“Mr. Weston!” This time there was a voice, a female voice. “Mr. Weston, are you in there?”

I didn’t answer. I continued standing under the hot streams of the shower, trying to think of any possible way I could get out of this.

“Mr. Weston, it’s me! Dr. Cox!” The shrill voice came again ten minutes later. “I know you’re in there! If you don’t answer this time, I’ll have to assume something is wrong and call the police!”

Jesus Christ...

I turned off the water and stepped out of the shower. Not bothering to grab a towel, I walked through the bedroom suite and opened the door, finding myself face to face with a red-haired woman in an all-white suit.

“What the fuck do you want?” I asked.

“Excuse me? How dare you talk to me like that? I don’t appreciate you ignoring—” She suddenly stopped talking and stepped back. Her big brown eyes widened, and her cheeks turned bright red.

“Your cock is um...” Her voice was a whisper. “You’re completely naked right now.”

“How perceptive of you,” I said flatly. “What do you want?”

Her gaze lingered on my cock for several more seconds, then she cleared her throat. “I’m Dr. Cox with Personnel Affairs for Elite Airways.”

“I’m aware.”

“I know that this weekend marks your final flight sequence with Signature Air, but seeing as though Elite and Signature will now be one airline as of next Monday, you still need to complete some paperwork with us,” she said. “You’ve had ten months to get this done, and you’re the only pilot who hasn’t completed the personality profile. Not only that, but I could’ve sworn we told you that we were flying into Dallas on your stopover just to get this done, Mr. Weston. We flew here for you, and we’re still waiting for you to join us in the meeting room. Would it kill you to take this seriously?”

“I’ll be able to take you seriously when you realize that my eyes are up here.”

Flustered, she blushed again and finally looked up at me. “We told you to be downstairs at seven.”

“I told you I’d get there at eight.”

“Well,” she said, looking at her watch, “It’s now seven thirty, and the reason we insisted you join us an hour early is because we wanted you to have time to read over some of our new policies. We insisted.”

“No, you suggested. Two completely different terms with two completely different expectations.”

“I guess I can add ‘human dictionary’ to your list of unique profile qualities.” She rolled her eyes. “I’ll be very careful with my wording the next time I send you an email.”

“You should.”

“So, we’ll see you downstairs at eight?”

“Eight thirty. Someone interrupted my shower with her bullshit, so I need to make up for lost time.”

“Mr. Weston, I swear to God, if you’re not downstairs within the next hour, I will suggest to my superiors that we pack up and leave. And I can promise you that this weekend will be the last time you set foot on an aircraft.”

“I’m not a fan of empty threats, but for the record, the word ‘insist’ actually would’ve worked a lot better in that sentence. I’ll get there after my goddamn shower.” I shut the door before she could say anything else.

I walked through the bedroom suite once more—picking up a couple of empty condom wrappers and tossing them into the trash. Then I pulled my captain’s hat and navy blue uniform out of the closet and set them on the bed.

For over a decade, I’d flown for respectable airlines and companies, more than earned the four gold stripes that were sewn onto the shoulders, and I honestly thought that the remainder of my career would be spent flying for the beloved Signature Air. But the moment Elite Airways became the number one airline in the country, with its “steal everything from the incomparable days of Pan Am and just make it seem new” approach, I knew there was a chance that it would find a way to take over my favorite airline. Just like it took over most of the others.

I picked up my phone from the nightstand, hoping to see a new acceptance email from any of the charter airlines I’d applied to work for last week, but there were none. There was only a text message from the woman I’d fucked earlier, Emily.

She was listed as ‘Dallas-Emily’—city first, then name. That way, I wouldn’t confuse her with ‘San-Fran-Emily’ or ‘Vegas-Emily,’ so I could easily keep track of the other women I slept with in other cities.

Dallas-Emily: Did I leave my earrings in your room?

J. Weston: You did. I had someone from the front desk come get them. You can pick them up from there whenever you get a chance.

Dallas-Emily: You could’ve just told me that I left them there, Jake...

J. Weston: I just did.

Dallas-Emily: You know what I mean. Maybe I left them on purpose because I wanted to come back up and talk to you.

J. Weston: That’s exactly why I gave them to the front desk.

Dallas-Emily: Can I ask you something personal? There’s something I need to say.

J. Weston: I can’t prevent you from sending a text message.

Dallas-Emily: The next time we meet up, would it kill you to start our night with something other than, “Get on your knees,” or “Open your mouth?”

J. Weston: I’m not opposed to saying “Hello” from here on out.