Chapter 14

14

DEAN

A fter the eight flights with the students, I was ready to be done. Everyone had done alright, but it was always a little intimidating to put my life in the hands of total strangers. I didn't know most of these kids. I was trusting the instructors that came before me. If they gave the pilots the greenlight to get into the class, I had to hope they were reliable.

After giving the students the go-ahead to leave, I walked back to my office. When I opened the door, I noticed Sarah was hot on my heels.

The look on her face said she was pissed.

This should be interesting.

I stopped in the doorway of my office and looked at her. "Did you need something?"

She pushed past me and walked into my office without an invitation.

"By all means, come in," I said and closed the door behind me.

She rounded on me, her expression fierce with accusation. The anger flashing in her eyes was hot. I liked that fire in her. For some stupid reason my mind went straight to sex. I wanted to see all the fire and passion in my bed. Her hair splayed out around her head and that cute little chin pointed up at me when I hovered over her.

"You did that on purpose," she accused.

I raised an eyebrow, feigning innocence. "Did what? I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Tried to scare me," she clarified, her eyes narrowing in suspicion.

I smirked at her accusation. "Did it work?"

I knew exactly what she was pissed about and I was enjoying her irritation. She had been frustrating me since I met her.

Her expression darkened.

"Remember, I'm your superior," I said.

She opened her mouth and snapped it shut again.

"There's always a method to my madness. It's not your place to question it. Or to question me , for that matter." I smiled when I saw her frustration rising. Her cheeks were red, her eyes narrowed to the point I wasn't sure she could even see me.

"All you have to do is show up and do what you're told," I said. "If you can manage that, then we'll both have done our jobs, and we can move on."

She took a deep breath. I was certain I could hear her count to three.

"And what is your job, exactly?" she challenged, her voice dripping with suspicion. "I find it very convenient that I happen to meet you at my graduation, and now here you are, everywhere I turn. You're worse than a bad rash. You know, I can handle myself. I don't need babysitting or a babysitter." She crossed her arms over her chest, giving me a defiant look.

I took a seat behind my desk, leaned back and clasped my hands behind my head. "What are you implying?" I asked, keeping my tone casual. I had no idea what her father told her.

She eyed me like she was giving me a brain scan. "You're doing your job?" she repeated. "What exactly is that job?"

"I would think that was evident," I replied calmly. "I'm a flight instructor."

"No, you're a pilot."

"I'm both," I said. "I teach. I fly."

"How well do you know my father?" she asked.

"Well enough."

"And why were you at my graduation?"

"I don't believe it was your graduation," I answered.

"You didn't answer my question," she shot back.

I had to admit, she was clever. A quick study, for sure.

"Your father invited me," I replied, knowing she was going to get to the bottom of the situation one way or another.

She pursed her lips together. I could practically see the wheels turning. "My dad just happened to invite you to my graduation?"

I shrugged. "I guess so. Is there something you're trying to imply?"

"Did my father send you here to train me?"

I shrugged, keeping my expression neutral. "Sort of."

"Sort of?" she pressed, her tone incredulous. The flush was back in her cheeks. I wondered if she knew how sexy she was when she was pissed.

"Honestly, it sounds more like he sent me here to keep an eye on you," I admitted, unable to resist a small smirk. "And after everything I've seen, I understand why. You're a loose cannon. You need a handler."

Sarah was offended, that much was clear. "I'm going to give you one chance to tell me you're bullshitting me."

"Nope." I leaned back in my chair and gave her another smirk. "I'm not bullshitting you, Sarah. Your father had concerns about your impulsiveness, your tendency to take unnecessary risks, and your lack of direction. He wanted someone to help guide you, to rein you in a bit. I'm here to do that."

She huffed, crossing her arms over her chest again. "And I suppose you think you're the best person for the job?"

"Absolutely. I've been doing this long enough to know what it takes to get someone like you on track. And trust me, you need some guidance."

