jobs. I definitely needed to spend some more time on Anna’s training. She was clever, though. She’d pick up on the finer details soon enough.
Her smile slipped when he didn’t answer. “What do I do now?”
“Send him an email to the same address he contacted us from, as well as any other addresses listed in his personnel file. Ask him to come into the office and tell him that we’ll talk about the issue.”
A few minutes later, before I’d even gotten around to printing all the paperwork from his file and was only about halfway through the official disciplinary forms, her tablet chimed with a response. “He says he’ll come in immediately.”
Well, at least now I know it’s not my Jaxon. He would never be so prompt.
Chapter 30
JAXON
Slightly hungover from my afternoon with my mother yesterday, I walked into the office fully geared for a fight. Over the years, I’d had a couple of offers from other airlines, but I liked where I was.
If they made me start over at a different company, I would, but I wasn’t just taking this bullshit termination crap lying down. I was finally at the point here where I pretty much got to choose my routes, had more downtime between flights, and could theoretically be home more often if I chose to do it.
The airline was affiliated with one of the charities I volunteered at, and they were even counting my hours there now as actual work. It had taken me a long time to get to this stage of my career, and I wasn’t just leaving.
A young brunette girl greeted me in the waiting area of the office number she’d told me to report to. She sat with her back toward the runways, and her eyes widened as if she was in shock to see me there.
“Are you Mr. Scott?” she asked when I walked in. I was wearing my full uniform and had my hat tucked under my arm for good measure. It was time to remind them of who I was and that they’d be firing a pilot they’d courted for years if they went through with this.
I nodded once. “Yes. Ms. Bowman, correct? You summoned me?”
Her head bounced up and down, but there was definite tension in her movements. “We just need to discuss with you what has happened. Then you’ll be on your way. Today’s meeting shouldn’t take too long. If disciplinary steps follow, I’ll be in touch about the procedure from here on.”
Delightful. “Sure. Can I go in?”
“In a minute. They’re just finishing up a conference call about the strike.” She flushed like she knew she wasn’t supposed to have mentioned it and then cleared her throat. “It’ll just be a minute. Please have a seat. I’ll let you know as soon as she’s ready for you.”
“Guess I’ll wait some more.” I planted my ass on the seat closest to the door marked only with the airline logo, and I tapped out a text to Kavan, canceling the plans we’d had later this morning. Shira wanted me to help with painting a rainbow on the baby’s wall. Instead of being there helping them prepare for their new arrival, I was here trying to reason with a department that was clearly in disarray.
My knee bounced while I sat there, my mind half still stuck in Fiji as it had been since I’d gotten back, and half going over the job offers I’d had before. One would require moving to New York, but at this stage, that didn’t seem as bad as it used to. Except for the fact that Mom would never move and she’d have my diaper-cleaned balls as payment if I tried going without her. But there was one in Dallas as well. She might go for that one if push came to shove.
A few minutes later, the receptionist cleared her throat again.
“Please follow me, Mr. Scott.” She smoothed out her skirt after she stood, giving a terse nod in the direction of a short hallway behind her desk.
I followed her to an opaque glass door at the end, my heart slamming into overdrive when I read the name on the door. There was no mistaking it, though.
In big, bold, capital letters, there was Lindsay’s name.
Ms. Lindsay M. Flinn.
Oh shit. Also, I wonder what the M stands for?
I had literally no time to think about how to handle facing her again. Her assistant rapped her knuckles against the glass and pushed the door open without even waiting