The Christmas Strike. Nikki Rivers
I didn’t care. I had a message to deliver and I wasn’t going to wait.
“When the new plant is built,” one of the men was saying as I approached, “I might have to add to my fleet.”
“It’s going to get busier around here, that’s for sure,” said the other.
“I can help you find the planes,” Cole offered. “I’ve got a connection with—”
“Excuse me,” I said.
All three men looked up. Only one of them groaned.
“Guys, meet my human baggage, Ms. Blake.”
The two men stood and introduced themselves as Dane and Oscar. Dane was gray haired, handsome and distinguished looking while Oscar looked rougher, more the outdoorsy type. They both offered their hands.
“Nice to see some gentlemen around here,” I said as I shook them.
“If you don’t mind,” Cole said, “we’re in the middle of a conversation.”
“No, I don’t mind. I did want to tell you that I’ll be flying to Paris with you.”
I started to turn to go, figuring a hasty exit might avoid the argument I was sure was coming. But he stood up and grabbed my arm.
“When pigs fly,” he intoned—a Shakespearean actor spouting clichés.
“Why not? Don’t you think you owe it to me after playing this lousy trick?”
“I’ve already made arrangements for Dane to fly you to Chicago tomorrow morning. I think that makes us even.”
“But why won’t you let me go along? What’s the difference? I’ll sit in the back and be quiet—”
“We already know you’re incapable of that,” he snapped. “Even when you went to sleep you snored!”
Swell, I thought. I guess it went with the parka and sneakers. At least I hadn’t been in the cockpit where I might have drooled all over his thousand dollar jacket. Thus, I wasn’t embarrassed enough to give up my idea.
“You’re just being stubborn for no reason at all. You’re going to Paris anyway, and—”
“Let me make this perfectly clear to you, Ms. Blake. As soon as they’re done refueling my plane I’m flying out of here with the hope that I never have to lay eyes on any of the Blake women ever again. Understood?”
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