“Same outcome.”
“Different reason.”
She turned.
“I don't want you thinking I don't trust you.”
Ethan approached.
Stopped near her.
“I know.”
“You say that too easily.”
“Victoria.”
He crouched again.
Habit now.
Equal.
“Your company is under investigation.”
“Your board is waiting for evidence you let personal judgment interfere.”
“If I keep flying you, we hand them an argument.”
She looked at him.
“I hate reasonable men.”
“Harold wasn't reasonable.”
“He looked reasonable.”
“Fair.”
She touched his hand.
“So what are we?”
Ethan smiled.
“You're asking me?”
“Yes.”
“Dangerous.”
“Answer.”
He considered.
“I would like to take you to dinner.”
“One dinner?”
“Start there.”
“I’ve kissed you three times.”
“Four.”
“Who counted?”
“Pilot.”
She rolled eyes.
Ethan continued.
“Dinner.”
“Without company aircraft.”
“Without lawyers.”
“Without Alaska.”
“Without sabotage.”
Victoria smiled.
“Fine.”
Then:
“Somewhere private.”
“Why?”
“I am recognizable.”
“You're paranoid.”
“I am in newspapers.”
“That too.”
Their first real date happened at a small Italian restaurant Ethan liked near Lake Washington.
No private room.
No security visible.
Victoria arrived in a deep green dress under long black coat.
Ethan was already seated.
He stood when she approached, then hesitated, unsure whether that gesture annoyed her.
Victoria noticed.
“Sit.”
He did.
“You overthink.”
“Occupational.”
“Do I make you nervous?”
“Yes.”
She smiled.
“At least you’re honest.”
Dinner was strangely easy.
No company agenda.
No passengers.
No warning lights.
Victoria asked about Grace.
Ethan showed photos.
Grace at soccer tournament.
Grace with telescope.
Grace covered in flour.
“She cooks?”
“She weaponizes kitchens.”
Victoria laughed.
Ethan asked about Victoria's childhood.
That was harder.
Charles Sterling had been brilliant, demanding, and emotionally economical.
Victoria's mother died when Victoria was sixteen.
Her father responded to grief by working more.
Victoria responded by becoming good enough to keep up.
At twenty-six, Victoria was in a car accident outside Portland.
A truck crossed median.
Her spinal cord injury changed mobility permanently.
Her father arrived at hospital and immediately began discussing specialist programs.
He never cried where she could see.
He redesigned company headquarters before she returned.
Ramps.
Elevators.
Accessible boardroom.
He solved architecture.
He never asked how terrified she was.
Ethan listened.
Then said:
“He loved you like an engineer.”
Victoria looked up.
“What?”
“Saw problem.”
“Built solution.”
“Missed part without blueprint.”
She stared.
“That may be most accurate description anyone has given him.”
Ethan shrugged.
“I fix things.”
She smiled.
“Dangerous.”
After dinner, Ethan walked with her along waterfront.