My identity has been replaced.
Not in the legal sense, but by my job title.
"Pilot, my daughter is asleep in the bedroom, so could you try not to be too loud or climb too fast?" white haired, suit-wearing Charles Hale asked, making the question sound like more of an order.
I internally rolled my eyes. "Well, this is an airplane, so a certain degree of noise is going to occur, but I'll try not to rev the engines for fun."
He completely missed the sarcasm in my voice.
"Thank you," he said, nodding dismissively.
I eagerly headed to the cockpit without bothering with my usual pleasantries: "I'm Jacob Black, your pilot for today; hopefully we have a nice flight together. Once we reach altitude, I'll come back and see how everything's going."
Leaving the cockpit before landing was not on my list of things to do on this flight.
I pulled open the door to my sanctuary for the next few hours and slipped in—locking the door before sighing happily.
If I had a happy place, this would be it.
"A-hem," a throat cleared behind me.
My sanctuary had been invaded.
I spun around, and my eyes went wide. There, in the co-pilot's seat, was Charles Hale's most prized possession. His blonde-haired, blue-eyed, stunningly gorgeous daughter, naked, with my uniform hat on.
I could do nothing except openly gape at her.
My heart was pounding one hundred and twenty beats a minute in my chest. Not only because she was without question the hottest woman I'd ever laid eyes on, but because I was fired and possibly arrested the moment she decided to come in here.
"I looked all over the plane, but I can't find the form," she said innocently, like that was all the explanation I would require.
I swallowed hard. "Form for what?" I choked out.
She looked up at me and smiled a little. "To induct me into the Mile High club," she purred.
All the air vanished from my lungs; my heart paused in its frantic beating. I plopped back against the door hard, cracking my head on the metal frame.
This is not really happening, I told myself. You've inhaled jet fuel fumes.
"Get dressed," I ordered, while pulling myself away from the wall. "And leave my… the cockpit."
"Leah Clearwater." she said casually, toying with the ends of her hair rather than fulfilling my demand to get the fuck out.
My teeth clenched, and once again, the air abandoned my body.
Leah Clearwater, youngest daughter of NewYork financier, Harold Clearwater.
The nineteen year old socialite had crossed paths with me a couple of weeks ago when she and her rich bitch friends needed a pilot to take them from Miami to Manhattan and back again because, "Miss Sparkle can't be expected to go out on the beach without this season's bikini!"
The dog didn't have its bikini, so they rented a private jet at three a.m. to go and get it before appearing at the MTV beach house later that morning.
"What about her?" I growled as the frustration came back to me.
"She told me I could expect a certain quality of service on this airline. Well, with this pilot, really." She looked over the tarmac as she spoke, watching the luggage being loaded onto an identical plane to mine.
Did I mention I fucked that little Pomeranian loving, anorexic princess on the way back down South?
Apparently, she'd felt the need to share that sordid little detail.
"And you can," I agreed. "You can expect the highest level in quality of care with me. First and foremost: safety. And to make sure this flight is as safe as possible, my attention needs to be on the flying itself. Not on you."
"You don't really care about repeat business, do you?" she questioned, indifferent.
"Only from good, low maintenance customers."
"No, not like Leah," I muttered while sliding into my seat to give her an open path to walk out—when she eventually got the message and left, that is.
"She'll be interested to hear that. King Quality Airlines pilot trash-talks client. I'm sure everyone will be rushing to book a plane then."
"Sounds more like a headline than gossip." A nervous twist began tightening in my stomach. Charles' little angel apparently wasn't above blackmail.
"Well..." She shrugged lightly, glancing over to me for a moment. "You know the tabloids. Anything the young and famous do or say is front page news these days."
"And she may just mention that in front of the wrong people?" I surmised. My eyes dropped to the floor as it really sunk in how severely fucked I was fast becoming.
It was then I noticed the clean floor—not unusual under normal circumstances, but it raised the question of where her clothes were.
"There's no such thing as bad publicity," she replied coolly. "Although, if there were, this would definitely be bad for you."
"Rosalie," she interjected.
"Where are your clothes?" I continued without acknowledging her, "Call me Rosalie." line.
"In the cabin," she answered. "I can leave if you like; I'm sure Daddy will understand why I'm coming out of here… naked." She stood up, exposing herself to anyone looking through the windshield.
I reached for her arm, but stopped myself; she was probably the sort of girl to scream at the drop of a hat. "Wait!" I hissed.
She stopped and turned back to me, arms folded and nothing done to cover herself.
"Why do you want me fired? Or imprisoned?"
"So what the fuck are you doing?" I waved my hands across the space, looking at her with wide eyes. She couldn't possibly think this wouldn't get me into trouble.
"Having fun. And making it up as I go along." Her lips curved up in a playful smile. "I just want you to have fun with me."
I scoffed. "Naked?"
"Everything's more fun when you're naked."
My eyes flickered over her toned skin and long, lithe muscles. Oh the fun I could have with her naked body, I thought to myself. "Sit down, put your harness on, and start trying to figure out a way to get back into that cabin—without being seen—and clothed again."
"You're asking me to stay in your, sorry, the cockpit now?"
