“Yeah, but . . . they’re not safe for work.”
I grinned, utterly thrilled. “Why don’t you let me decide that?”
There wasn’t any point in arguing. I always got what I wanted.
46
FOUR MONTHS LATER
ETHAN
Blindinglight reflected off the windshield of Giovanni Abramo’s car when it parked beside the hangar, momentarily flashing in my eyes, aggravating me. I’d been fighting a headache since accepting this terrible job.
The thirty-year-old Italian man with curly dark hair stepped out of the car and went to the trunk to fish out an enormous bag that looked like it weighed as much as he did.
I wound up doing the work, as I knew I would. Giovanni was used to being waited on, and he only spoke Italian. All other languages were inferior and beneath the Abramo family.
“I take it you’re Nathan?” Giovanni asked, looking up to meet my eyes that were almost a foot above his.
I’d been told my Italian was almost flawless. “Yes. Pleased to meet you.”
“I’m glad you were available. My last guy got sick, and I thought I was going to have to cancel. I’ve been planning this trip for months.”
Unbeknownst to Giovanni, his bodyguard had come down with a horrible case of intentional drugging. I’d decided my character of ‘Nathan’ for this assignment would lack any personality and be all business. “I’d like to speak with the crew and inspect the plane.”
Giovanni gestured that direction, as if saying,“After you.”
Exterior inspection revealed nothing abnormal, but I didn’t find that surprising. Not too many people cared about Giovanni. His father Vitale was the one who garnered the most attention.
There was a crew of three attached to the jet, two men and a woman, all dressed in matching black attire. I evaluated the pilots, one young and one older. The flight attendant was in her late twenties, maybe thirty. Brunette. Utterly gorgeous, but they usually were on these private crews.
Sometimes they were simply in-flight, high-class hookers.
“I need to examine the interior,” I said to her.
Giovanni smirked. “None of them speak Italian. I believe Olivia is American.”
I repeated in English, and she blinked a pair of emerald green eyes at me. For a second, I saw a flash in them, an emotion I wasn’t expecting. Annoyance. Then, it was gone.
“All right, this way.” Her voice was lyrical and pleasing.
Once inside the plane, my head was an inch from the ceiling. She followed me and remained in the aisle while I inspected the seats and lavatory, watching me, curious.
“There’s nothing on board you need to worry about,” she said.
“Is that right?” I came closer, needing to make it past her to view the cockpit and galley.
“Yes. It’s my job to know what happens on my plane.”
Herplane? Pretty territorial, but she took pride in her work, and I could respect that. When she didn’t step out of my way, it forced me to examine her closer. In a word, she was elegant. Long lashes rimming intelligent eyes. She didn’t find my size intimidating. In fact, she didn’t seem to find me intimidating at all.
I was so very tired of doing this, I must be slipping. I felt like I’d been undercover my whole goddamn life. I’d sworn that jobin Croatia would be my last. Juric, or whatever that man’s name had truly been... it was supposed to end with his death.
Now I was standing on a plane that was gearing up for South Africa, a fake passport in my pocket, staring at a woman who the real person inside me thought was profoundly beautiful. Not that I was allowed to have those kinds of thoughts.
It didn’t matter, anyway—she was looking back at me like I was an asshole. That was what I’d seen earlier in her eyes, and she wasn’t wrong.
“I need to look in the galley and cockpit,” I said, prompting her to move out of my way.
