Chapter 2

TWO

Ben

The ringtone blares "Danger Zone"and I already know it"s Tom on the other end, probably with another one of his harebrained schemes. I snatch up the phone and press it to my ear.

"Ben, you better be sitting down for this," Tom"s voice buzzes with more electricity than a live wire.

"Shoot," I say, leaning back into my leather chair, feet propped up on the desk.

"Kate Woodbridge. The Kate Woodbridge," he emphasizes her name like it"s holy scripture, "needs a new personal pilot."

My feet thud to the floor, and I sit bolt upright. "You"re shitting me."

"Dead serious. And I figured, who else but Ben Caldwell to sweep her off her feet—figuratively and literally."

I"m grinning now, picturing those jade eyes that probably look like a pair of emeralds up close. "Tom, you magnificent bastard, tell me everything."

He dishes out the details faster than I can process them, but one thing"s clear: this gig"s my golden ticket to fly the skies with America"s sweetheart.

"Thanks, man," I say, already in motion. My hand"s on my laptop before Tom"s even hung up. I"ve got to move fast Opportunities like this don"t circle the runway waiting for clearance.

"Anytime, buddy," Tom says and clicks off.

I crack my knuckles and dive into my contacts. Pilots, flight attendants, even the barista at the airport café who owes me big time—they"re all potential leads. My charm"s about to work overtime.

"Hey, Sandra, it"s Ben. Yeah, still flying high. Listen, I need a favor." I channel every bit of smooth operator I"ve got as I spin my web, laying it on thick.

A few laughs, some shameless flattery, and promises of a round of drinks on me next time we"re in the same zip code—I"ve got them eating out of my hand.

"Sure thing, Ben. I"ll put in a word for you," they say, one after another, and I can almost feel the stars aligning.

By the time I hang up the last call, my heart"s racing like a jet engine at full throttle. This isn"t just any job. It"s the chance to fly with Kate freaking Woodbridge. And if the sparks fly? Well, let"s just say I"m ready for some turbulence.

The cursor blinks on the screen, a seductive invitation to pour my heart out. But it"s not love letters I"m crafting. It"s the pitch of a lifetime. My fingers fly across the keys, each tap a step closer to Kate Woodbridge and a sky filled with more than just clouds.

Dear Madeline,

I type, addressing Kate"s assistant with a familiarity we don"t actually share.

I"m Ben Caldwell, and flying is more than my job—it"s my passion, my art. As a pilot with over a decade of experience, I"ve navigated the skies for celebrities, CEOs, and royalty.

I pause, chewing on my lip. Got to keep it cool, Caldwell. Don"t gush like a fanboy.

Handling high-profile clients requires discretion, punctuality, and a commitment to safety—all of which are as integral to me as my pilot"s license. I understand the unique demands of working with public figures, especially someone of Ms. Woodbridge"s caliber.

There. Professional, but with a hint of charm. I hit "send" before second thoughts can clip my wings.

Now comes the hard part—the waiting game. I pace my apartment, every few minutes darting back to my laptop like it"s the Holy Grail and I"m Indiana Jones.

Refresh, refresh, refresh.

Email"s never been this torturous.

And then—bingo! An email with the production company"s logo pops up, and my heart kicks into overdrive. It"s like I"ve just hit cruising altitude after a bumpy takeoff.

Mr. Caldwell, thank you for your interest in the position of personal pilot for Ms. Woodbridge. We would like to invite you for an interview...

Hell yes! I pump my fist in the air, a jolt of adrenaline soaring through me. This isn"t just any interview. It"s the gateway to the heavens.

And maybe, just maybe, to Kate"s heart.

The sun hasn"t even had its morning coffee yet, and here I am slipping into my navy-blue power suit like it"s my second skin. A quick glance in the mirror—hair on point, tie knotted just right—and damn, I"ve got this. I grab my keys and stride out the door with a purpose that could put a marching band to shame.

The city is barely waking up as I hit the streets, the early hour making the roads feel like a private runway just for me. There"s no traffic to wrestle with, just the hum of anticipation buzzing in my veins. I pull up to the production company"s office, and it"s showtime an hour ahead of schedule. Punctuality is an asset, or so they say.

