Part 3 (1/2)
One glance at the clock and Jackson knew he could make it to the airfield if he skipped breakfast-no hards.h.i.+p-and used his portable electric shaver on the way. He grabbed the quickest shower in history and threw on what he hoped was a blue plaid s.h.i.+rt and blue pants. Wallet, keys, gla.s.ses, and he was out the door and into his Corolla.
The gas tank needle rode right above the E as he dodged through traffic and prayed he had enough to make it. Halfway there he realized he'd forgotten the shaver. Oh, well. He could pick up a razor and shaving cream on Maui and make himself reasonably presentable before he went to see the Aloha Pineapple folks. Or he could explain to everyone that he was growing a beard. As fast as his grew, they'd think he'd been working on it for several days instead of one night.
His major regret about oversleeping was that he'd set the alarms extra early to allow time for better grooming in honor of Genevieve. He'd planned to shampoo his hair and put styling gel on it. Then he'd hoped to get over to Mrs. Applegate's before she left for work and ask her if his pants and s.h.i.+rt went together. She'd told him he could do that anytime.
He spared a minute of sympathy for Mr. and Mrs. Applegate. Mr. Applegate worked the night s.h.i.+ft at a pineapple canning factory and came home about the time Mrs. Applegate left for her daytime job in the same factory's front office. Both of them drove like bats out of h.e.l.l, and Jackson had been expecting this collision for months. For him, the timing of the wreck couldn't have been better, but he was sorry for the Applegates, who loved their vehicles with a pa.s.sion.
Parking his car right next to Brogan's Z3, he made a mad dash through the executive terminal and out onto the tarmac. Squinting into the bright light, he spotted Genevieve standing next to the company's twin-engine King Air, a purse over her shoulder and a lightweight briefcase tucked under her arm. As usual, she wore something wonderful, a flowered dress with a snappy little short-sleeved jacket over it. A breeze molded the skirt to her legs and he caught his breath in appreciation. At that moment he hated Nick Brogan, and he'd never hated any human being in his life.
Then the object of his hatred emerged from the far side of the plane, where he'd obviously been stowing luggage. Jackson took note of the designer clothes, the salon haircut, and the healthy tan. On the surface Brogan was everything Jackson was not, everything that a woman like Genevieve would find attractive.
He couldn't blame her for not paying any attention to a disheveled computer programmer when a guy like Brogan showed up and invited her to fly with him to Maui. He couldn't blame her for missing the flaws in Brogan's character, either. For all he knew Genevieve had flaws in her character, flaws he was too smitten with l.u.s.t to notice.
”Hey, I'm here!” he called out, waving a hand over his head.
They both looked in his direction, and if he'd been closer, he'd probably have been able to watch them roll their eyes. He really needed to get louder alarm clocks. Of course, more time to get ready wouldn't have turned him into a page out of GQ, but at least he would have been shaved and his hair would have been combed.
Genevieve gave him a tentative smile when he drew near. ”h.e.l.lo, Jackson.” She adjusted her trendy little sungla.s.ses on her nose.
His stomach pitched when he realized that she wasn't really glad to see him. d.a.m.n, that sucked. Maybe next week he'd find out if anybody offered makeover cla.s.ses for guys. Brogan would drop her sooner or later. His kind always did. And then Jackson wanted to be ready.
Brogan was more obvious in his disdain. His lip curled as he looked Jackson over. ”Been awake long?”
”No, not long,” Jackson said with a cheerful grin. ”I'm hoping they serve coffee and a light snack on this leg.”
”Sorry.” Brogan sounded delighted to be telling him that. Then he glanced around the area where Jackson was standing. ”What did you do with your suitcase?”
Suitcase. He knew he was forgetting something when he tore out of the house. He shrugged. ”I believe in traveling light.”
”All right, then. Let's go. Farley, you take the copilot's seat. Genevieve can sit behind us. She tells me she's not used to flying.”
”Okay.” Jackson wasn't about to turn down a chance to be in front where the action was. He'd love to take a crack at flying the thing, but he'd be d.a.m.ned if he'd ask Brogan.
Brogan would have to offer, which probably wouldn't happen.
Genevieve looked a little pale as she climbed the small ramp and walked into the plane. She must really want this overnight experience with Studly if she was afraid to fly.
Jackson followed and gave her an encouraging smile before heading to the copilot's seat. He considered offering to sit in back with her and calm her fears, but then he remembered why she was coming on this trip and thought better of it.
Brogan didn't seem particularly concerned about Genevieve's fears. He pretty much ignored her as he made his way to the c.o.c.kpit and got himself situated. He seemed too d.a.m.ned eager to begin this little trip, in Jackson's opinion. Not only that, but he wasn't even bothering to treat Genevieve with any consideration.
