Dr. Ohhh

by Ana Sparks

  Slipping out of my seat, I glance adoringly at Carson before heading towards the cockpit.

  Chapter Ten

  Aimee

  The pilots glance in my direction as I step through the curtain that separates the two main chambers of the jet. The co-pilot, Mike, reddens faintly as he forces his eyes forward again. The other, Taylor, seems unaffected, focusing his attention on the controls required to keep us in the air. I can’t help but notice that their peaceful banter ceased as soon as I stepped through the curtain, and I manage a smile as I stare out ahead of us.

  “I’ve never flown to another country before. Russia, of all places,” I sigh happily. Taylor nods his acknowledgement, but doesn’t address me any further. Mike seems to be considering me with an amused expression, and self-consciousness creeps up on me before I can try to stifle it.

  “I’m sorry if you’re uncomfortable,” I stammer out. Mike barks out a laugh, only serving to make me even less comfortable.

  “Don’t worry about it, kid. Really,” Taylor says with a faint smirk. “You get used to that sort of thing, working this job,” he adds, seemingly as an afterthought.

  “Being a pilot?” I offer, and the two share a look.

  “Yeah, sure. Just any old pilot,” Mike says sarcastically without elaborating. I breathe a sigh before sinking into the seat in the back of the cockpit. “Shouldn’t you be with Mr. Sharpe?” Mike prompts, and I shrug my shoulders a bit hesitantly.

  “He’s a heavy sleeper. He tried to insist I get some rest before we get to Russia; he said there would be very little time for rest once we arrive,” I murmur.

  Mike scoffs, and Taylor shoots him an icy look.

  “Is there something I’m missing here?” I ask coolly, growing annoyed at how secretive the men are acting. Taylor speaks before Mike can even think of an answer.

  “You’re not missing anything, hon. Just go get some rest. We’ve just seen our share of…situations, flying this jet for Mr. Sharpe,” he says brusquely.

  I narrow my eyes at him, and Mike seems to shrink away from my stare. Taylor remains cool, almost ice-cold in the face of my agitation. “We’ve got a long flight ahead of us, anyway. There’s no sense in you hanging out in here with us,” he says dismissively. I can’t get past the feeling that these two men think I’m little more than a silly girl.

  “I’m not tired. I’m excited. It’s not every day your boss asks you to accompany him on such a prestigious trip,” I snap. Mike snorts, and even Taylor can’t help but chuckle softly. “You two are acting extremely suspicious. I get the idea that you’re hiding something from me. Just come out with it already,” I hiss.

  Mike parts his lips to speak, but Taylor shoots him a scathing look.

  “Mr. Sharpe’s business in his own. It doesn’t serve us to go around discussing his personal matters,” Taylor says simply.

  I resist the desire to roll my eyes at the men; there’s something more to this story, I’m sure of it. I rest a hand on Mike’s shoulder, going for the softer of the two. He stiffens beneath my touch, shooting me a wary look.

  “If Carson is keeping me in the dark about something, don’t I deserve to know? I’m sure the two of you are well aware that my relationship with Mr. Sharpe isn’t strictly professional in nature. I’m not like his previous assistants. Carson and I…share a bond,” I declare.

  At my announcement, Taylor laughs abruptly and Mike offers me a sympathetic look.

  “That’s the thing, Miss…” he trails off, looking more uncomfortable by the minute.

  “Rhodes,” I supply, gesturing for him to go on.

  He hesitates, looking to his co-pilot for some assurance. Taylor simply ignores the two of us altogether, eyes fixed straight ahead. It’s obvious that he’s washed his hands of this encounter, though I can’t begin to imagine what must have them acting so secretive.

  “Miss Rhodes, right. The thing of it is…you’re not going to like what I’m about to tell you. I could lose my job over this. You really ought to go back to the cabin and catch a nap like Mr. Sharpe suggested,” he begins carefully, trying to steer the conversation off track.

  “Come on, Mike. You can talk to me. I won’t let the conversation get back to Carson. It’s just between the three of us,” I urge, smiling in the most charming manner that I can muster.