I"m through the doors with time to spare, my heart thrumming a rhythm against my ribs. It"s not nerves, no—it"s the thrill of being one step closer to the endgame. To her. I take a deep breath, letting the cool air of the lobby fill my lungs, sharpening my focus. This isn"t just any interview. It"s the prologue to the rest of my life.

"Mr. Caldwell? We"re ready for you." The receptionist's voice pulls me back to the present.

"Lead the way," I reply with a grin that feels as natural as breathing.

The interview room is all sleek lines and polished surfaces, a stage set for ambition and dreams. They hit me with questions, and I serve back answers with the ease of a seasoned pro. Flying? That"s my jam. High-pressure situations? I eat them for breakfast. Every query they lob my way, I return with unwavering confidence and a glint of charisma.

"Ms. Woodbridge"s work—I respect it, you know?" I weave admiration into my words, not laying it on too thick, but enough to let them know my interest goes beyond the cockpit. "Her talent, her dedication...I"m here because I believe in aligning my skills with people who aim high. And she"s stratospheric."

They nod, scribble notes, and I can tell I"m hitting the right altitude with them. This isn"t just about getting from A to B. It"s about understanding the world I"m hoping to enter. Her world.

"Thank you, Mr. Caldwell," they say as we wrap up. "We"ll be in touch."

"Looking forward to it," I reply, tipping an imaginary hat their way. The door closes behind me with a soft click, and I let out a breath I didn"t realize I was holding. One thing"s for sure. If flying is about staying level, that interview was smooth cruising at thirty-five thousand feet. Now, it"s just a matter of waiting for clearance to land.

Days melt into each other after that, each tick of the clock stretching longer than the last. My phone becomes an extension of my hand, a tether to the call that might just redefine my life. Coffee goes cold, unread emails pile up, but none of it registers—there"s only space for one notification in my mind.

"Come on, come on," I mutter each time I swipe the screen alive, half-praying to the gods of good news.

And then, when I"m about to give in to another round of nail-biting, the ringtone I"ve been craving slices through the silence. I lunge for the phone so fast I risk a sprain.

"Ben Caldwell speaking," I say, voice a steady stream of cool, but inside? Inside, I"m a drum solo waiting for the crash.

"Mr. Caldwell, it"s Jenna from Kate Woodbridge"s production team," comes the reply, calm as a clear sky day. "We are pleased to inform you that you"ve been selected as Ms. Woodbridge"s personal pilot."

"Thank you." I have to fight to keep the cheer from exploding from me. After all, I have to keep this professional.

"Congratulations," Jenna says. "We"ll send over the contract details shortly."

"Looking forward to it," I say, and as we end the call, I punch the air, my heart doing loop-de-loops. This isn"t just a job offer. It"s a boarding pass to the next level—closer to the stars, closer to her.

Her.

My dream girl.

The sun hasn"t even bothered to crawl its way above the horizon yet, and here I am, striding across the tarmac like a man on a mission. My new winged chariot—a sleek, shiny testament to mankind"s defiance of gravity—waits patiently for me, a beast ready to be tamed.

"Morning, beautiful," I murmur, running my hand along her flank, feeling the cool metal under my fingertips. The pre-flight checklist is clutched in my other hand, but it might as well be a love letter. Every box I tick, every switch I flick, it"s all part of the dance—the intimate ritual between pilot and plane.

Hydraulics? Check. Fuel levels? Check. Engine gauges? Double-check.

I"m thorough, leaving nothing to chance. After all, today isn"t just any first day—it"s the first day. And I'll be hauling the most precious cargo I've ever hauled.

Kate Woodbridge, the siren of the silver screen, is about to entrust her life to my hands. And those hands need to be damn sure they know what they"re doing.

My pulse quickens as the time ticks down. I"m not usually one to get jittery before a flight, but then again, it"s not every day you"re about to meet Hollywood royalty. My reflection in the cockpit window shows a man with a grin that"s trying too hard, hair styled to casual perfection, and a suit that screams "I"m the boss, but I"m laid back about it."

I shake my head as I give the fuselage one last pat. It"s almost showtime.

