She lifted her eyes.
"Nine minutes, Captain."
He frowned.
"What?"
"That's all I'm giving you."
The pilot stared at her, then laughed loudly enough for the first officer to hear.
"Nine minutes for what? You think we're going to stand here while you play dress-up?"
The woman said nothing.
She simply lowered her wrist.
The pilot stepped closer, his face reddening.
"Security! Drag this woman off my runway!"
A ground employee near the service cart reached for his radio.
Another lowered his eyes.
And the flight attendant standing in the doorway smiled.
It was a small smile.
Barely noticeable.
But the woman in black saw it.
She also noticed that the first officer didn't move when the pilot struck her documents.
He didn't object.
Didn't offer assistance.
And didn't ask whether anyone had checked her credentials.
He simply stood beside the stairs, watching.
The woman glanced toward the aircraft's registration number, painted neatly along the rear fuselage.
She knew those letters.
She knew the serial number stamped inside the aircraft's maintenance records.
She knew exactly how much money had been transferred to complete its acquisition, how much its specialized insurance cost, and which company held the operating agreement.
Because the aircraft belonged to a company she controlled.
And she was the company's founder.
The pilot had just ordered the owner of the seventy-million-dollar private jet away from her own boarding stairs.
But that wasn't why she'd given him nine minutes.
Something else had happened that morning.
Something involving an unauthorized passenger manifest, a private flight scheduled without her approval, and a missing signature that someone inside her company was desperate to obtain.
And by the time the pilot realized who she was, the countdown would already be over.
Three hours earlier, the Black CEO had stood beneath a magnificent chandelier inside one of Manhattan's most exclusive event venues.
The afternoon gathering was supposed to be a celebration.
More than three hundred guests filled the historic ballroom, where enormous white floral arrangements decorated the tables and an orchestra played softly beside a floor-to-ceiling window overlooking the Hudson River.
Executives.
Artists.
Philanthropists.
University presidents.
And students who'd received scholarships through an education foundation she had supported for nearly a decade.
She wore the same extraordinary black gown she'd later wear at the airport.
The dress had been created for the event by an independent American designer whose career the CEO had helped launch. Its sculptural corset, feathered hem, and striking silver headpiece were intended to celebrate the meeting of fashion, architecture, and technology.
The jewelry had been selected carefully.
The diamond Rolex, however, wasn't part of the outfit.
It was personal.
Very personal.