“No.”
“How did you go to that expensive university with Trent?”
The broad shoulder nearest her lifted. “Scholarships, financial aid and a job.”
He pulled up to the valet station, put the car in Park, released his seat belt and reached for the door handle.
Lauren grabbed his arm, her fingers curling around big, firm bicep. His body heat seeped through his clothing and warmed her palm. She let go and laid her hand in her lap. “Gage, I’d feel more comfortable elsewhere.”
He scanned her. “You look fine. No one will turn you away.”
Dread curdled in her stomach. She wrinkled her nose and nodded to the couple climbing from the car in front of them. “Do the words little black dress, heels and pearls mean anything to you?”
He followed her gaze, refastened his safety belt and put the car in gear. “We’ll head toward the hotel and see if we can find a restaurant on the way.”
“That would be great. Thanks.” After two hours of waiting to take off on the runway and being turned back when the airport ceased operation, they’d both been too hungry to check in to the hotel before dinner. Her instrument rating didn’t count for beans when the airport shut down before she could get the wheels up. Smaller airports were great when a pilot wanted to avoid traffic, but the downside was some didn’t operate when conditions were less than optimal.
Gage pulled out of the valet lane and drove out of the parking lot. “I heard you making a phone call earlier. Something about a bike trip tomorrow?”
He must have eavesdropped while he’d been arranging their hotel rooms. “I needed to let my landlord know I wouldn’t be home. She’ll relay the message to the neighbors who were meeting me tomorrow morning.”
“Your landlord keeps tabs on you?”
“I’m renting the apartment over her garage.” Wanting to end the personal questions, Lauren bailed out of the car the moment he parked, hustled for the sidewalk and waited for him to join her. The look he cut her as they entered the building let her know he was on to her.
“What kind of ride did you have planned?”
The smell of grilled fajitas and thick burgers made her mouth water and her stomach rumble. She hadn’t had anything to eat since the sandwich she’d packed for lunch.
“I was going on a group motorcycle ride with my neighbors. They’re showing me the best of Knoxville on my days off. I was with them when Trent called me into the office to meet you.”
He didn’t speak again until after the hostess had seated them and departed. “Your neighbors are bikers?”
“Don’t say it like it’s a bad thing. They’re great people. I found them through an online Harley chapter, and when I posted my plan to move to Knoxville they all but adopted me. One even hooked me up with my landlord. Her apartment is ten times better than any complex in the area and half the price. The day I pulled into her driveway my new friends were waiting to help me unpack.”
“They were probably checking to see if you had anything worth stealing.”
His words said a lot about the company he kept. “Not exactly a trusting soul, are you, Faulkner?”
“Where I came from if something wasn’t nailed down, it was fair game.”
“Not a nice neighborhood?”
He eyed her as if debating his words. “I spent a good part of my youth on welfare, and part of that living in my father’s car.”
Shock stole her breath. She didn’t want to think of him as a poor, hungry kid or see an approachable side of him. She’d much rather believe he was a spoiled, stuck-up jerk like Trent, Brent and Beth, her three oldest half siblings. Only Nicole, the one closest to Lauren in age seemed to have any redeeming qualities. “I’m sorry, Gage. That’s no way to live.”
Regret tightened his mouth, as if he were sorry he’d revealed that bit of his past. “I’m not asking for sympathy. The point is you don’t deserve anything you don’t earn.”
His hard tone let her know his barriers were up, and he didn’t intend to give her any more peeks into his personal life.
“I agree, and I’ve worked hard for everything I have.”
An expression of disbelief crossed his face.
The server arrived to take their orders. Once he left, Gage looked at her across the table. The probing way he studied her made her uncomfortable. A speculative gleam entered his dark eyes. “You said you grew up around an airport. Regardless of the city, that’s not usually the best section of town.”
Another personal foray, but given what he’d shared she decided it wouldn’t hurt to respond to this one. “We had a small, but comfortable house near Daytona International. We weren’t high-class, but we weren’t poor, either. I didn’t attend private schools, belong to a country club or have servants, a pool, tennis court or any of the other luxuries the Hightowers seem to think they can’t function without.”
“Does it bother you that your mother’s other children had more than you?”
“No. If anything I’m appalled by their dependence on others for even the simplest things. Don’t get me wrong. I’m used to people with money. After all, they are the ones who charter jets. But the Hightower’s over-the-top lifestyle is like something you’d see on TV. None of them had jobs until after college. Even then, they were hired by the family firm, so there’s no chance of getting fired for poor performance.”
He sipped his bourbon. “Don’t you work for your father?”
