“That’s even better,” she said, stopping again to turn on her heel and face him. Beyond her glasses, her eyes were animated. “You’re already honing in on your messaging,” she said, thankfully oblivious to his wayward mind. “Show your prospective customer what it feels like.”
The palms of his hands were suddenly itching. He shoved them in the pockets of his blue jeans. “What it feels like,” he repeated, feeling about as dumb as a rock.
“Up there.” She waved her hand. “You said it yourself. If everyone knew how it felt to be up there.” She pulled off her glasses, folded them and tucked the earpiece down the front of her jacket, giving him the briefest of glimpses of something black and lacy beneath, which did not help his distraction any.
“So … show me around,” she invited. “My only contact with airports has been as a passenger.”
A first-class passenger, he figured, but kept the thought to himself. Maybe if he concentrated enough on describing everything to do with the physical layout of the flight school, he’d get his thoughts off of her physical layout.
“This area, obviously, is the classroom.” He pushed on a hidden partition halfway down the main wall. “We can break it up into three smaller classrooms with partitions like these.” He nudged the partition wall and it smoothly disappeared again. “They’re all new additions since the tornado. Just had the desks delivered a few days ago, in fact.”
Emily wandered among the empty chairs that looked reminiscent of her high-school days, complete with an attached desktop, and wondered fleetingly what Max had been like in high school. Probably football team captain and hotly pursued by all the cheerleaders.
She had not been a cheerleader. Too ambitious with her eye already on making her place in her father’s company. Hoping that then, maybe, he’d see something worthwhile in her.
She abruptly pulled her thoughts back into the present. Ever since the tornado, she’d vowed to focus on the future. Period.
She glanced at Max and despite her good intentions, had to work hard to focus on her purpose there and not him.
Max had put another few chairs in between them. His eyes were still the same blue that they’d been that December day. But all of the gentleness in them that she’d clung to in those brief moments before he’d disappeared among the rescue workers crowding around her was nowhere in sight. Now, those eyes were completely unreadable.
She found him no less compelling, though.
Which was so not her purpose right now.
She mentally shook her head, trying to get her thoughts in order. It was more difficult than it should have been. “I, um, I know the terminal was badly damaged. But how much damage did Tanner’s building sustain?”
“It was still standing. Barely.”
She walked over to a white erase board that stood on wheels in front of the desks. “Really? I had no idea it had been that bad.” She picked up one of the markers from the tray at the bottom of the board and toyed with it, wishing that her heart would stop its frantic little cha-cha inside her chest.
“The roof was gone. Half the planes had some sort of damage. The offices needed to be completely gutted and built over.”
“That’s a lot of repairs accomplished in a short amount of time. I’m impressed.”
He shrugged. “That’s Tanner.”
“He is a force to be reckoned with.” She smiled wryly. “Or so my sister, Jordana, says.” She dropped the marker back in the tray. “Okay.” She eyed the classroom’s trappings. “So you have the ability for multiple classrooms. What happens in them?”
“Ground school.”
“Which is … what?” She couldn’t help looking at him again. He wore plain old blue jeans and a white button-down shirt incredibly—with a capital I—well. “You’re the knowledgeable one, remember?”
“There are rules in flying just like there are rules in driving. FAA regulations. Have to learn them as well as some basic aeronautics and be able to pass a test on them. You don’t learn everything in the cockpit. In fact, most of it seems like it’s done sitting at a desk whether in a classroom with other students or on a one-to-one basis with a private instructor.” He shrugged. “Classroom’s obviously more economical for the student pilot, but we offer a lot of different options.”
She propped her hip on one of the desks. “How many instructors does Tanner have?”
He looked away, but she could see the abruptly grim turn of his lips. “Eleven, now. Gary Tompkins died in the tornado. He was my first instructor.”
Regret pinched hard. She’d known Tanner had lost an employee and wished that she’d shown more tact. “I’m so sorry.”
“He was a good guy.” His gaze slanted back at her. “As patient as the day is long, which was a good thing when it came to teaching me.” She was glad to see his expression lightening as he shook his head, looking wry. “Probably telling the same old stories in heaven that he was always telling everyone down here,” he said.
She smiled. “Did you always want to know how to fly?”
He shook his head, that bit of lightness in his expression fading, and leaving her wanting it back again. “That’s more recent.”
But he didn’t elaborate, which only left her wondering about him even more.
He glanced at the sturdy leather watch strapped on his wrist and gestured toward the door opposite the one they’d come through. “Anyway, Tanner hasn’t replaced Gary yet. He’s interviewing now, though. But he’s also interviewing for commercial pilots since he’s set a July 4 launch date next month for his charter business expansion, and he wants to get another ATP on board.”
“ATP?”
“Airline Transport Pilot. Highest rating you can get. Tanner has it. He wants a backup.”
She wasn’t surprised about Tanner’s ambitious business plans. He’d received the “John Michael Fortune” seal of approval when it came to business, after all, and that wasn’t an easy thing to come by. She passed through the doorway when Max pulled it open for her and nearly lost her train of thought again when her shoulder brushed against his. “Any … any other employees besides the instructors?”
“Just me.” He touched the small of her back briefly, directing her toward the rear of the soaring building. Sunlight shined through the long, narrow windows set high in the rafters onto an assortment of small planes parked in precise order on the gleaming floor. The main door was open, too, and she could see the airport terminal some distance away. “Our simulator room is back here,” he said.
He ushered her into another room, this one considerably smaller than the classroom, which could have easily seated a few dozen students.
This one only seemed to have room for two.
He dropped his hand on top of the enclosure that surrounded what looked—eerily, to her—like an airplane’s cockpit. “One of three sim rooms,” he said. “Most places just have
