Matchmaker 09: September

We picked a table and Azumi looked over the menu, her beautiful dark eyes flicking here and there as she studied her choices. I didn't bother with the menu, already knowing what I wanted, the company's signature Great Plains Burger.

After we placed our orders, Azumi following my lead and ordering a Great Plains Burger as well, I stared at her a moment, realizing that I hadn't the first clue where to take her shopping for clothing. "Where do you want to go shopping?"

She shrugged. "Anyplace is fine."

"You're going to have to help me out. If we were home in San Francisco, I might have a suggestion, but here..."

She grinned as she pulled out her phone again. "Gotcha. Let me look." She turned her phone toward me just as our food arrived. "How about here?"

I took her phone and studied the screen. It was a mid-level outdoor mall that was in the basic direction we needed to go. I handed the phone back to her and picked up my burger.

"Perfect," I said before taking a bite.

When we approached the cabin, if you could call this... temple... a cabin, my heart began pounding in my chest. When Roger said we were staying in a cabin, I suspected it wouldn't be a ramshackled hovel, but I certainly didn't expect anything like this. Made entirely from honey colored logs stacked on a rough stone foundation, the place was stunningly beautiful with intricate woodwork arches supporting the roof that covered the grand entrance. Set in manicured grounds on the edge of a mountain, the surrounding view only enhanced the beauty of the structure.

After he parked the SUV in the garage, I hauled my bounty into the cabin, my steps slowing involuntarily as I coasted to a stop in the great room. I don't know if my jaw was actually hanging open, but I felt like it was. Inside, the cabin was even more beautiful, with furniture quality wood walls, soaring ceilings, along with stone and glass everywhere I looked. Likely, there was nothing remotely like this amazing house anywhere on the islands.

"Is this yours?" I breathed, unable to get my feet in motion.

He stepped around me. "No. Ms. Lancaster arranged it for our use."

With supreme effort, I started my feet moving, following him up the broad staircase to the second floor. He stopped beside an open door that led to a large bedroom.

"There are five bedrooms. I've got that one," he said, jerking a thumb to the bedroom across the hall, "but you can take your pick of the remaining four. This one has a nice view."

I wanted to ask him why we weren't sharing a room, but I decided that was a little too forward, even for me. "This will be fine," I said, squeezing past him into the room.

Like the large room downstairs, my bedroom was full of wood and glass, and had a stone fireplace! I tossed the shopping bags on the bed, Roger following me in to add my overnight bag and the rest of my new clothes to the pile.

I turned to face him. "Thank you, again, for the clothes."

He smiled. "You're welcome."

He had a nice smile, but I was having a hard time figuring him out. He was friendly enough, but if I were to describe a shy nerd, that would be Roger. The only thing that ruined that perception was the fact he looked like anything but a nerd. When he'd taken his jacket off and offered it to me at the airport, I suddenly wasn't as cold anymore. Even though he was wearing a long-sleeved shirt, the fabric couldn't fully hide his muscular chest and arms. Add in his dark hair, strong chin, and those gorgeous, intelligent, brown eyes behind his stylish glasses, and he was a walking wet dream. The fact that he was smart enough to design airplanes and still look like he did, made me want to do all kinds of things to him that would probably shock my mother. Male model looks and rocket scientist brains? Sign me up!

While I was shopping, he followed me around as I selected my clothing. He never complained, never asked about the cost, but at the same time, he seemed so... reserved... almost as if he was thinking about something else the entire time. Maybe he was. Maybe really smart guys were just like that. I wouldn't know. Until now, I'd never dated anyone smart enough to design an airplane. I tended to date guys who were more artistically inclined. They also didn't have the money Roger obviously did.

In short, I was completely out of my element, and I was struggling to adjust. He stepped back, but seemed unsure what to do, as if he didn't know if he should stay or go. I knew what I wanted him to do. I turned away to hide the smile tugging at my lips. It was fun to think about him sweeping the bags onto the floor, tossing me on the bed, and me giving him a good hard workout to help him stay in shape, but I knew it was only a daydream. Even if he were to try, and I was pretty sure he wouldn't, I knew myself well enough to know when it came time for me to either put up or shut up, I'd shut up. A smile tugged at my lips again. At least for now.

"So, tell me more about this airplane you designed," I said as I began pulling the clothes from the bags and removing the tags.

"Do you really want to hear about that?"

"Yeah. Why wouldn't I?"