  Mike hesitates for a long moment. It’s obvious that this secret is a juicy one—at least, in the eyes of a pilot. I can only imagine what the real root of their secrecy is. I almost expect him to try to lead me astray with some made-up secret that I can neither confirm nor deny.

  “You’re not the first assistant that Mr. Sharpe has whisked away like this,” Taylor says abruptly, and Mike seems to choke on whatever gentler version of the statement he intended to offer.

  I raise a brow, looking towards the other pilot with disbelief. It’s been obvious from the start that this Taylor guy didn’t particularly care for me, though I can’t imagine why. Is this a lie, intended to throw me off my game? Is there something about me that’s offensive to the man’s senses?

  “Surely you must be joking, or exaggerating,” I say nervously, glancing towards Mike. He’s staring towards the other pilot with a plaintive expression; this is clearly not the direction he wanted the conversation to go in.

  “Every year or so, Mr. Sharpe selects a woman under his employment to entertain him beyond the workplace. Under the guise of keeping them as a personal aide, he lures them on extravagant trips to catch them in his snare. You’re one of many, kid,” Taylor continues, paying little word to my obvious distress.

  My heart begins to pound in my chest, and I try to think of some way to prove him wrong.

  Carson has clearly felt a connection with me from the start, hasn’t he? He didn’t bring me into the first meeting with the intent of selecting me as some sort of addition to his line of conquests. He hadn’t even known I would be at the meeting…had he? Has this entire situation been a facade, some elaborate act to take me as his own?

  Furiously shaking off the thought, I try to tell myself that I’m just being paranoid. The men in the cockpit have fallen silent, and while I’m sure they care very little about whether or not I believe them, I tell them anyway.

  “So Carson is just using me. That’s what you’re saying, isn’t it? That’s what this all boils down to?” I spit venomously. It’s more of a confirmation than a question, but the two men simply nod.

  Mike, at least, has the decency to look as if he feels bad for me. Taylor, on the other hand, seems entirely unimpressed—as if this were a conversation he’d taken part in a dozen times already.

  “Personally, I think there’s always a chance that Carson will settle down once he finds the right woman. It’s really only a matter of time, and hey! Who knows, his special someone might be right under his nose,” Mike says in an attempt to be cheerful, but I narrow my eyes upon him at the same time as Taylor.

  “Don’t patronize her. Sharpe’s not paying us to keep his dirty secrets, and he’s not paying us nearly enough to comfort every heartbroken girl that steps into the cockpit,” Taylor growls sourly. Mike frowns, focusing his attention on the controls in front of him again.

  “He’s right. I appreciate the thought, Mike, but Carson isn’t going to suddenly change for me, of all people. I have nothing to offer that the dozens before me haven’t had,” I manage weakly.

  I wrap my arms around myself, inhaling a shuddering breath before turning my back on the pilots. They remain silent even as I step through the curtain, and I feel more foolish than ever.

  To make matters worse, Carson had been so insistent that I allow the men to hear my desperate cries of pleasure. Yeah, desperate was right. Desperate for something that’s so obviously out of my reach, I had ignored common sense in favor of it. I know I should plan to have a long talk with Carson when I slip back into the seat beside him. However, I’m reluctant to throw either of the pilots under the bus, even with as callous as Taylor had been towards me.


  It just seems so…unnecessary. I like to think Carson could have been upfront with me about his true feelings, and perhaps I wouldn’t be hurting so much now. It makes sense, though. He’s the sort of billionaire playboy who only cares about himself. I wish I could say he’s different, but every man boils down to the same formula, at base level. All he cares about is eating, screwing, and sleeping.

  Speaking of, he’s gotten two of those immediately upon boarding the jet with me. I watch his sleeping form with disdain, my heart aching at how fondly I had considered him what seemed only moments ago. Strange how much things can change in so short a space of time.

  I watch his face, tracing my eyes along the well-sculpted features. He looks so peaceful in his sleep, so sweet, that I can barely stand the thought of being cold towards him. I try to ignore the voice in my head that insists it’s my fault. I should have known better. It’s not as if a man like him would see anything of value in a simple woman like me.

