Turbulent Intentions (Billionaire Aviators 1)

“I guess the big question is how much does the person want for rent? I don’t have a terribly large rent budget, Sherman. There’s not a lot I can afford.” Stormy refused to make eye contact as she told him this.

She hated talking money with people, especially someone like Sherman. No, he didn’t flash his money around, but she knew he was far from poor. She didn’t know what exactly he had, but she was sure it was enough to never have to want for anything.

“I think this just might be in your price range, Stormy. The person who owns the property is gone a whole lot and has finally figured out that it’s better not to leave the grounds unattended,” Sherman said. “And with you about to be homeless, it works out best for all parties concerned. As a matter of fact, there’s no rent. You would just take care of the house, make sure no one is coming in when the owner is gone, and maybe stock up on some supplies for when they are back.”

She looked at him with suspicion.

“This seems a lot like a handout to me, Sherman,” she told him.

With innocence shining in his eyes, he held up his hands in surrender. “It’s nothing like that, I swear,” he promised her.

She still wasn’t sure about this. Things that were too good to be true had a tendency to come back and bite her on the ass.

“Who’s this home owner?”

“It’s my nephew. He really isn’t home much at all and you probably won’t even see him—which is why he needs someone living in the guest cottage. But at least I can vouch that your landlord is an upstanding citizen.” Sherman told her.

“Oh. I don’t know why, but I just assumed the owner was a woman,” Stormy said, unsure if she wanted to live so close to a man, even a man related to Mr. Sherman.

It wasn’t that she was a man-hater or anything, but wouldn’t people talk if she moved to his property, make assumptions of who she was and what she was doing there? It mattered to her what people thought about her, though she knew that was stupid. They weren’t living in the olden days.

“I assure you my nephew is utterly harmless,” Mr. Sherman said with a laugh.

“I wasn’t thinking anything other than that,” she quickly said. “It’s just that people . . .” She trailed off. She knew her reasoning shouldn’t be uttered aloud. He didn’t comment, but continued to prod her for an answer instead.

“How about it, Stormy? Help ease my conscience and take this one favor. If you hate living there, you can always move when you have a little bit saved up,” he told her.

Was this charity? Maybe, but he really wanted to do it, so that made it okay, didn’t it?

“That’s a good point,” she said. She wanted to say yes so badly, but still . . .

“You’re a kind soul, Stormy, and I wish you’d allow me to do more for you,” he told her, again patting her hand.

Stormy was speechless at his generosity. She was torn over what to do. She certainly didn’t want to be a charity case, but it sounded like this was legitimate. Besides, it wasn’t like she had a whole heck of a lot of options in front of her. She was going to be homeless in less than forty-eight hours if she didn’t accept this.

“All right, I’ll take the place, but only if I’m not going to be a burden, and if your nephew lets me know, with a proper amount of time to move, if our arrangement isn’t working for him,” she said.

“It’s a big piece of land. I really don’t see any problems occurring, but if it makes you feel better, we can write something up,” Sherman said with a smile, handing her a piece of paper with the address on it. “Here’s the key.”

“You were pretty sure I was going to do this then,” she said as she laughed, holding the address and the key for a moment before putting them in her pocket.

She wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. This man was her guardian angel.

“Do you need help with moving?” Sherman asked, kind enough not to comment about how quickly she had caved.

“No. I already spoke to my coworker, and she has an old, roomy Volvo to help me. There really isn’t all that much to move,” she told him.

“That’s good, but promise to call me if you need help,” he insisted.

“I will, Sherman,” she said, suddenly choking up. “You have to promise me we aren’t going to lose touch because I’m going to really miss you,” Stormy said before standing up and then reaching out and giving him a warm embrace.

“Well, my dear, I’ll miss you, too, but this change will be good for you. Just be sure and take care of yourself,” he said, sounding slightly choked up himself. That had to be her imagination though. “And yes, we will see each other often. Someone has to make sure my nephews behave so I come out there weekly. Now, you have a big day ahead of you tomorrow, and my old bones need some rest.”

He looked down and glanced at his watch before his eyes widened. “My golly, it’s going to be nearly midnight by the time I get home. I should get going, and so should you, lest you turn into a pumpkin. Or maybe it’s the motor coach that turns into the pumpkin. In either case, Cinderella, this old dog needs to get going.” Sherman patted Stormy on the back; her arms were still wrapped around him like a child who wouldn’t let go.

