"I don't know what game you're playing, but it ends now. Captain Cain, should I call security?" The word landed like a slap. Several heads snapped up. Inside the FBO lounge, Patricia Williams set down her champagne glass harder than necessary.
Even some of the ground crew stopped what they were doing, but it was Tyler Morgan's reaction that sealed everyone's fate. Tyler Morgan, 28, emerged from the aircraft like he was walking onto a movie set. Tall, blond, with the kind of casual confidence that came from never being questioned, never being doubted, never having to prove he belonged anywhere. As Madison's boyfriend of six months, he'd learned to mirror her casual cruelty, to back up her judgments without question.
"Babe, what's the situation?" Tyler asked, slipping an arm around Madison's waist in a gesture that was both possessive and dismissive. He looked at Naomi like she was an interesting problem to solve rather than a human being. "This woman is trying to board our aircraft," Madison explained, leaning into Tyler's embrace, "claiming to be Dr. Brooks." Tyler laughed, the sound sharp and cruel.
"Dr. Brooks? The neurosurgeon? Right." He looked Naomi up and down with theatrical disbelief. "Dr. Brooks owns half of Manhattan. Dr. Brooks wears Armani, not..." He gestured at her sweatshirt. "Whatever that is."
"Howard University," Naomi said quietly.
"What?"
"My sweatshirt. It's from Howard University, where I completed my undergraduate degree before attending Johns Hopkins School of Medicine. But please continue telling me about my wardrobe choices."
Something in her tone made Tyler pause. Not because he recognized authority, but because he sensed resistance. In his experience, people who looked like Naomi didn't push back when confronted by people who looked like him. That's when Jessica Rivera arrived.
Jessica Rivera, 34, the ground operations supervisor, had been watching the confrontation from her office window. She'd seen enough situations to know when crew members needed backup, and Madison Torres had been calling for support. Jessica had worked her way up from ground crew to supervisor over eight years, and she protected her people fiercely. What she didn't protect was fairness.
"What's going on here?" Jessica demanded, striding across the tarmac with clipboard in hand and authority in every step. She wore the kind of uniform that demanded respect, crisp and official, with enough badges and insignia to intimidate anyone not familiar with aviation hierarchy. "Thank God you're here, Jess," Madison said, relief evident in her voice. "This woman is trying to board Dr. Brooks's aircraft."
"She won't leave when asked."