  Just as well, I’m not about to let him under my skirt again, knowing where those hands have been. I don’t know how I’m going to explain the abrupt shift in my attitude, but the nice assistant who had been so eager to play is no more. I imagine he’ll be cold, seeing little use in me without the appeal of my body. Perhaps he’ll send me home ahead of schedule. Or maybe, just maybe…

  Maybe Mike was right. Perhaps Carson just needs to meet the right woman. Maybe I’m the one who will change his outlook, the one he can’t look into his future and see himself without.

  Realizing that I’m just fooling myself, I exhale a bitter chuckle. I slouch in my seat, chills going through my body. Carson hadn’t been as kind to explain where the spare blankets are, and apparently is doing just fine without one. Then again, he has the satisfaction of a plan well executed to keep him warm. All I have is my misery and disappointment to keep me company.

  Shivers run through my body as I turn away from him, an unbidden tear streaking down my cheek. Get it together. He’s just a fling. It’s not as if I had expected to find my happily-ever-after with someone like Carson Sharpe. At least, that’s what I tell myself as I stare out the window of the jet.

  The clouds look like fluffy piles of cotton candy, sweet and delicate. The jet rips through them, not caring what effect it might have on the skies around it. I suppose it’s fitting. The perfect metaphor to describe the owner of said jet and the women he’d torn asunder.

  I squeeze my eyes shut against the thoughts, trying to tune out the sound of the engines. Moreover, I try to ignore the gentle lull of Carson’s snoring—an obnoxious, but strangely comforting sound that a lesser woman would find herself falling for.

  Allowing everything to slip away, I drift into a fitful sleep.

  Chapter Eleven

  Carson

  When I open my eyes, I glance to my side to see Aimee sleeping restlessly at my side. I smile to myself, a sense of adoration sweeping over me.

  I brush my fingertips across the troubled crease of her brow, wondering just what sort of nightmares are running through her head. I can only hope that I should appear as the knight in shining armor, but the only real way to ensure that is to wake her from her uncomfortable sleep.

  “Wake up, Aimee,” I whisper, brushing my lips against her ear.

  She jolts upright, turning wide eyes upon me. Her expression is baleful, and I wave off her apparent concern.

  “You seemed to be having a bit of trouble sleeping. Is there something on your mind?” I inquire gently, reaching out to brush a lock of hair away from her forehead. To my surprise, she draws away from me. I can’t help feeling a bit spurned, but I try not to take it to heart. Perhaps her nightmares had gotten to her more than I expected.

  “Nothing important, Mr. Sharpe,” she says coolly, refusing to meet my gaze.

  My eyebrows shoot upwards at the use of the formal title, and doubt wells up inside me as I try to reason out what could have her upset. A surge of fear rushes through me as I glance towards the cockpit, wondering if she could have had a worrying talk with the pilots.

  “Oh…all right. What did you do while I was sleeping? Did you enjoy the flight—lap of luxury, and all that?” I smile teasingly, reaching out to rest a hand on her shoulder. She tenses beneath my grip, and an intense sense of unease rises up in me. I swallow thickly, forcing down a painful lump in my throat.

  “I just slept. Just like you,” she murmurs, glancing past me.

  The skyline of Saint Petersburg spears the sky beneath us, and I smile in spite of myself. No matter what has her so upset, she won’t be able to hold a grudge when I show her the beautiful city. It’ll be the ultimate romantic escape, unlike anything she’s ever experienced before. In a way, it will be much the same for me. I’ve never actually been on a trip with someone I’ve felt such adoration for.

  “We’ll be touching down in five,” Mike calls from the cockpit, an edge of uncertainty in his voice. I can hear the two pilots bickering quietly, but I try to put little weight on whatever may be troubling them. They usually get antsy on long flights, and I am fairly confident they won’t have divulged any…uncouth secrets. Then again, it wouldn’t be the first time. Mike has a heart nearly the size of his gut, and Taylor might not have the best opinion of my actions in the past.

  If I find out that they revealed my sordid past to the woman I’m falling for, I would be tempted to fire the two of them, but I know I could never follow through on that threat. Aimee deserves to know the truth. I can only hope that I’m the one who reveals it to her, and she doesn’t hear it from an outside source, but it might be too late.

