Page 8 of Possess Me

Well, fuuuuck.

This wasn’t how I’d seen the day coming. It was barely after six-thirty in the freaking morning. The airport was already hopping, the humidity creating swimming pools under my armpits and I had an important meeting in a foreign country that I couldn’t simply cancel on a whim.

Plus, the trip to Miami had been necessary for two reasons, the second being the refurbishment of the aging jet. It hadreceived a paint and body job handled by the best aeronautical engineering company in the business, the company located in the heart of Miami where Jeffrey lived half the year. This was her maiden voyage.

I’d be flying her home to Vegas when I was finished with my weekend meeting.

As I shoved my phone in my jacket pocket, I took a deep breath. What choice did I have? Jeffrey had never steered me wrong. Not once in the twenty years I’d known him.

Fine.

A substitute pilot would have to do. Why hadn’t I gotten the guy’s name?

Only when I reached the door leading to the tarmac where the jet was located did I realize what he’d said.

A female pilot.

I certainly had nothing against women. In fact, I adored them. Tall, dark, blonde, short, redheaded. It didn’t matter. However, several recent trips had become more dangerous with the rise of old enemies wishing to partake in the Dmitriyev family’s good fortune.

Maybe it was the chauvinistic pig in me or perhaps my love of women that kept a red flag regarding women and violent peril.

Right now, there was no other choice.

Hoisting my bag, I took long strides while ripping my sunglasses from my interior jacket pocket. It was already far too bright for my taste and so early in the morning. Maybe I just needed more coffee since I’d been up half the night studying the design plans of the proposed resort and casino.

While Dutch law allowed for gambling establishments if attached to resorts, my due diligence had discovered the people of Saba Island weren’t keen to having larger establishments of gambling on the beautiful mountainous paradise.

I was already inclined to agree with them and would have declined had Mikhail, the Pakhan, my cousin, and CEO of Dmitriyev Enterprises not asked me to do him a favor.

He had a soft spot for islands in the Caribbean.

However, my gut told me there was an ulterior motive I’d yet to discover. Mikhail was cagey like that.

As beads of sweat trickled down my face, I reminded myself grousing wasn’t going to do any damn good. At least I was getting a couple of days off out of the unsavory meeting. Chuckling, when I didn’t see the plane right away, I momentarily stopped, searching the tarmac. Currently, there were two private planes on the concrete and one definitely didn’t belong to the company.

I shifted my attention to the other, slowly lifting my sunglasses. “What. The. Fuck?” I wasn’t immune to the effects of powerful artwork. On walls. On buildings. In museums and art galleries.

Artistic work had often awakened emotions from deep inside from sadness to intense longing, and even anger and frustration. However, at least in my mind, there was no room for creative expression when painting a goddamn plane.

The splash of color was well done. I’d give the artist that, but since when did the Dmitriyev Empire have a rainbow lorikeet as its symbol? Granted, the stunning parrot was one of my favorites and with the large bird depicted in his lush green habitat, the jet was a showstopper.

That was my issue.

Everyone from a freaking mile away could see the damn plane.

Throwing my head back, I briefly closed my eyes and tried to wrangle my anger. The plane’s refit had been under my brother’s domain.

The real artist of the family.

“Well, fuck.” I couldn’t stand here gawking. At this point, I was ready to dive into a Bloody Mary. The damn plane better be well stocked as required. I wasn’t certain how I’d break the news to the Pakhan.

At least Mikhail had recently begun to embrace humor. Finding a wife and starting a family evidently had allowed for his softer underbelly to show. Not this guy.

I headed to the stairs, taking the metal rungs two at a time. Once inside, I was pleasantly surprised at the renovated interior. The midsize jet was loaded with every amenity, luxurious seating and a bar with my name on it.

Just as I tossed the duffle into a second seat, I felt a presence behind me.

“Welcome, Mr. Dmitriyev. I’m Captain Zimmerman. I’ll be handling your flights for the weekend.”