Taking Flight (A Devereux Novel)

by Whiskey, D. G.

  “Rex, why are you slinking around my hangar? Did you see my runs today and realize you had no chance of beating me in the air?”

  He turned to face the other pilot. Rex leaned against the corrugated metal side of the hangar.

  “Oh, I’m not concerned about that. You aren’t a threat to my winning the bet—that fifty million is as good as mine. I’ve already picked out what I’ll spend it on. Does that bitch of yours like mega yachts? She digs me, so it shouldn’t be hard to convince her to come take a trip with me. She’s got a fine ass, Derek. I’m looking forward to smacking it while I fuck all memory of you out of her mind.”

  Derek was on him in a flash, pushing Rex up against the wall with his hand on the other man’s throat. “Shut your fucking face,” he said, murderous intent clear in his voice. “You would never stand a chance with a woman like Sara. She’d see right through your slime.”

  Rex just grinned and didn’t bother trying to wrest himself free of Derek’s grasp. “We’ll see. Maybe you’ll push yourself too hard tomorrow and crash, and then you won’t be around. I’ll help her get over you.”

  Was that a threat? The one thing pilots never did was tell another pilot to crash, no matter what their feelings about each other were.

  The other pilot’s presence around his hanger was even more suspicious. “If you try to mess with my plane, Rex, you will have a whole world of hurt coming to you. There’s no way you would get past my security, first of all, and then I will see you put in jail for a long time. And that’s assuming I don’t find you before the police do.”

  “Hey, who do you think I am? I’m just here for friendly banter before the race. It wouldn’t seem right not getting jabs in before the big show, especially with so much on the line for this one. I don’t need to play with your equipment to beat you, Devereux. I’ll lay down a run for the record books, and you won’t be able to touch it even if your life depended on it.” His voice was sleazy, oily, and the way he kept putting emphasis on certain words did nothing to allay Derek’s suspicions.

  Derek shoved Rex away, making him stumble a little as his back came off the hard, wavy metal wall. “Get out of here, Rex. I don’t want to see you until it’s time for me to take your money from you tomorrow. You make me sick.”

  He stalked away, angry at the other pilot and the way he seemed specially engineered to make him lose his cool. Derek renewed his goal to destroy Rex. It wasn’t about the money—it never was. Rex had become dangerous, a potential threat to him and the people he cared about.

  He was threatening me there. Could he be the one after my life?

  Derek had entertained and dismissed the thought before, but Rex’s taunts forced him to reconsider. The attacks hadn’t started until after the bet was made. Maybe he’d been right about Evan’s paranoia all along, and his brother’s incidents were unrelated.

  With no proof, there wasn’t much Derek could do about it except to have him followed. Even then, there was no guarantee of catching him in any wrongdoing.

  As he climbed into his Maserati, Derek forced himself to take a deep breath and settle his emotions. He was meeting Sara for dinner, and it wouldn’t do to have her see him all worked up before the big race she had urged him not to fly in. She had good reasons, but his were more important to him. Pride was the driving factor in everything he did, and if he didn’t have his honor, he wouldn’t be himself.

  The ride back to his house was longer than usual. He took his usual scenic route, but he didn’t race along the curves and bends as he usually did. Instead he spent the entire trip on his phone, calling a few places and making arrangements for the coming night. He was determined to make things up to Sara for bringing her into such a dangerous situation.

  The intensity of his feelings for her surprised him. It was unlike anything he had ever been a part of. The way she looked at him, made him laugh, made him feel—it was extraordinary, and made him feel like he was in an old-time movie. People weren’t supposed to fall for one another like this anymore.

  When he pulled up to his drive he was unsurprised to find no evidence anyone had left. All the cars were still there.

  Good.

  “Hello?” he called as he entered his front door. “Everyone here?”

  He smiled as he heard Sara’s voice from the living room. “We’re back here. Come join us!”

