Page 4 of Love Off Course

I cannot believe this moron is going to help fly a plane.

“Costa,” he says again. “Rica.” He practically purrs the “R” and makes a great show of enunciating. I get the slightest feeling he’s making fun of me.

“Right, so I need you to get a move on it,” I grumble as I snap my fingers. Then, I mutter under my breath, “Asshole.”

His jaw clenches. “¿Besas a tu madre con esa boca sucia?”

Dammit, we’re getting nowhere.

“Let’s try this again,” I start, but Captain Klein walks over to us, intervening.

“Allow me to translate,” Captain Klein says. “Go on.”

The way they exchange smug looks irritates me. I have seen it with enough men in the boardroom at RT Corp to know how they see me. A young, rich woman without a brain. I have more brains than both of these idiots combined. Hell, give me a manual and I can figure out how to fly the damn plane myself.

“Your company gets paid a lot of money to fly people like me to our destinations,” I seethe. “I won’t be talked down to or disrespected. Furthermore, I will not waste any more of my day begging for you to take me to freaking Costa Rica!”

The lounge goes silent at my meltdown.

Quickly I swallow down my irritation and purse my lips.

“No disrespect, ma’am,” Captain Klein says, “but the flight has been slightly delayed.”

His dark-eyed co-pilot smirks.

“Why?” I demand. “Was someone taking too long on their phone?”

“CZ thinks?—”

“CZ?” I snap my eyes to the dark-eyed man’s nametag again—C. Zaragoza—and wave off the captain. “You can’t be serious. You’re not letting him”—I point at the co-pilot—“dictate our schedule, are you? Who’s the boss around here, huh?”

“Rodrigo,” Zaragoza offers, his lips tugging at one corner.

“Let me speak to him.”

“You can’t—” Captain Klein starts.

Oh hell no. It’s time to pull out the big guns.

“I most certainly can and will. All it takes is one call to my daddy and?—”

“Rodrigo no sabe inglés.” Zaragoza shrugs.

Ignoring him, I glare at Captain Klein. “What did he say?”

“Rodrigo doesn’t know English.”

“For fuck’s sake!” I cry out.

Captain Klein laughs and walks off. Just walks off.

“Rodrigo,” Zaragoza growls, stepping closer to me until I feel his body heat warming my already sweaty flesh, “doesn’t know English because he’s a category two hurricane in the Pacific.”

Perfect. Freaking. English.

Anger melts away to embarrassment.

“You lied, you bastard,” I hiss, hating that my carefully constructed world trembles at my feet with one stupid encounter with an asshole.

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