Love Saved (6 page)

K
irk adjusted
his tie and squirmed in the stiff-backed office chair. He hated ties and avoided wearing them because he had a notion that once someone put on a tie, they ran a real chance of being chained to a boring desk forever. His very freedom depended on not succumbing to the hideous adornment.

A meeting with the company's director demanded a tie, however. There was no way out of it - as Salma had pointed out several times that morning as he had groused over breakfast.

Kirk wasn't even sure why he had been called into this special meeting. He had been back in town for a week after being rescued and had spent that time recovering at home; he hadn't set foot in the office since the crash.

Oren had left days ago, and they hadn't had any contact since that final night in Khalas. He had heard from colleagues, though, that Oren had met with the managers of the company and had been firm in saying Kirk had no blame in the accident. In fact, by all accounts, Oren had left a glowing review and credited Kirk with saving his life.

"Maybe they are calling me in for a reward," Kirk mused aloud, looking at the clock on the office wall again.

He had been sitting outside the director's door for over fifteen minutes. He had arrived right on time but had been told by the director's secretary to wait until he was called.

Another five minutes rolled passed before the door opened, and a big-bellied man with thick glasses came out.

"Director," Kirk said respectfully, standing up and presenting his hand.

The director looked at him with watery eyes and avoided his hand. "Come in, Khaled, we have much to discuss."

Kirk paused, confused by why his real name was being used. It was company policy to always use their English names around each other to make it a matter of habit when guests were around. The director himself insisted he be called 'Harold' at all times.

"Alright, Harold," he murmured, following the portly man into the small office.

Kirk sat down in a small white leather chair that sat across from Harold's metal desk. It was surrounded by impressionist paintings in expensive looking frames - all of which were fake, Kirk knew. Everything in the office was designed to impress guests without costing anything.

If only this attention to detail had been given to my plane
, Kirk thought bitterly, trying to keep his face neutral.

"Now, Khaled. I hope you have recovered from your little...adventure," Harold huffed as he squeezed his bulk into the large pleather chair behind his desk.

"I have, sir. Thank you for allowing the time off."

"Taking personal time is often a very good thing. It allows you to recharge and reconsider things from a new perspective."

Kirk raised his eyebrows. He had worked for Royalty Tour Plus for six years and had never been encouraged to take a vacation. In fact, he hadn't even had a sick day in years.

The director continued, seemingly not noticing Kirk's skeptical silence. "Mr. Moore has returned home as you probably know. His assistant had been calling us for updates every twenty minutes. Quite an impossible young woman! She arranged for him to be taken away by private jet as soon as he was back in town. I believe there was even a doctor on board the plane to assess his health."

Kirk smiled slightly, thinking about how he had returned to town: in the back of a truck hauling fabric to be sold in the city. He had sat on a crate for hours as they made the long trek, dust being blown in his face every time the wind shifted.

He could have taken the rescue helicopter with Oren, he knew that, but he had been afraid that he was falling too fast for the handsome billionaire. Oren had a busy life filled with extravagant toys and adventures. Kirk knew he was merely a blip on the radar - a story that would be told at dinner parties to much applause. Their connection couldn't have meant much to a rich, experienced man like Oren, and the last thing Kirk had wanted was to put his heart on the line like a fool.

"I'm glad Mr. Moore was well taken care of," Kirk said at last.

"He talked about you before he left. We naturally had him come in so we could profusely apologize for the terrible incident and give our heartfelt condolences for the loss of his employees. He was very generous about the entire thing, really. Said he was already planning very large donations for the victims' families."

"And what did he say about me, sir?" Kirk couldn't help but ask.

"Oh, he left no donations for you." Harold was sweating laboriously and pulled out a handkerchief to wipe his large forehead.

"I didn't think he would, sir. I merely meant -"

"Good because there was no need for him to give you money! You practically killed him!" the director continued, his eyes now narrowed into tiny slits.

"Me? The plane's poor maintenance was the problem! I did everything I could to save his life and mine after the mechanic let me fly on that death trap - even after I had warned him!"