He shrugged. "It's kind of boring."

"Boring? Are you kidding me? I think it's fascinating that something that big can actually get off the ground. For example, I know wings makes the plane fly, but how?"

He stepped up beside me, picked up one my new pairs of pants, and began carefully removing the tags. "It's called the Bernoulli Effect. The shape of the wing causes the air flowing over the top of the wing to travel faster than the air flowing underneath it. The faster moving air creates a low-pressure zone, thus the higher pressure under the wing exerts a lifting force, which in turn lifts the plane."

I didn't doubt what he said, but it sounded so simple. "That's it?"

He smiled. "That's it." He tossed the pants aside, picked up another pair, and began removing the tags from it. "A wing is full of compromises. You can design a wing that generates a huge amount of lift, but doing so creates a lot of drag, which makes the aircraft slow and inefficient. Conversely, you can design a wing that's very slick, so it doesn't create drag, but such a wing doesn't generate much lift, and so on. That's why wings have flaps to—"

"Flaps?"

He nodded. "Flaps. They extend from the wing during takeoff and landing to increase the lifting capacity of the wing, and then retract in flight to reduce drag."

My hands stilled as I looked at him. "And you understand all this?"

He smiled again. "I wouldn't be much of a wing designer if I didn't."

I grinned. "Touché. Who did you say you work for? Boeing?"

He snickered. "Is Boeing the only aircraft company you can think of?"

My smile spread as I nodded. "Yeah."

"No. I work for myself."

"You own an airplane company?" I asked, my eyes widening, my estimation of him going up a couple of notches. He couldn't be more than a year or two older than my own twenty-six years.

He bobbed his head as he continued to work on my clothes. "Kind of. I've only built one plane, and I'm the only employee."

I picked up the last item and held it as I stared at him. "I don't understand."

"Remember when I said I understood what it was like to have an idea and see it through to completion?" I nodded. "When I was in college I came up with an idea. I had this idea for a variable geometry wing, a wing that wouldn't be handicapped by the compromises I mentioned, and I've been working on it ever since. My airplane, the Peregrine, is a technology demonstrator. There's nothing special about the fuselage" —he paused as he grinned— "except it's a jet powered glider. What's special about her is her wing."

"And you built it?"

"I designed and built it, but I contracted the actual fabrication of parts."

"Wow! I'm impressed. What did you study in school?"

"Aerospace engineering. I have a Ph.D. in engineering with a minor in fluid dynamics."

"Wow! How old are you, if you don't mind my asking?"

"Twenty-eight."

I paused and counted on my fingers. The math didn't add up. If he was twenty-eight, and he graduated with his Ph.D. at twenty-six, that meant he'd designed and built his airplane in only two years. Going by some of the other things he'd said, it sounded like he'd been working on his plane much longer than that.

"How is that possible?"

"What do you mean?"

"You don't seem old enough to have done all that."

He smiled, but it wasn't a happy smile. "Hard work and no social life."

I shook my head again. "I still don't understand."

"I completed my Bachelor's at twenty-one, my Master's at twenty-two, and my Ph.D. at twenty-four."

I studied his face a moment. I was almost twenty-four when I graduated with my BA, and he already had his Ph.D. "What, did you start college when you were fifteen?"

"No. I was eighteen, but I took classes every summer all through school, and worked on my idea in every spare moment. I was also in a private school, and some of my courses counted for college credit. My Ph.D. thesis was on the wing that I eventually designed and built for the Peregrine, so that helped."

"You did all of that, and worked too?" I shook my head and breathed, "Wow."

"Why do you think I had no social life?"

I snickered. "I guess so. Why were you working so hard?"

He shrugged. "It was expected."

"By who?"

"My dad. My grandfather. They live for their work."

"You said your dad built batteries? What does your grandfather do?"

"He's a theoretical physicist. He's working on Muon-catalyzed fusion."

I felt like my eyes crossed. "Do I even want to know what that is?"

He grinned. "It's a type of cold fusion. If they crack that, the earth's energy problems will be solved."

"Wow!" I was saying that a lot. "Is you're entire family brilliant?" He shrugged but said nothing. "So, your grandfather is working on solving the world's energy problem, your dad builds batteries, and—"

"Designs batteries," he corrected.

"Designs batteries," I amended. "And you design and build airplanes? That right?"

He nodded. "Yeah, that about sums it up. I'm the stupid one of the bunch."

I snickered. "Hardly."