  Shaking off the worrisome thoughts, I turn to take in the angelic face of the woman at my side. Her heart-shaped lips, usually curved into a sly smile, are pouting slightly. Upon close inspection—at least as close as she’ll allow for the moment—it seems that she’s been nervously gnawing on her lip since she woke up.

  Even more troubling is the rim of redness around both eyes, an obvious indication that she has been crying. Though I can’t claim to know Aimee as well as I should someday hope to, I feel as if I know her well enough to know that she wouldn’t cry over just anything. Something important is weighing heavily on her mind.

  As the wheels of the jet touch down on the runway, I struggle with the words to explain myself to the woman before me. Perhaps if I take her out to a romantic dinner, something for just the two of us, she’ll feel comfortable enough to reveal what is troubling her.

  I plan to show her all of my favorite landmarks, to form grandiose memories with the woman I’m coming to adore. I hope we find new places to explore, together. At the end of this trip, I plan to ask her to be mine. Not just to screw around with her, but also to love her as a man should love a woman.

  “It’s 11 a.m., local time. I hope you’re well rested; we have a busy day ahead of us. The meeting is at three, and we’ll have time after to explore some of the local landmarks. If you’ll indulge me, though, it’s just early enough to catch lunch somewhere nearby,” I say with a smile, certain that she’ll be thrilled by the suggestion.

  Instead, she turns dull eyes upon me. She unfastens her seatbelt, standing somewhat shakily and slipping towards the exit. She trails behind Mike and Taylor, and the look of concern Mike turns upon her only raises my suspicions higher.

  I quickly shuffle out of my seat, realizing with a start that my fly is still unzipped. I feel my cheeks flush as I adjust myself, zipping up my slacks and brushing a hand through my sleep-rumpled hair. I rush after Aimee, finding her lingering towards the back of the jet where Mike and Taylor are talking together.

  My sweet Aimee watches the men with crossed arms, a sour expression on her precious face. What I would give to strike the uncertainty from her gaze, to sweep her into my arms and shout to the heavens that I’m falling in love with her.

  I step closer to her, and she glances towards me with something that can only be described as disdain. There’s also something else in her gaze, what I recognize as a deep and unfathom
able sorrow. I know I should come clean right here, right now. There’s nothing actually stopping me, save my ego. I just want to be somewhere more private, beyond the probing gazes of my pilots.

  “Aimee, if you would follow me, I’ve rented a car to take us to our hotel room, and then we can see about getting lunch,” I offer nervously.

  She stares at me for a lingering moment before nodding her head. She’s silent as we walk side by side to the car, and as I sit behind the steering wheel, I want nothing more than to reach across the center console and grip her hand in my own. Her hands are folded in her lap, however, and she stares forlornly out the window of the passenger side.

  Remaining silent, I try to stay upbeat. I don’t want to be obnoxiously cheerful, but maybe my sweet Aimee will find my good mood infectious.

  I part my lips to speak, but she rests her forehead against the window and obviously tunes out my presence. My good mood is rapidly diminishing, but I’m confident that things will still turn out in my favor.

  As we pull into the hotel parking lot, I slide out of the car and wave down a porter to take our bags. The young man smiles politely at Aimee and me, but Aimee doesn’t return the expression. Instead, she slinks towards the front entrance of the hotel. I rush behind her, desperate to keep pace. She’s moving remarkably quickly, and it’s obvious that she’s trying to put as much distance between us as possible.

  Seeming to realize she can’t get into the room without a key, Aimee pauses by the front desk and waits for me. I fall into place beside her, trying to regain my composure as swiftly as possible. The hotel clerk watches me with a bemused expression, but when I wordlessly present my identification for her to see, her eyes widen dramatically.

  “Mr. Sharpe, of course. Your VIP suite has been prepared for you. You’ll find champagne as well as a selection of other choice beverages. As always, don’t hesitate to call if you need something,” she says in a rush, slipping the suite’s keycard into my hand. She hesitates as Aimee sticks her hand out, glancing to me for permission.