  To his surprise, his brother and the two girls played Jeff’s game, Roego, gathered in a circle around one of the low coffee tables. They were deep in a round, intent on their cards and the game pieces in play.

  “This is a little unexpected,” Derek said. “How did you convince them to play, Gary?”

  His brother winced as he drew a card from the deck. “Convince? Sara forced me to teach them how to play it. She said she’d gotten a glimpse of it here the other night and wanted to try. Little did I know I was in for a world of pain. These two women are way too devious for their own good. I’m not even sure they should be allowed to play. The way they think is too twisted for any male to stand a chance.”

  “You know, Rachel won the other night by turning Jeff’s ideas of the optimal strategies on their head. You might be onto something there.”

  Becky rolled the die on her turn and laughed. “Oh, Gary, just wait until you see this!” She moved her game pieces in a big spiral shift, which pitted all of her strongest men against his weaker support pieces. It was a massacre. “This game is so fun! I’ve never gotten into board games before, but I can totally see the appeal now.”

  Gary groaned. Derek slapped him on the shoulder. “I wish I could say well fought, little brother, but it looks like you got thoroughly destroyed. Are you sure you didn’t bump your head too much on the way down those stairs last night?”

  “Is it too late to claim injury?” Gary said. “You might be onto something there, bro. No matter what I do, it isn’t enough.”

  Sara looked up from the game board. “How was flying? Do you feel ready for tomorrow? I’m a little surprised to see you back already, to be honest.”

  “I wanted to catch you before you ate dinner,” Derek said. “How do you feel about going downtown for something a little special? I want to show you my favorite spot to eat. The chef is a good friend of mine and creates these masterpieces you have to taste to believe.”

  Her face lit up the way he found so charming, like an extra bit of radiance shone out through her cheeks and lit up her hair to an even brighter sheen of pure gold. “I would like that! I don’t know if I have anything to wear though…”

  Becky spoke up. “Yes, you do! I made a new dress, the first in the second generation of Becky Williams evening wear.” She looked between her friend and Derek. “Something told me you might need something of that nature relatively quickly.”

  “You are a hero, Beck,” Sara said. “Thank you so much!”

  The dress was beautiful.

  Becky’s passion for her art was clear to see, and Sara was impressed by her roommate’s ability and style. Her friend had been talking and dreaming about being a big fashion designer ever since they were little girls, and to see it on the verge of fruition was an amazing feeling.

  She always wanted to be a famous fashion designer, and I always wanted to be a famous journalist. I guess we both can make it, although there’s a lot more work to be done.

  Sara sat in the passenger seat of a ridiculously expensive car. She wasn’t certain what the make and model were—she wasn’t a car person by any stretch of the imagination. Michael would have been able to tell her the name of the car, how many horsepower, the country of origin of most of the parts, and the sticker price, but he was no longer there for her. Would never be again. She looked over at Derek, and for the first time the hollow sadness at the thought wasn’t as crushing as it usually was.

  His hand left the shifter once he got up to speed and found hers. It was a warm comfort, and it felt nice. She hadn’t held hands while riding in a car with anyone since Michael had died.

  “Where are we
going?” she asked. “I’ve been meaning to try new places in the city, but I never get out as often as I would like.”

  He winked at her. “It’s a secret. You’ll see when we get there. Trust me, you won’t be disappointed. It will be a proper night out. I haven’t given you one of those yet.”

  She would have begged to differ, but she was curious to see what constituted a proper night out for someone like Derek Devereux. As much as she felt she had learned about him over the past week or two, he was still enigmatic in many other ways. Even though she had made the difficult decision to shelve her story, it didn’t prevent her from wanting to hear everything there was to know about him. If anything, her need to know him had grown stronger since their union the night before.

  It wasn’t a long drive to get where they were going. In just fifteen minutes they pulled to a stop in front of a fancy glass building bursting with light. She read the sign and lost her composure.

  “Derek? Are you sure? I heard that this place is hundreds of dollars per plate! Don’t feel you need to spend money to impress me!”

