The Billionaire's Allure by Vivian Leigh

Author:Vivian Leigh
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Published: 2012-09-11T21:00:00+00:00

***

The museum rose up, a great curving bluff of white illuminated by long splashes of light shining from the ground. It was so big that it didn’t even look like a hangar. A jet roared in the distance, and I peered out the window to see it crawl into the sky.

“Have you been here before?” Adamson asked.

“Yes. It’s not a coincidence that I worked for an aerospace company. I grew up at an FBO in upstate New York.”

The limo stopped before the catwalk-like awning. “Interesting.” Adamson and I climbed out of the door. The passenger window lowered a few inches. “I’ll call you when we’re finished,” Adamson said, to Thomas.

“So how are we going to get inside?” I asked, as we passed down the sidewalk.

“We’re going to knock on the door.” He rapped on the glass and waited.

“Do you know someone on the inside?”

“The company makes substantial donations. It conveys a few privileges.”

Must be some donations. It made sense, though. The heritage the museum preserved was Adamson Aerospace’s heritage, too.

A security guard appeared a few moments later. “The museum is closed,” he said. Adamson took a business card from his pocket and held it to the glass. The guard’s eyes grew wide. “I’ll be right back.”

“He has to run it by his boss,” Adamson said.

“You’ve done this before?”

“A few times.”

“Do you bring all your dates here?”

“Only the pretty ones.”

I harrumphed at that. It was hard to tell if he was joking, or if it was a glimpse of his true character.

“So whose card was that?” I asked.

“The museum director’s.”

Of course. Why wouldn’t it be? The guard returned and unlocked the door. “My boss said to give you the run of the place.” His hands shook as he locked the door behind us.

“Thank you,” Adamson peered at the guard’s nametag, “Jake.” He took my hand and led me through the atrium, toward the nose of the SR-71. “You said you grew up at an FBO?”

“My dad ran a little airport by Plattsburgh.”

“So do you fly?” We stopped before the rakish black jet.

“Not anymore. I had an instrument rating, but I’m not current.” I walked around, admiring the curves on the 71. Seen from above it looked terribly phallic, but from the ground it was more like an obsidian knife.

“That’s too bad. Why did you stop?”

“My parents were in a crash.” I spoke more softly. “It was fatal. I lost the urge after that.”

“I see.” He stepped closer to me and looked deep into my eyes as if he was searching for something.

“It’s been eight years.” I swallowed hard. This wasn’t the time to dredge up those emotions. “I used to love flying, though. The sense of freedom when you’re bobbing along by yourself with nothing around but the clouds and the birds is amazing. I keep telling myself that when I get out of law school, I’ll get back into it.” I pointed to the Blackbird. “This thing still gives me a thrill every time I see it.”

“My father contracted some of the avionics in it.

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