I position myself by the entrance, practicing my greeting. "Welcome aboard, Ms. Woodbridge," I rehearse under my breath, each word laced with just the right amount of warm professionalism. I"ve got this. I"m Ben Caldwell, charmer of the skies, the guy who makes turbulence feel like a gentle caress.

But as the clock nudges closer to her arrival, I can"t help but feel the heat simmering beneath my collar. I swipe a palm over the back of my neck, wishing away the nerves. Come on, she"s just another client, I tell myself.

Yeah, and I"m just a guy who"s about to have his world rocked, no big deal.

The sleek black town car pulls up, and she steps out like a scene from the kind of movie that leaves you breathless. Kate Woodbridge, in living color and walking straight towards me. My heart"s doing this weird jumpy thing, like it wants to leap out of my chest and do a solo act on the tarmac.

"Ms. Woodbridge, I"m Ben Caldwell," I manage to say without tripping over the syllables. "Your new personal pilot."

"Please, call me Kate," she replies, her voice a melody that could turn the engine on without keys.

"Kate," I echo, and damn if it doesn"t feel like I"m saying hello to a dream I never want to wake up from. We exchange pleasantries, and there"s laughter in her eyes, a spark that tells me she"s not just any client—she"s the kind that could reroute your entire flight plan with one look.

"Shall we?" I gesture toward the gleaming aircraft waiting patiently for its VIP passenger.

"Lead the way," she says with a smile that could light up the darkest sky.

I grab her luggage, lightweight designer stuff that speaks of someone who travels as much as she does. The bags are nothing compared to the weight of my expectations right now.

"Got everything you need?" I ask as we reach the plane, trying to sound cool, like I"m not about to fly the most beautiful woman I"ve ever met through the clouds.

"Everything but a good pilot," she teases, and I swear the air between us crackles with something electric.

"You"re in safe hands," I promise, our eyes locking as I hand off her luggage to be stowed away. In that moment, I see it—the flicker of something more, a connection that"s definitely not in the job description.

"Comfort is key," I tell her as I ensure her seatbelt is fastened and her space is impeccable. She nods, appreciative, her green eyes catching mine once more, and I"m hit with this wave of certainty.

I slide into the pilot"s seat, flicking switches and gauging dials with practiced ease, but my pulse is doing a tap dance. I steal a glance over my shoulder. Kate"s settling in, her curves hugged by the cream leather seat like it"s been waiting for her all its life.

"Comfy?" I call back, keeping it light, though my insides are a mix of high-octane fuel and butterflies.

"Very," she purrs, and damn if that single word doesn"t vibrate through the cabin—and me—like a tuning fork hit just right.

"Great, we"ll be airborne in no time." My fingers dance across the controls, but it"s her presence filling up the space, soaking into every inch of the cockpit. The scent of her perfume is a sweet whisper of temptation, mingling with the leather and fuel, grounding yet dizzying.

"Looking forward to the view," she says, and I can hear the smile in her voice. It"s playful, inviting.

"Ready for take-off?" I ask, more than one meaning layered in the question.

"Yes," she replies, and her voice is a caress that has me itching to turn around and see the expression that goes with it.

"Then let"s do this," I say as the engines roar to life, a deep, throaty growl that promises power and speed. I guide the bird onto the runway, feeling the thrum beneath us, a heartbeat that syncs with our own.

The thrust of takeoff pins us back, and there"s a rush that"s not just from the acceleration. It"s new beginnings, uncharted skies, and the thrill of what"s to come. I imagine her back there, hair whipped by the controlled gusts of the cabin air, lips parted in a silent "oh" of excitement.

We climb higher, and the world falls away, leaving nothing but us and the endless blue. We"re in our own little bubble, intimate despite—or maybe because of—the horsepower at my fingertips and the altitude.

"Welcome to our cruise altitude," I tell her through the intercom, my voice steady despite the adrenaline. "Enjoy the ride, Ms. Woodbridge," I say, savoring the anticipation in the silence that follows, thick with unspoken promises.

"Call me Kate," she reminds me gently.

"Kate," I echo, letting her name roll off my tongue, imagining the soft smile on her face.

And as the miles stretch out ahead of us, I know one thing for sure. This trip is going to be anything but autopilot.