“Thank you again. Good night, Sherman.” With that, the two squeezed each other one last time and then Stormy rushed off toward home while he watched her safely cross the street. o;I guess the big question is how much does the person want for rent? I don’t have a terribly large rent budget, Sherman. There’s not a lot I can afford.” Stormy refused to make eye contact as she told him this.

She hated talking money with people, especially someone like Sherman. No, he didn’t flash his money around, but she knew he was far from poor. She didn’t know what exactly he had, but she was sure it was enough to never have to want for anything.

“I think this just might be in your price range, Stormy. The person who owns the property is gone a whole lot and has finally figured out that it’s better not to leave the grounds unattended,” Sherman said. “And with you about to be homeless, it works out best for all parties concerned. As a matter of fact, there’s no rent. You would just take care of the house, make sure no one is coming in when the owner is gone, and maybe stock up on some supplies for when they are back.”

She looked at him with suspicion.

“This seems a lot like a handout to me, Sherman,” she told him.

With innocence shining in his eyes, he held up his hands in surrender. “It’s nothing like that, I swear,” he promised her.

She still wasn’t sure about this. Things that were too good to be true had a tendency to come back and bite her on the ass.

“Who’s this home owner?”

“It’s my nephew. He really isn’t home much at all and you probably won’t even see him—which is why he needs someone living in the guest cottage. But at least I can vouch that your landlord is an upstanding citizen.” Sherman told her.

“Oh. I don’t know why, but I just assumed the owner was a woman,” Stormy said, unsure if she wanted to live so close to a man, even a man related to Mr. Sherman.

It wasn’t that she was a man-hater or anything, but wouldn’t people talk if she moved to his property, make assumptions of who she was and what she was doing there? It mattered to her what people thought about her, though she knew that was stupid. They weren’t living in the olden days.

“I assure you my nephew is utterly harmless,” Mr. Sherman said with a laugh.

“I wasn’t thinking anything other than that,” she quickly said. “It’s just that people . . .” She trailed off. She knew her reasoning shouldn’t be uttered aloud. He didn’t comment, but continued to prod her for an answer instead.

“How about it, Stormy? Help ease my conscience and take this one favor. If you hate living there, you can always move when you have a little bit saved up,” he told her.

Was this charity? Maybe, but he really wanted to do it, so that made it okay, didn’t it?

“That’s a good point,” she said. She wanted to say yes so badly, but still . . .

“You’re a kind soul, Stormy, and I wish you’d allow me to do more for you,” he told her, again patting her hand.

Stormy was speechless at his generosity. She was torn over what to do. She certainly didn’t want to be a charity case, but it sounded like this was legitimate. Besides, it wasn’t like she had a whole heck of a lot of options in front of her. She was going to be homeless in less than forty-eight hours if she didn’t accept this.

“All right, I’ll take the place, but only if I’m not going to be a burden, and if your nephew lets me know, with a proper amount of time to move, if our arrangement isn’t working for him,” she said.

“It’s a big piece of land. I really don’t see any problems occurring, but if it makes you feel better, we can write something up,” Sherman said with a smile, handing her a piece of paper with the address on it. “Here’s the key.”

“You were pretty sure I was going to do this then,” she said as she laughed, holding the address and the key for a moment before putting them in her pocket.

She wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. This man was her guardian angel.

“Do you need help with moving?” Sherman asked, kind enough not to comment about how quickly she had caved.

“No. I already spoke to my coworker, and she has an old, roomy Volvo to help me. There really isn’t all that much to move,” she told him.

“That’s good, but promise to call me if you need help,” he insisted.

“I will, Sherman,” she said, suddenly choking up. “You have to promise me we aren’t going to lose touch because I’m going to really miss you,” Stormy said before standing up and then reaching out and giving him a warm embrace.

“Well, my dear, I’ll miss you, too, but this change will be good for you. Just be sure and take care of yourself,” he said, sounding slightly choked up himself. That had to be her imagination though. “And yes, we will see each other often. Someone has to make sure my nephews behave so I come out there weekly. Now, you have a big day ahead of you tomorrow, and my old bones need some rest.”

He looked down and glanced at his watch before his eyes widened. “My golly, it’s going to be nearly midnight by the time I get home. I should get going, and so should you, lest you turn into a pumpkin. Or maybe it’s the motor coach that turns into the pumpkin. In either case, Cinderella, this old dog needs to get going.” Sherman patted Stormy on the back; her arms were still wrapped around him like a child who wouldn’t let go.

“Thank you again. Good night, Sherman.” With that, the two squeezed each other one last time and then Stormy rushed off toward home while he watched her safely cross the street.