  Her response felt silly a moment later when she remembered he had billions of dollars and could buy the restaurant without noticing.

  He chuckled. “I’ll tell you a secret, Sara. When you have lots of money, it’s cheaper than you’d think to get around. Remember how I said the chef is a good friend of mine? I have never even received a bill from eating here. When you take care of your friends, they take care of you—if they are the right friends.”

  It was a strange concept. She had the average person’s equivalent, getting a free drink at a bar because her friend was the bartender, but this was another level. A crazy level.

  Derek got out of the car and hustled around. Sara hadn’t expected the maneuver and already opened her door, but then he was there, offering his hand to help her up and out of the low-slung vehicle. It felt incredibly chivalrous, and despite being an independent woman and able to take care of herself, the gesture felt good.

  He took it further, pulling her tight against him as she rose, until they wound up in a tight embrace. Her breath left her as his nearness overwhelmed her. “Thank you.”

  His lips dipped down and claimed her mouth for a brief second, rising back up and leaving her frustrated and searching for more. He laughed softly—a gentle, delighted sound—when he saw the look on her face.

  “Shall we?” he asked and offered his arm as his other hand flipped the keys to the waiting valet. The young man’s eyes widened when he saw who had just entrusted their car to him.

  It was still relatively early, but the restaurant was packed when they walked through the front doors. The amount of light shining through the air was astonishing, with fantastical chandeliers featuring multiple tiers centering each section of the rooms. They were masterpieces in their own right, with hundreds of light bulbs, shards of glass, and tiny mirrors all arranged in wondrous manners. Spears of light splintered and focused on works of art strategically placed around the establishment, and the whole setup formed a brilliant sculpture the likes of which Sara had never seen before. It was awe-inspiring, but somehow not overwhelming.

  A stunning brunette hostess in a black dress smiled welcomingly at them as they strolled up.

  “Ah, Mr. Devereux, we are honored you’ve chosen to come and dine with us this evening. Shall I let Chef Aiken know you have arrived?”

  Derek smiled at her, and Sara felt a touch of jealousy. It was odd seeing his considerable charm turned on another woman, even if it was only for politeness’s sake. “Thank you, Pauline, that would be excellent of you.”

  “Please come with me and I’ll seat you in your usual spot,” she said.

  They trailed behind as she guided them through the restaurant. In keeping with the theme of light, spotlights placed far above shone down to illuminate the waitresses as though they were angels walking among the tables. Each was heartbreakingly beautiful to boot. Derek turned to Sara. “I may come here a lot,” he said with a grin. “Possibly even a little too much. I enjoy cooking for myself, but it’s hard to justify when Rich does it so much better than I ever could.”

  “I don’t know,” Sara said, shaking her head a little. “How good could it be?”

  Derek faux-gasped and looked around in an exaggerated manner. “Shh! If anyone hears you speak such blasphemy, they might kick us out and never let me come back. That would be a fate worse than death.”

  Sara giggled. “Seems a little off-color, considering the circumstances, don’t you think?”

  Their cheer dimmed at the reminder of the danger awaiting them around every corner.

  “It’s possible in these times we need to laugh a little more and a little harder to make up for the difference.”

  It was a more optimistic view than Sara expected out of the man. He surprised her in the most unexpected and excellent ways.

  They reached the table Pauline had set aside for them. A bottle of Moet sat in a bucket of ice on the table, and a single rose lay across the setting that must be meant for Sara. Derek whipped it off and offered it to her with a graceful flourish and bow.

  “My lady.”

  Sara had never been the type to want a prince charming. Half the reason she and Michael had worked so well was because each treated the other like an equal who didn’t need fawning over. It was what Sara had always wanted, but despite that long-held view she felt a tug on her heart at Derek’s actions and words. Being his lady sounded nice.