I didn't answer her while strapping myself into the seat. She sat back down and secured herself behind the five point harness as well without another word, just a smug twitching on the corners of her lips.
Here goes the most trying flight of my career. I taxied out onto the runway, glancing at her once more before lift-off, and then sighed hopelessly. I'm a dead man.
"Don't touch anything!" I barked the instant her hand moved off her leg.
Rosalie held her hands up in surrender. "Fine. I'll try not to breathe, either."
I snorted callously. "That'd be nice."
She rolled her eyes and exhaled, sounding mildly irritated. "Why haven't you put the auto-pilot on?" she inquired.
I looked down at the gauges and various compasses that were directing me through the continuous blue sky. Sight or a map would do very little good up here; there weren't any constant landmarks, and the ground or sea below was no help, either—apart from the odd distinctive sky scraper or uniquely shaped arena.
"Because I don't feel like it," I answered. Again, my thoughts switched back to her parents on the other side of the door. The body numbing panic washed over me again, and I shifted in my seat uncomfortably.
"How are we meant to have any fun when you're flying the plane?"
"We're not," I replied instantly.
She exhaled sharply. "C'mon, please? I can't get back into the cabin now, so can't you just relax and accept that I'm here?"
"No. Miss Ha—"
"Stop calling me that. My name is Rosalie," she snapped with more irritation than the first time.
"Why does it matter?" I asked.
"I'm not just Miss Hale. I'm an individual."
I smirked a little as it clicked in my head. "You don't like being your father's daughter. Being a Hale pisses you off," I stated.
"So what if it does?" she hissed.
"Whoa, just chill out, okay?" I laughed a little; she shot a glare at me. "So if you don't like being Daddy's little princess, then why do you slip right into the role?"
"Would I be here now if I were into the role?" she retorted.
"I guess not." I shrugged. "So why pretend?"
"Why not?" she asked back.
"Maybe because if it's not who you are, then you must be miserable?" I suggested.
She quirked her eyebrow at me, and then looked out over the clouds. "Who said I'm not miserable? Everyone is."
"I'm not. Well, I wasn't until you snuck in here and got me fired in doing so. Now I'm very miserable."
"Stop saying miserable."
She made a 'tsk' sound and looked away.
"Look, I'm gonna run us into some turbulence up here, so when I put the seatbelt light on, go back into the cabin and get dressed," I said, after about an hour's silence.
It hadn't been tense, but it certainly wasn't comfortable. Mostly, she just kept sighing and huffing like a child about to whine out, "I'm boooored."
"Whatever," she muttered coolly.
Don't do it! Don't fucking— "Why don't you want to leave?" Idiot! Couldn't just keep your mouth shut.
"Because quite frankly, my parents make me want to rip my ears off and blind myself."
My head snapped over to her as she spat out the words maliciously. "Why? Your dad's a self important pain in the ass, but your mother hasn't said two words to me since we met."
"Lucky you," she mumbled. "You spent, what, twenty minutes with my dad. Try twenty years. You might think my mom's quiet, but what she does say always seems to be a negative critique. I figured, maybe you might be a bit more entertaining than a plane ride with them, but I guess not."
I looked back out of the vast blue sky, closed my eyes, and then let my head fall forward. "Come back," I whispered.
"Get dressed, and if you can get back in without being seen, then come back," I told her a little louder.
She huffed and unlocked the harness. "I don't want your pity."
"Yes, you do." I scoffed loudly, "Why else would you have told me that shit about your family? However, I do not pity you; I never take pity on people for something they do to themselves, and in lying about yourself, you've done that. I'm inviting you to come back because, perhaps, I'm in the same position of boredom, and I thought maybe you would be willing to entertain me, as well."
As I heard myself lie, I couldn't help but wonder what it was that I did actually pity her over. She had put herself in this position by pretending to be someone her father approved of, instead of herself.
But for whatever reason, I didn't want her to go out there and be—there's that word again—miserable.
"So you want me to come back for what you can get from me?" she asked, and stated at the same time.
"Isn't that why you want to come back? To be entertained by me?" I shot back. She sighed again and pursed her lips. "I thought so. I can give you four minutes, two of which are going to be very bumpy, so you might wanna hurry the fuck up, get dressed, and get back in here. I'm not above begging you to be careful, though. It won't end well, for anyone here, if you get caught leaving."
"I'm aware of that. I don't really want to have to sit in this plane for the rest of a seven hour flight with my father if I get caught." She stopped right before the door, and I flicked on the seatbelt signs button.
"We've hit a little bit of turbulence. I need you all to please sit down and put on your seatbelts until the sign goes off. Thanks," I said into the microphone, using the fucking preppy voice we were supposed to use when flying. Apparently, sounding like an amateur actor was reassuring.
I waited around thirty seconds, and then gently turned closer to a convective cloud. The plane bounced a little, and I told Rosalie to go while I held it steady so I didn't get too close.
My sanity was now questionable.
No mentally stable pilot would deliberately seek out a dangerous situation. So clearly, the girl had sent me a touch crazy.
Hey, guys. I'm back as you can see. For sneak peeks and pictures head to overzealousguineapigstories dot blogspot dot com. I'd love to hear your thoughts and opinions ;D