gets too hot."
Oren snorted and looked up at the vengeful sun. "Can't wait to see your definition of 'too hot', Kirk." He then ducked inside the plane.
The seat was surprisingly comfortable, with a plush design and lots of legroom. Steve and Doug had separate seats of their own behind him, and he could hear the large men rustling around as they got comfortable. Even private planes often had seats too small for men shaped like mountains.
Kirk shut the side door behind them and quickly ran around the plane. He threw open the pilot's door and slid in gracefully, flipping switches as he went. "Please help yourself to snacks while I get the plane ready to go. We've got many locally made delicacies for you. The sugared dates are the best you'll ever taste."
Oren looked at the small bar next to his seat which was stocked with tiny bottles of liquor and a few snacks in baggies. Picking up the bottle of Highland Park Scotch, Oren held it up to the light. The color was all wrong; it looked flat and dull instead of the vivid brown he expected. He opened the cap and sniffed.
It was definitely not Highland Park. In fact, he wasn't entirely sure if it was even scotch. Annoyed by the obvious deception, Oren took a final look at the food and shifted back into his seat, not touching anything.
This is not starting out promising at all , he thought grimly. As soon as I get back I'm going to have my assistant request a substantial refund. Can't believe she'd send me out with such a shady company.
"How long to the dunes?" he grunted, taking his iPod and headphones out of his bag.
"It'll be a couple hours. And it is a loud ride, so your headphones might not - "
"These are the best quality headphones available. Top of the market. I'm sure they will do just fine," Oren snapped, sticking them in his ear to show he was done with the conversation.
He was tired, jet-lagged, and just wanted to take a trip without someone trying to take advantage of his wealth. Was that so much to ask? He was constantly being begged for donations, for jobs, for investments in new start-ups. It was exhausting, and the fact someone would try to rip him off on his vacation made his blood boil.
"Yes, sir," Kirk said politely, turning around and beginning to work the control panel.
Oren felt a twinge of regret. The pilot probably had little to do with stocking the plane. Decisions on cutting corners came from the top of a company, never from the bottom. Oren was well aware of that fact. There was probably a CEO out there who had ordered all the real liquor to be switched out for imitation junk, wanting to increase his quarterly revenue.
Yeah, I know guys like that. Every time I go to the golf course I have to listen to assholes talk about how they are ripping consumers off for a couple extra cents in savings. I swear I'm one of the last who actually cares about creating good, solid products.
Either way, he knew the pilot shouldn't take the brunt of his frustrations. “Hey, I-" he tried to apologize, but just then the plane's motor started, and Kirk slid on his own headset.
The thunderous noise drowned everything out, and Oren slumped back in his seat in defeat. He slipped on his headphones and sighed. Kirk had been right; they didn't block the noise at all.
Chapter 2
K irk loved being up in the air, looking down at the vast barrenness of the desert. He never felt fully comfortable on the ground, but in the air, he was in his element. Every stress in the world melted away from the moment of take-off, and all he could think about was how lucky he was to be alive, racing along in the clouds.
Dealing with elitist jerks is worth it for a job like this , he thought as they hit cruising altitude.
He looked back at his passenger, who was grimly staring out the window with his useless headphones still jammed in his ears. Oren C. Moore, wealthy beyond imagination and filled with arrogance. Kirk had seen it as soon as the white man had walked up. Not that it was
Oren snorted and looked up at the vengeful sun. "Can't wait to see your definition of 'too hot', Kirk." He then ducked inside the plane.
The seat was surprisingly comfortable, with a plush design and lots of legroom. Steve and Doug had separate seats of their own behind him, and he could hear the large men rustling around as they got comfortable. Even private planes often had seats too small for men shaped like mountains.
Kirk shut the side door behind them and quickly ran around the plane. He threw open the pilot's door and slid in gracefully, flipping switches as he went. "Please help yourself to snacks while I get the plane ready to go. We've got many locally made delicacies for you. The sugared dates are the best you'll ever taste."
Oren looked at the small bar next to his seat which was stocked with tiny bottles of liquor and a few snacks in baggies. Picking up the bottle of Highland Park Scotch, Oren held it up to the light. The color was all wrong; it looked flat and dull instead of the vivid brown he expected. He opened the cap and sniffed.
It was definitely not Highland Park. In fact, he wasn't entirely sure if it was even scotch. Annoyed by the obvious deception, Oren took a final look at the food and shifted back into his seat, not touching anything.
This is not starting out promising at all , he thought grimly. As soon as I get back I'm going to have my assistant request a substantial refund. Can't believe she'd send me out with such a shady company.
"How long to the dunes?" he grunted, taking his iPod and headphones out of his bag.
"It'll be a couple hours. And it is a loud ride, so your headphones might not - "
"These are the best quality headphones available. Top of the market. I'm sure they will do just fine," Oren snapped, sticking them in his ear to show he was done with the conversation.
He was tired, jet-lagged, and just wanted to take a trip without someone trying to take advantage of his wealth. Was that so much to ask? He was constantly being begged for donations, for jobs, for investments in new start-ups. It was exhausting, and the fact someone would try to rip him off on his vacation made his blood boil.
"Yes, sir," Kirk said politely, turning around and beginning to work the control panel.
Oren felt a twinge of regret. The pilot probably had little to do with stocking the plane. Decisions on cutting corners came from the top of a company, never from the bottom. Oren was well aware of that fact. There was probably a CEO out there who had ordered all the real liquor to be switched out for imitation junk, wanting to increase his quarterly revenue.
Yeah, I know guys like that. Every time I go to the golf course I have to listen to assholes talk about how they are ripping consumers off for a couple extra cents in savings. I swear I'm one of the last who actually cares about creating good, solid products.
Either way, he knew the pilot shouldn't take the brunt of his frustrations. “Hey, I-" he tried to apologize, but just then the plane's motor started, and Kirk slid on his own headset.
The thunderous noise drowned everything out, and Oren slumped back in his seat in defeat. He slipped on his headphones and sighed. Kirk had been right; they didn't block the noise at all.
Chapter 2
K irk loved being up in the air, looking down at the vast barrenness of the desert. He never felt fully comfortable on the ground, but in the air, he was in his element. Every stress in the world melted away from the moment of take-off, and all he could think about was how lucky he was to be alive, racing along in the clouds.
Dealing with elitist jerks is worth it for a job like this , he thought as they hit cruising altitude.
He looked back at his passenger, who was grimly staring out the window with his useless headphones still jammed in his ears. Oren C. Moore, wealthy beyond imagination and filled with arrogance. Kirk had seen it as soon as the white man had walked up. Not that it was
Similar Books
