying to hit my landing strip.
I’ve always had a thing for pilots, but this arrogant jerk is going to cure me of that.
I can handle the looks. I can handle the comments. I can even handle the sexual invitation that he threw down between us.
But when my boss makes us pretend that we’re husband and wife during a business trip, my willpower starts to crumble away.
I’m trying hard to stay professional.
I’m trying my best to keep his tattooed biceps at arm’s length.
But this hot alpha pilot knows how to push all the right buttons and has all the right moves.
Buckle up. It’s going to be a bumpy ride.
He’s a Bad Boy Pilot with a filthy mouth
She’s an uptight Stewardess who plays by the rules
Prepare for some Heavy Turbulence
67,000 word STANDALONE novel. No Cheating. HEA. No Cliffhanger.
For a limited time, Cancun (standalone book) will be included, so Heavy Turbulence will finish around the 50% mark.
To all of the sexy pilots who can get it up for hours
(and I’m not talking about their planes)
Chapter One
Riley
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.”