"That was a phone call," he said. "That's not really a favor." She stood there for a moment. She had more to ask and she knew it, and she knew he knew it. And the fact that they were both letting the silence sit was its own kind of conversation. "I need someone on site," she said.
"Not to do the repair. Howell's team can do the repair once they find the location, but I need someone who can run the thermal diagnostic correctly and tell them exactly where to pull. Caleb looked at the aircraft he'd been working on. Then at Garrett, who was leaning against the door frame with his coffee and not pretending to be doing anything other than watching this happen. He's got two days clear, Garrett said to no one in particular.
After Thursday, he's got the Cessna. Caleb looked at Garrett with an expression that communicated several things simultaneously, including that he had not asked for that information to be offered, and that he was not entirely displeased that it had been. "What's the rate?" Caleb asked. He was looking at Sloan again now. His voice was professional.
"Whatever else this was, that part of it was going to be clean and simple." "Whatever your billing," she said. "Plus 20% for the turnaround. Plus 25," Garrett said from the doorway. Garrett, Caleb said. I'm just doing math, Garrett said.
Caleb looked at Sloan. Plus 20%, he said. And I work with your engineering team, not for them. I'm not taking direction from Howell. I'll consult.
I'll run the diagnostic. I'll tell them what I see. They do the repair. Agreed, Sloan said immediately. He pulled out his phone and looked at the time.
I can be there by 1:00. Booked. He arrived at 1:14, which Sloan registered from the window of her office, but did not go down to meet. That was deliberate. He didn't need an audience for his arrival, and she had learned slowly that the instinct to be present for everything that mattered was sometimes its own form of making things about herself.