Jackson tried not to think poorly of her for taking that kind of c.r.a.p, but he couldn't help being a little disillusioned. Oh, well, he needed to squeeze whatever enjoyment he could from this trip. He'd never flown in the King Air. Brogan had talked Matt into buying it a year ago, trading in the single-engine Cessna the company used to own. Jackson thought it was a huge extravagance, a toy primarily for Brogan, but Matt had gone along with the idea.
Jackson thought Matt went along with too many of Nick's ideas, but apparently Matt needed to keep the guy happy. Matt had confided to Jackson that Nick was restless and wanted to sell the company. Matt couldn't afford to buy him out, so there was a stalemate. The bigger plane might have been a bargaining chip for Matt.
As the plane taxied down the runway, Genevieve's voice rose above the roar of the engines. ”Is this a parachute back here?”
Jackson turned around to look, and sure enough, there was a parachute on the seat next to Genevieve. He'd been so engrossed in her that he'd missed it. ”What's the chute for?” he asked Brogan.
”Oh, just in case,” Brogan said. Then he picked up the mike and started talking to the tower.
Jackson thought it was kind of weird to have the chute sitting there like that, and it was having a very bad effect on Genevieve. She'd taken off her sungla.s.ses and her eyes were wide with fear. He hoped she wouldn't throw up or anything.
He turned toward her as much as his seat belt would allow. ”Are you okay?”
She nodded, but she didn't look okay. She looked scared to death.
”Have you ever flown in a small plane?”
She shook her head.
”We'll be fine. Brogan's a good pilot.” The words tasted like garbage in his mouth, but he made himself say them, so she wouldn't be so scared. Besides, Brogan was a good pilot from everything Jackson had heard. The guy might be a lousy human being, but that didn't mean he couldn't be competent in certain areas.
Genevieve didn't look comforted. As the plane barreled down the runway, she squeezed her eyes shut, dug her perfectly polished fingernails into the arms of the seat, and held her breath.
Jackson couldn't stand it. Long arms had their advantages. He reached out to her. ”Here. Hold my hand.”
Her eyes popped open and she stared at his outstretched hand. Then she leaned forward and grabbed on to it for dear life. Her hands were clammy and her nails jabbed his palm.
He didn't care. He'd put up with the pain if it helped her. She needed him right now, and maybe she'd need him later, after all of this was over. He would have liked to look into her eyes to rea.s.sure her, but she'd squeezed them shut again.
Brogan seemed oblivious to her distress as he launched the plane into the air.
”See?” Jackson spoke to her even though she still had her eyes closed. ”Piece of cake.”
She let out a shaky sigh and seemed to relax a little in the seat, but she didn't let go of his hand.
”We'll be at the Maui airport before you know it.” Jackson loved holding her hand, and her skin was beginning to warm. She had such soft skin, and such smooth, perfect nails. He didn't mind a bit that he'd have welts when she let go.
She sighed again, softer this time, opened her eyes and drew her hand away. ”Thanks, Jackson. I'll be okay now.”
”Sure you will.” d.a.m.n, he wished she hadn't let go of him. She still looked stiff and scared sitting back there.
But of course she didn't really want to take comfort from him. She wanted to hold Brogan's hand, not his. He leaned back and tried to be philosophical about it all. He failed. d.a.m.n it, why did he have to be attracted to her in the first place? She would never have anything to do with him, not even if he had a million makeovers. She liked the Nick Brogan type.
Speaking of the devil, Brogan hung his headset around his neck and glanced over at Jackson. ”Ever flown one of these babies, Farley?”
Jackson figured it was a deliberate effort to make him look nerdy and Brogan look cool. ”No,” he said.
”So I take it you don't have a pilot's license?” Brogan sounded like every cool guy just naturally had one.
”Nope.” He probably could qualify for one without a lot of trouble, considering all the simulation software he'd played with over the years. But what was he going to say, that he'd flown a computer? Now, that would impress the h.e.l.l out of Genevieve. Oh, sure, she'd think he was quite the dude if he mentioned that.
”You should try it some time,” Brogan said.
It wasn't an invitation to try it now, Jackson noticed. Brogan wasn't about to suggest he take the controls, because then Jackson might accidentally steal his thunder. ”It doesn't interest me,” he said.
Not much. Ha. He'd had a great time with the simulations and had told himself that someday he should try the real thing, just like someday he wanted to drive a race car, too. But no matter how many resolutions he made to get out there in the world and experience things firsthand, soon another fascinating project would draw him back to his computer and he'd lose track of time. When that happened, he barely remembered to eat, let alone schedule a flying lesson.