Sarah glared at me, her expression turning bitter. "And what makes you think I'm so terrible at flying? That your so-called expertise is needed to save me from myself?"

"Your flying isn't the problem," I replied, my voice calm, but I could tell she was headed for a meltdown. "It's you. You're a hothead. You're running around picking fights and getting yourself into trouble."

"I don't see how that's relevant," she retorted. "We all have our off days. Am I supposed to just sit back and let some assholes fuck with me? Like you wouldn't do the same damn thing. It's okay if a guy does it, but I'm not supposed to!"

I shook my head. "The occasional bar fight is one thing, but you've been in two in the last four months—that I know of. If you smell dog shit everywhere you go, it's time to check your own shoes."

She stood there for a moment, her fists clenched at her sides, her eyes burning with anger and hurt. "This is bullshit," she finally spat out. "You don't know me. You know nothing about me. My father had no right to do this behind my back!"

Sarah paced like a caged animal but I sat calmly and watched. Sure, dealing with her attitude was a pain, but I liked her spirit, even when it was directed in anger toward me. And I got to fly planes and scare the daylights out of young pilots who needed a reality check. They had to be ready for combat, not just flying in a simulator.

They needed to understand this was life and death.

"Are you done?" I asked.

She flopped into the chair, deflating. "I don't need a fucking babysitter."

"I don't care what you think you need," I said. "You're here to earn your spot and prove you deserve to be here. And from what I've seen so far, you're not even close."

Her mouth dropped open. "You haven't seen anything!" She jumped out of the chair once again, a raging phoenix. "You didn't even let me fly today. If I had the stick, I wouldn't have to waste time telling you what to do. I would have just done it."

"Maybe you would, maybe you wouldn't." I shrugged. "That's the thing with young pilots that think they are good. They're cocky. But there is something I have seen time and again."

"What?"

"They freeze," I replied. "If you want to succeed, you need to get your head on straight and start following the rules. Show a little respect for this place and for those who came before you."

Sarah's chest heaved with frustration as she glared at me, her fists clenched at her sides. An internal battle raged within her, the desire to rebel warring with her duty.

"I have respect for the good pilots." She shook her head. "I just want to fly. I'm a damn good pilot. Let me prove it to you. To everyone. To my dad, since he clearly thinks I can't handle it."

"You'll have plenty of chances to prove yourself," I assured her. "But flying is not just about being up in the air. It's about discipline, about respect, about understanding that every move you make has consequences."

"I know that," she said.

"Do you?" I asked. "Because you seem to think bar fights won't affect your flying. Let me tell you, you can't fly with a broken hand or a concussion. A punch in the eye can fuck up your vision and ground you for life. Think about what you're risking the next time your fragile ego gets hurt."

Her brow furrowed like she had never considered what an injury would mean for her flight training.

For a second, I thought I had gotten through to her, but then she sighed heavily and rolled her eyes. "Whatever. I'm going to talk to my dad and tell him I don't want or need you hovering over me like a drone."

"Trust me, I didn't ask for this assignment. I should be sipping tea and sucking down crumpets in jolly old England right now, not sweating my begonias off in Mississippi. But here we are."

She scoffed. "Then leave."

I smiled. "You first."

"Look, you can be the teacher and I'll be the best student," she said. "But don't follow me to every bar I go to. I'm a grownup. You can pass that along to the general in your weekly report while you're sucking up to him. Okay? Outside this place, I don't want to see you. Stay away from me."

"Are you trying to give me orders?" I asked.

She paused. "When it comes to my personal life, yes. Back off."

"Stop picking fights you can't win."

"Who says I don't win them?" She stormed out of my office before I got the chance to say anything. She slammed the door behind her, nearly pulling it off the hinges.

I shook my head and ran my hand over my face. How had Mo dealt with her growing up? She was a firecracker. But then again, the general always had a way of handling even the most difficult situations. Maybe I could learn a thing or two from him when it came to dealing with his daughter. I had a feeling I was going to need the patience of a saint.