5. Jet
Chapter 5
Jet
The Silver Estate is magnificent in all its sprawling acres of glory. I shove my hands into my suit pants as I walk alongside Logan Rich through the ornamental gardens.
“Thank you for meeting here,” he says. “Things have been pretty busy, it’s hard to schedule time away.”
I scan the large stately home to the left of us that houses the Silver distillery’s main offices. I’d heard Logan was helping run things here while the owner is away serving a jail sentence.
“No problem. Thank you for meeting with me.”
“He’ll be out soon,” Logan says, following my eyes to the main house. “I’ll be moving back to the family business with my father full time again. Dax won’t need me here anymore.”
I admire Logan’s loyalty. It’s why I was so eager to tie down this meeting. And why I’m meeting with Logan and not his father, Leonard Rich. The two men run their design business together, but I’m told when it comes to any of their biofuel lines, Logan is the one to speak to.
“I’ll miss this part, though.” Logan tips his head toward the crowd of people spilling over the lawn near the house. “It’s fun hosting open days. Some people cannot hold their drinks at the tasting sessions.” He chuckles.
“I can imagine.” My gaze flits to the activities on the lawn briefly and then come back to rest on his face. “So, the aircraft engines. I’m told the first ones will be ready to be rolled out soon?”
“They will. One hundred percent biofuel. We’re the first company to design ones that work. And they can fly more hours than a standard jet engine before needing maintenance.”
I hear Hayden’s voice inside my head singing with joy over how many hundreds of thousands of dollars this will potentially save Atlantic Airways’ US operation.
“So I’m told. And I understand the refit has been going smoothly for the first test aircraft.”
“You’ve done your research, Mr. Grant.”
“When it’s to do with the future of Atlantic Airways, I’ll do anything and everything,” I counter, earning myself a chuckle from Logan even though it wasn’t supposed to be amusing.
“I’m not sure why you’re here, though. No offense.”
“I want to buy your engines,” I state flatly .
“So does every other airline in the world.” Logan shrugs with the easy confidence of a man who knows he has the market eating out of his palm.
“Atlantic Airways isn’t every other airline. It’s the airline,” I reply coolly.
Logan faces me, studying me as his lips curl up. “The first batch is tied into a contract. But you strike me as someone who already knows this.”
I nod, holding his eyes as he chuckles again.
“Your flights are great; I’ll give you that. And your planes…” He whistles with a gleam in his eye that only someone with a true love of engineering and design would get. “They’re some of the best in the world. But like I said… The first batch is contracted. I wish I could help.”
It’s what I expected. He’s a man of his word. If I’d walked into this meeting and managed to easily negotiate him into breaking his previous contract to work with me instead, then it would have set alarm bells ringing.
I only work with people I can trust.
“I understand, and I respect that.”
He eyes me curiously.
“I’m not asking you to sell them to me.”
“Good, because I wouldn’t, even if I like your airline better.”
“Hm.” I tip my head in amusement. “Thank you.”
We walk again, following a path past some flowering bushes that leads alongside the edge of a large lake. The surface is covered in waterlilies .
“I know the deal you’ve signed is with James Callaghan at Skyline.”
Logan keeps his mouth closed, neither confirming nor denying.
“I also know that I’m likely to find him in one of three cities over the next few days.”
“He keeps a very precise schedule,” Logan says.
“He does. His time is precious. As is mine. As is yours.”
I pause, holding Logan’s eyes.
“I might have an idea where you’ll find him. Although talking him out of being the first to get his hands on our engine is not going to be an easy feat,” Logan says.
“I can handle Callaghan.”
“I’m not one for spilling hints over where my clients like to frequent on their travels, Mr. Grant.”
“No, of course not.” I shake my head as we continue strolling along the lakeside. “There was another thing I wanted to discuss with you while I’m here, though.”
“Go for it.”
“The gin we serve onboard and in our first-class lounges… it’s bitter . We need to replace the entire stock. It’s just a question of with what. I’ve always liked Aunt Iris’s blend myself. Nothing compares to it.”
His lips twist. “You’re right. Nothing does. The Silvers and the family who began it all are the only ones who know the secret recipe. This is the only place that makes it.”
“Isn’t that interesting now,” I muse .
“Indeed,” he agrees.
I let the silence stretch on as my offer settles. The next words between the two of us will be figures. I’ll let Logan name his price first. He’ll come in high, as he should, and we’ll meet somewhere lower.
If he knew how desperate I really am, then he’d know I’d happily pay his first figure.
I scan the lake, wondering how many thousands of waterlilies are floating on its surface as I wait.
