𝐇𝐞𝐫 𝐏𝐢𝐥𝐨𝐭 || ᴊᴇɴʟɪsᴀ

𝐞 𝐢 𝐠 𝐡 𝐭 𝐞 𝐞 𝐧

The half-eaten tube of antacid tablets had rolled just out of reach. Stretching over papers strewn on my desk, I managed to flick them toward me. I palmed another two into my mouth, and tried to suck quietly as Shane Preston’s panic hit a high note. I should charge him for treating my indigestion. I should charge him for my blood pressure issues. I should charge him for being an annoying wanker.

After a veiled insult about my competence, I crunched the antacids between my molars, not bothering to cover the sound. “Shane, please. Let me assure you everything is fine.”

I had to strain to understand his response, babbling and ranting about shit he really didn’t understand regardless of how often I explained it. He constantly misinterpreted me. He misinterpreted Mark. He probably misinterpreted breathing. In the end, I gave up and told him I would come see him the next day to show him exactly what I meant. I made a note to slip a commission rate increase into Preston’s next contract and buzzed my assistant.

“Clare, I need to be in Oklahoma tomorrow midafternoon, probably returning around ten or eleven p.m.”
Knowing Shane, he would want to discuss every penny of his portfolio over dinner stretching into late drinks. Goodbye relaxing time with Lisa's tomorrow night.

I turned to the window just in time to see all my plans flying out of it. I had a function tonight, would be home late and the last thing I’d feel like doing tomorrow was seeing one of my most challenging clients.

Clare appeared in my office. “Uh, Mr. Tuan has a meeting in Portland tomorrow and then he’s continuing to Las Vegas for the weekend, Ms. Kim. The jet won’t be back until Sunday.”

Portland? Why hadn’t I heard about it? Mark hated Friday meetings. Fuck Mark and his meeting and weekend trip and taking Lisa. Fuck Shane Preston. Fuck everything.

Cautiously, Clare told me, “Your shared calendar should have updated with Mr. Tuan's schedule, Ms. Kim.” She was telling me, respectfully, that if I looked I would have seen that Mark had gotten in first to use the jet for his meeting.

I squeezed the bridge of my nose. “Okay. Can you arrange a corporate jet, please?” There was no other way to work it.

“Of course.”

I shoved papers and my tablet aside and grabbed my purse. “I’m going out for a while.”

“You don’t want me to get you lunch, Ms. Kim?” Clare always seemed put out when I went out to forage for myself and I could never quite figure out why. I’d have thought having some extra time without my bothering her would be refreshing.

“It’s fine, thank you. I’ll grab something while I’m out.”

I tugged the collar of my Burberry trench up around my ears. Air. I needed air. Not fresh air because there was no such thing around here. Plain, smoggy, fumey but non-recycled air conditioning Manhattan air would have to do. I don’t know why but as I was striding down the sidewalk, I dialed Lisa. We hadn’t seen each other since last Friday, six days ago when she’d given me that precious piece of her past. Damned functions and dinners, and late meetings.

She was breathless when she answered, “Hey, is everything all right?”

“Mhmm.” Except for the scooter that just cut in front of me. I gave the departing figure a middle finger and rushed across the street. “This isn’t a bad time?”

“Not at all. I’m just out for a run.”

“Sweaty?”

“Very.”

Oh boy. “I just heard about Portland and Vegas.”

“Yeah, very last minute. I only got the call an hour ago.”