"I knew you would say things like that, Khaled. Wanting to pass the blame onto someone else. We all know you do a pre-flight check and said it was fit to fly."

Kirk couldn't believe what was happening. He stared at Harold as heat began to form in his cheeks. "You know very well I can't look inside the engine or fuel lines for my pre-flight check. The catastrophic failure was impossible to see outside the plane. The mechanic should have been the one to check it when I kept telling him about the fuel issues."

Harold shook his head sadly and put his handkerchief away. "Khaled, this is not the time for those types of accusations. The wreckage is in such poor shape that I don't think we'll ever know what happened without a full inquiry, and you know how expensive those are."

"You are just covering for the mechanic since he is your nephew, Harold!" Kirk stood up and walked up to the very front of the desk, leaning over it so his face was only a foot from the director's.

"Enough! I won't have you in here making statements like this!" Harold was trembling now. "I want you gone from this office immediately. You no longer work here and are never welcome to return."

"This is absurd! Oren said he would vouch for me that I saved his life! I've heard that he praised me."

"On a first name basis with clients? Yet another rule you have flagrantly disregarded! You have caused this company extreme embarrassment and distress with your carelessness. Now, leave before I call someone to escort you out - roughly."

Kirk open and shut his mouth a few times, too angry to even reply. Then he stood up straight, and quickly undid his tie. He flung the hated piece of fabric onto the director's desk, glaring the entire time. Then he turned on his heel and walked out, slamming the door as he went.

O
ren sat at his desk
, looking out the enormous floor to ceiling windows that made up his office’s right wall. From where he sat, he could look out these windows and across the street, where there was another enormous building packed full of workers grinding away. Far below him, the streets were teeming with cars as people began the long crawl homewards. He was far enough up to avoid the worst of the exhaust and noise, but the sight of the gridlock still made him feel slightly claustrophobic.

It hadn't bothered him before his trip to the Sahara. In fact, he had thrived off the busy, hectic pulse of New York. He had loved the relentless pace and had never seriously considered leaving, especially not at the peak of his career.

Something about the desert had changed everything. He missed the expansive feeling of looking across the land without a single car or person in sight. The danger of being so close to disaster and narrowly avoiding it, putting his life at the mercy of the capricious sun, had filled him with an energy that was addicting. Nothing in his current life could live up to that sensation.

His door opened, and his assistant Abigail poked her head in. "Sir, I'm going to grab some dinner and then come back to finish the reports," she said shortly before ducking back out and closing the door softly. Abigail stayed at the office almost as late as he did every night.

"She obviously doesn't have someone to go home to either," he said softly, looking at the office door with concern. "Just like me."

He picked up his cell phone and thought about calling his sister. Her voice and rosy outlook might help lift the gloom that had settled over his office. However, he couldn't seem to make himself hit the buttons. She had been overwhelming in her concern since he returned from Africa. She always had some new idea or treatment to help him get over what she called a 'deeply scarring experience.' From crystals to yoga instructors to a shaman excursion, she had brought him pamphlets by the stack. If he called her, who knew what terrible thing he'd be signed up for next.

Grunting, he put the phone back down on the desk. The restlessness was driving him mad. He ran his fingers through his hair and leaned back in his chair, staring up at the ceiling.

He knew what was bothering him and didn't want to admit it. He couldn't stop thinking about Kirk. The rare big smiles the pilot had given him were burned into his mind, and he couldn't seem to forget them. He also couldn't forget the way Kirk had tenderly cared for him, tending to his wounds gently and helping wrap his head to protect from the sun.

Oren wasn't someone who got taken care of. Not in his normal life. He was a Man Who Got Things Done - a giant in the industry. His words could sway millions of dollars of stock, and he could hire and fire hundreds of people at will. He had taken over other companies ruthlessly and was known to be brutal in his supply line negotiations.

And yet, with Kirk, he had allowed himself to surrender. He had been tended to, cared for, and watched over. It hadn't bothered Oren at all. In fact, he felt a sense of serenity with Kirk that he hadn't felt in years. When the handsome pilot was by his side, he felt truly safe.