I don’t hear whatever Logan says because my attention is fixed on the bank further ahead of us. Fixed on the auburn hair bent over a notepad as she writes.
She lifts her head, gazing across the water as she drops her pen between the open pages and then wipes beneath both eyes with her fingertips, completely unaware she’s no longer alone.
I turn, giving Logan a polite smile. “Maybe we could discuss this over one of those sessions you have running by the house.”
“Sure. Let’s do that.”
We turn and head back in the direction we came from.
“What do we have?” I bark as I open the fridge, scanning the contents.
“The slots into O’Hare?” Hayden offers through the phone.
“Chicago? No way. They took months to get. What else?”
My eyes land on a carton of grapefruit juice. I lift it, gauging its weight. Full . I put it back down and grab a bottle of water.
“What about San Jose?”
“We’ve only just secured Costa Rica,” I grumble as I screw off the cap and take a long drink before setting the bottle down.
“It’s not going to even get its inaugural flight if we don’t get Callaghan to play nice,” Hayden says.
“Fuck.” I tip my head back and stare at the kitchen ceiling.
“You know he likes things first. He’ll not want to share a single one of those engines.”
“Leave Callaghan to me,” I grit, scrubbing a hand around my jaw .
“Costa Rica?” Hayden leaves the words dangling in the air.
“Fine,” I concede. “But it’s all he’s getting.” Even as I say the words, I know they’re wrong. James Callaghan might be sweetened with the offer of the slots into San Jose. But there’s no way he’ll give up some of his new engines in exchange. He’s not a fool. He’ll be after more. A hell of a lot more.
“What about—?”
“No,” I snap.
Hayden exhales heavily. “You know it’s about the only thing that might make him consider it.”
I walk out of the kitchen and down the rear hallway, all the way to the end until I reach the old wooden staircase the servants would have used years ago.
“That might be the case, but we’re not that desperate.”
Yet.
“All right. I’ll make some calls about San Jose. Leave it with me.”
“Fine.” I end the call.
I climb halfway up the staircase and sit on the old, weathered wood. It creaks out a familiar welcome that has me rubbing my chest. I tuck my phone away and rest my forearms onto my knees, sinking my head into my hands as I rub at my aching skull.
What a fucking mess.
After the call with Hayden, I changed into my workout gear and hammered my body until it felt as pulverized as my mind at the thought of giving up anything that’s mine to James fucking Callaghan. His airline, Skyline, is our biggest rival when it comes to the North American routes. What started as nothing more than healthy competition years ago, turned into me catching private investigators hired by Callaghan rooting through my trash cans searching for dirt on me.
I can picture the smug bastard’s face when he realizes he has something I want. As long as he never finds out how much I need it, I can stomach the idea of playing whatever little hoop jumping game he’ll have me perform in order to discuss the engines. He’s always loved theatrics.
Bet he has a tiny dick.
I stop and face the open door out onto the guest room’s balcony. There’s no furniture on it, and everything inside the room, apart from the bed, is covered in dust sheets. Dad was getting this room decorated before my impromptu visit. Before he invited a certain hotheaded woman to make herself at home in my room. Prickles run along the backs of my arms as I recall seeing her lingerie hanging up to dry in the laundry room this morning. She’s making herself comfortable, that’s for sure.
I walk out onto the balcony and crane my neck to see the pool house at the other end of the gardens. I haven’t seen Ava since I came home, so I assume she’s still holed up doing whatever it is she’s doing in there.
She’s probably stirring up potions to share with her coven. Ones that place men like my father under a spell that allows them to command supply of their own fridge in a house that isn’t theirs.
A tinkle of laughter accompanied by a low voice carry from around the side of the house. I step closer to the stone railing to peer below. A shimmering flash of copper moves beneath me as Ava strolls along chatting animatedly with my father’s landscaper, David. She lifts a hand and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, but it promptly falls forward again. David’s arm moves, and I lean over the railing, my teeth grinding as he reaches for Ava’s hair. She beats him to it and tucks it back again.
I can’t hear what they’re talking about, but whatever he just said must be fucking hilarious because Ava throws her head back and laughs, clasping a hand over her mouth. They continue walking along the side of the house before disappearing around the corner .
“Fuck.” I suck in a sharp hiss as my palms sting. I pull them back from where I’ve been gripping the railings with enough force that the old, rough stone has scratched and made small beads of blood gather on my skin.
I walk inside my room and grab a tissue, just as the sound of crunching gravel from the driveway announces my father’s return.
I stride straight to my bedroom door. It’s time to talk about James Callaghan, and just how far up his ass my head is about to go to save our airline.