“If another mechanic is willing.”
“You think none will.”
“I think whoever does should inspect the discrepancy first.”
She smiled.
“Still not intimidated.”
“No.”
“What would intimidate you?”
He considered.
“My daughter getting a fever while I’m stuck here.”
She stared.
He returned to work.
The answer landed strangely.
The Billionaire CEO had spent years surrounded by men whose greatest fears were losing deals, titles, access, money, reputation.
The mechanic feared missing a sick child.
Different scale.
Different hierarchy.
She hated that it made him more attractive.
She stood.
Walked toward him.
He was bent over the workbench reviewing resistance measurements.
She stopped behind him.
“You know what the pilots told me?”
He kept reading.
“Yes.”
“How?”
“They tell everyone.”
“That if you don’t sign, they don’t fly.”
“Yes.”
She moved closer.
“Does that stroke your ego?”
He looked toward her.
“No.”
“It scares me.”
That answer changed the mood.
The Billionaire CEO stopped.
“Why?”
“Because people treating my judgment like authority means I have to deserve it every time.”
He looked toward the airplane.
“One lazy signature.”
“One rushed inspection.”
“One time deciding a rich customer’s schedule matters more than an unresolved fault.”
“That reputation disappears.”
The Billionaire CEO said nothing.
He continued:
“I’m not protecting your jet.”
“I’m protecting everybody who gets on it.”
The silence between them changed.
Her anger remained.
But something else entered it.
Respect.
And desire.
Dangerous combination.
The Billionaire CEO stepped closer.
She lifted one burgundy-gloved hand.
Hooked a finger beneath the open edge of his charcoal work shirt.
The Single Dad looked down.
Then at her.
She spoke softly.
“Seven pilots refused me today because your name isn’t on one line.”
His expression did not change.
“They made the right choice.”
She tugged lightly at his collar.
“What would make you change yours?”
“Evidence.”
“Nothing else?”
“No.”
She moved closer.
The front of her structured burgundy top nearly touched his chest.
“Not money?”
“No.”
“Promotion?”
“No.”
“A partnership?”
“No.”
Her eyes narrowed.
“Nothing in this hangar?”
He looked at her mouth.
Only briefly.
She caught it.
A slow smile appeared.
“There.”
He sighed.
“What?”
“Something.”
The Single Dad caught her wrist gently.
Her eyes dropped toward his hand.
Large.
Grease-darkened.
Wrapped around the burgundy leather.
He lowered her hand from his collar.
“You are very used to getting reactions.”
“Yes.”
“You’re getting one.”
“I noticed.”
“That does not change the airplane.”
Her smile became sharper.
“You think I’m trying to buy your signature with flirting?”
“I think you’ve probably discovered flirting works faster than procurement.”
She laughed.