  “My lord,” she said. When he rose from his bow, she sank into as deep a curtsy as she could pull off without falling over. He rewarded her with a wide grin, the kind that crinkled his eyes and made them sparkle. She wanted to make his eyes do that as often as she could.

  In keeping with the general gallantry he had adopted for the evening, he pulled her chair out for her and tucked it in behind her.

  “Would you like me to pour the champagne or do you need anything else?” Pauline asked.

  “No, thank you, this is great,” Derek said. “Just tell that knave of a chef to come out and see me when he has a moment.”

  By the time Derek had popped the cork on the champagne and finished pouring the two glasses, a man approached the table who could only be the aforementioned chef. He wore a stylish but functional white jacket that was mostly clean but was peppered with sauce as though he’d been shot in the most delicious battlefield.

  “Derek Devereux!” the man exclaimed. “It is excellent to see you! And who is this beauty you brought to grace the floor of my restaurant?” He held out his hand and captured Sara’s in it, bringing it to his lips and barely brushing them against the back of her hand.

  “Rich, this is Sara. She said no chef could cook better than she could, so I brought her here to try to knock some sense into her head.”

  “Hey!” she protested. “That is out of context!”

  The chef clutched at his chest as though his heart had just exploded. “Say it isn’t so! Another woman with designs to throw me out on the street to become a destitute bum, no longer fit to cook for the soup kitchen. I shall hang my hat in shame and drag my feet to the unemployment line.”

  Sara tried to keep a severe look on her face as she glared at Derek, but a smirk wormed its way onto her lips. It was impossible to contain herself with Chef Aiken’s antics to deal with. He was a character.

  “What do you feel like cooking tonight, Rich?” Derek asked him. “I’ve always been partial to your bone marrow, so maybe do that up as a course, but I want you to have free rein to cook whatever you feel like doing for us.”

  Sara had never been to a restaurant and ordered in this manner. She wasn’t sure what to think about it, but apparently knowing the chef meant playing by different rules than most people.

  The chef appeared to love the freedom and challenge that Derek presented him. “Oh, never fear, my good friend. This lady won’t know what hit her taste buds by the time you arrive at the dessert course. She’ll laugh, she’ll cry, and it won�
�t be long before she admits she wants nothing more than to have me cook her every meal for the rest of her life. Have you told her about your offer yet?”

  Derek shook his head, “Not yet. I was going to after we’d had the first course and she realized the true extent of your mastery. But judging by her puzzled look, I won’t get away with waiting that long. What Rich is referring to is the offer I made him after the first time I came and ate here. I was so impressed I offered him five million dollars a year to come and live at my house and cook all my meals for me.”

  Sara stared back in amazement and then looked up at Rich. “Really? And you didn’t take it?”

  “No, I couldn’t do that. It’s more and easier money than I’m making now, but I’m not in it for the cash. I love the challenge of owning a restaurant and creating masterful dishes every night. I could do that for Derek, but it wouldn’t be on the same scale or level of what I can do here.”

  It was an admirable outlook. Sara could understand—she wouldn’t be able to give up her line of work either, even if she were to end up marrying Derek.

  Easy, Sara. It was the first time she had mentioned the “M” word about Derek, even internally. It was a dangerous line of thinking she wasn’t ready to get into, even if things had been getting more serious between them so quickly.

  Rich took his leave, and they finally dipped into the champagne.

  “Here’s to new beginnings, and exploring possibilities,” Derek said, lifting his glass. The fine crystal clinked with a clear, pure tone.

  The bubbly was better than what she was used to drinking. It rolled across her tongue so smoothly she could have sworn someone had bottled velvet. The effervescence lifted the flavor off her tongue with a light, delicate touch. It was delightful.

  A man approached the table from behind Derek, and her mood soured completely and utterly. She almost spat out the rest of the wonderful champagne in her mouth, but held on.

  What the hell is that asshole doing here?

  Derek had just been about to say something, but stopped short at her expression. He turned to look at the target of her disgust.