He was really determined to see her in a bad light, wasn’t he? “I didn’t initially. I started with odd jobs for other pilots and owners around the airport. Sweeping hangars, washing and waxing planes and cars. My dad made it very clear that if I did sloppy work, it would reflect badly on him.
“Then from the day I turned sixteen until I was certified as a flight instructor I worked in food service. I realize asking ‘Do you want fries with that?’ isn’t anything to brag about, but at least I learned how to earn and manage money and work with the public.”
Despite his relaxed posture his alert eyes assessed her over the rim of his glass. “You didn’t go to college, did you?”
“Trent has been sharing stuff from my personnel file again.” The rat. “I have an associate’s degree from community college, and—”
She bit her lip and studied her hands. She was working on a bachelor’s degree from the University of Central Florida, but if her father’s life insurance didn’t pay up, she might not be able to afford to finish it. So close, and yet so far from attaining her goal. Getting her degree was more important now than ever. If Falcon Air failed, she’d have to find another employer, and the major airlines required a four-year degree.
And then there was Uncle Lou. At his age he’d have trouble finding another position, and he’d invested all his savings into Falcon. She might need to make enough to support both of them.
“And?” Gage prompted.
She wasn’t whining to a stranger about her money problems—especially one who’d probably parrot her words to her half brother. Her situation would only reinforce her half sibling’s opinion that she was here to take a bite out of their inheritance. Time to talk about someone else.
“You seem very familiar with traveling in the copilot seat.”
Gage held her gaze long enough that she began to doubt he’d let her change the subject. Finally, he lifted one shoulder. “I used to fly with Trent.”
Surprise made her sit up straighter. “Trent has his pilot’s license? But he always uses a full crew when he travels. He never takes the controls.”
She knew because she’d been cursed with him as a hypercritical passenger on her first dozen flights.
“He works en route.”
“If he’d take the controls now and then, maybe he wouldn’t be so uptight. I can’t imagine being content to sit in the back and let someone else have all the fun.”
Gage’s eyes narrowed. “You could have a point. He used to love flying.”
“You should mention that next time you report in.”
The arrival of their salads kept him from replying. After the server left, Gage picked up his fork. “Tomorrow we’ll rent a couple of motorcycles from the Harley dealership and tour the area.”
Excitement inflated inside her like a balloon. She popped it. Was this like demanding her presence at dinner? She had to comply? “I don’t want to spend the cash.”
“I’ll cover it.”
“Renting requires a motorcycle endorsement on your license.”
“I haven’t ridden in years, but I have it.”
She studied him. Gage, with his perfectly fitting suits and immaculate haircut, looked far too sophisticated and uptight to climb on the back of a bike and roar down the roads with the wind whipping at his clothes. Not that there weren’t thousands of executives who rode motorcycles, but Gage had an ever-present tension in him that hinted he never loosened up. “I don’t believe you.”
He extracted his license from his wallet and offered it to her. “I couldn’t afford a car in college. I rode an old bike.”
She snatched the small card from his hand. Yep. He had the endorsement. She noted his age, thirty-five, then checked his face. The brackets beside his mouth and the groove in his forehead made him look older.
She was about to pass his license back when his address caught her attention. “I know this address. The neighborhood is near my apartment and…not at all ritzy.”
“I don’t believe in wasting money on frivolous things.”
“Like private jets?” The sarcastic quip was out of her mouth before she could stop it. Whoops.
Gage’s eyebrows descended. He took the license from her and tucked it into his wallet. “Two of my associates are on parental leave. I’m covering my position in addition to theirs. I’m spending a lot of time in the air, but thanks to HAMC, a lot more time on the job and less time waiting in airport security lines. If I’d been flying commercial today, I would have either missed my flight or had to leave before the job was completed and return to finish my assessment. Either way, that would have cost me money. In the long run flying privately is more efficient since my time and expertise is what people purchase.”
She grimaced. “Sorry. I guess I have a bit of a chip on my shoulder. I can’t get used to the Hightowers’ conspicuous consumption. They throw away a lot of money on extravagant stuff.”
“And you don’t?”
“I’m pretty thrifty.”
His disbelieving chuckle sent a shiver of awareness through her. “Lauren, you own a motorcycle, a truck and an airplane—all three high-performance, pricy models.”
Trent again. She smothered a growl of frustration. “Big brother has been talking. Not that it’s any of your business, but for the record, I bought my truck from a salvage yard. Dad, Lou and I rebuilt her together. It gets poor gas mileage, but I need it for work, so I started looking for something more economical to drive.