"Shit, I don't even know this guy," Oren groaned, rubbing his hands over his face in the hopes it would stop the images from flashing through his mind. "He took care of me because he had to, and I'm turning into a complete sap about it."

He shuffled some papers around on his desk, trying to distract himself. The words and figures spun in his mind, hardly registering.

"Damn, fine! I'll call to see how he is doing. Just a quick check up. Make sure everything I arranged for him worked out." Oren nodded to himself, happy with the idea. He'd call the tour company and chat with Kirk's boss. See how things were faring and do a subtle check on Kirk's wellbeing. That way he'd get a fix for his obsession without having to do anything embarrassing like actually talk to the handsome pilot.

After all, he made it very clear our last night that he didn't want to talk after we parted.

Oren took a deep breath and picked up the phone. It took several minutes of effort, but he eventually navigated the international channels until he was connected to Royalty Tours Plus. The phone began to ring, and he immediately felt his pulse quicken.

What if Kirk picks up? Might he be in the office between flights and happen to pick up the phone? What will I say?

Kirk cleared his throat and forced himself to calm down. He was acting like a teenager, and it was embarrassing. How hard could it be to make a simple phone call?

The phone continued to ring, and he checked his watch. Realizing the time difference made it unlikely anyone was at the office, he slammed down the phone in frustration. Now that he had opened the gates and allowed himself to think about hearing Kirk's voice, he knew he wouldn't back off now. It was too late, and his legendary determination had latched onto the task with laser focus.

"Going to be a long night," he growled, grabbing a tablet off his desk to mindlessly surf the web until it was time to call again.

I
t was nearly
midnight before he got through to the secretary at Royalty Tour Plus. Oren still sat at his desk, his tie loosened around his neck and several boxes of takeout spread across the surface.

"Mr. Moore. It is very nice to hear from you again," the secretary, Titus, was saying. However, the fear in the young man's voice made it clear that he felt the exact opposite. Oren couldn't blame him; his trip had been a PR nightmare, after all.

"I'm not calling about anything related to my recent trip," Oren began, and he imaged he could hear Titus' shoulder relax.

"Then what can I do for you, Mr. Moore? Would you like to book another trip?"

"No! No, that's quite alright." Oren shuddered at the idea. "I'm just calling to see how my pilot, Kirk Kubar, is doing since returning. I never got to properly thank him for his heroic work, you see, and -"

"Oh, Mr. Kubar is no longer working with Royalty Tour Plus," Titus broke in smoothly. "With mutual agreement, he has decided to pursue other lines of work."

"What? I was under the impression Kirk wanted to stay on with the company."

"Well, that might be what he wanted, but after the incident with your trip, well...the director had concerns about the continued safety of his guests."

Oren's pulse quickened, and he gripped the phone handset tightly in his hand. "I thought you said it was a mutual decision," he ground out.

"Ah, yes. They mutual decided that the director was right."

"I made it very clear that nothing was Kirk's fault! I spoke at length with your director before leaving. This is absurd!"

"I'm very sorry you feel that way, sir. But Mr. Kubar doesn't work here any longer, and I don't think that will be changing. If I see him around town, perhaps I can send on a greeting from you?"

"No, that won't be necessary," Oren said before slamming down the phone.

He stood up and quickly began pacing the room, muttering curses to himself. "I should just buy that entire worthless company and fire them all, one by one. How dare they! After I made very clear Kirk was not to blame, they decided to make him a goddamn scapegoat to save their own skins. Sickening!"

Oren kicked his office sofa hard, then sat down on it heavily. His stomach churned with regret as he fumed over the conversation with Titus. One thing was clear - he had to make things up to Kirk. The man had saved his life, so he owed the pilot that courtesy at the very least.

And, of course, I want to see him again
, a small part of his brain piped up.

Oren went to the window and looked down at the streets below. "But does he want to see me?" he mused out loud, watching small groups of people walking under the streetlights. “That’s the real question.”