"That's why I needed to be here next week. The largest glider show in the country is here, and I'm unveiling the Peregrine at the show as a proof of concept for my wing."

"I don't understand."

"I have a patent pending on the wing. There's an old saying... 'with a big enough engine, a brick will fly.' What better way to demonstrate a new wing design than on a plane that doesn't use an engine?"

I frowned. "I don't understand why I'm here. I thought this was a vacation or something. Am I here to... what? Help you with the airplane?"

Brooklyn sold me on this idea as a chance to meet someone, someone she'd carefully vetted and who could be my... soulmate, for the lack of a better term. I came to Colorado expecting to meet the man of my dreams. I wanted to spend a month being romanced, a month doing things I'd never done before with the man I was falling in love with, a month riding a big cock, screaming in pleasure as we made mad passionate love. If I was nothing but a hired hand to help him sell his fucking airplane, I was going to be pissed.

"It is, sort of. The show is only a week."

"And you want my help?" I asked, my tone frosty.

"No, not really. I mean, if you want to tag along, you're welcome, but no, I... what?" He'd noticed my expression.

"What? What do you mean what? You fly me all the way to Colorado so I can stand around while you work? That's bullshit! That's not what I signed up for. Did Brooklyn know this?"

"Know what?"

"That you were planning on working the entire time?"

"Not the entire time, just the first week."

"Okay, fine, the first week. Did she know?"

"Well, no, but I told her I had to be here the first week in September."

"You asshole," I muttered. "You got me here under false pretenses. I thought you wanted to meet me, that you were looking for someone special, but instead I find out you're just looking for arm candy. If that's all you wanted, why didn't you hire a model or something? Why go through all this?"

"That's not it at all! I want to—"

"Want to what?" I demanded, cutting him off, my voice cold and flinty. "You thought you'd get some chick all the way here and have her fawning all over you because you're rich? You thought maybe she'd stand there and smile during the day and let you fuck her at night? Is that what you want? Maybe you don't need a model," I scoffed. "Maybe you need a whore."

His face hardened. "Do you want to hear what I have to say or are you going to interrupt me again?" he asked, his voice cool.

I waved my hand at his face. I really didn't give a shit what he had to say. I was seriously considering taking my bag, calling the number Brooklyn gave me, and going home. If I was going to fucking work, I'd work for myself, not for this asshole for free.

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Look, I'm sorry you're upset. I really didn't think about it. Tuesday I'm going to unveil the Peregrine at a presentation I've arranged, and I'll probably fly her a few times during the week to demonstrate her performance envelope. Depending on the response, I might have to spend another day answering questions, but that's it. I'm not selling the plane, I'm selling the right to use my patent to build the wing." He shrugged. "I might sell the rights to build the plane too, if anyone is interested in that, but the main thing is the wing. So, Tuesday will be a long day, and maybe one other day, but other than flying her a couple of times, that's all I'll be doing."

"And what am I supposed to be doing during all this?"

"Anything you want. You can come with me, go shopping, whatever. You might enjoy the flying part."

"And you couldn't have done this any other time?"

"The show is only once a year."

"No, dammit! This! Us! It had to be this month? You couldn't have scheduled it for another time, when you weren't working?"

"I didn't want to."

"Because you wanted some doting girlfriend hanging on your arm like a lovesick puppy?"

"No... because I've been working my ass off for seven years on this, and I'm exhausted. It's all I've done. I've been eating, sleeping, and drinking this for seven years, and I wanted to take a break from it all before..."

"Before what?" I asked when he didn't continue.

He shrugged. "Before it gets crazy again."

"How?"

"If this goes like I hope, I'll be flying all around the country, maybe around the world, demonstrating my wing to various aircraft companies. Next week is the second step of a long journey."

"And you couldn't have waited until it all settled down to do this?"

"I didn't want to," he murmured. He looked at me, his eyes sad. "I'm so tired. I figure I have six, maybe eight weeks after people get a look at the Peregrine before the circus starts."

"What circus?"

He sat on the bed. "My wing is a radical step forward. It throws away a hundred years of wing design and goes all the way back to the first airplane, or to birds. It has the potential to revolutionize aircraft design. My patent could be worth billions."

I felt a chill. So much money. "Okay, good for you. What's the problem?"

"The problem, Azumi, is companies aren't going to sit back and let me make that kind of money, not without a fight."

"But if you have a patent?"

"I have a patent pending, but companies like Boeing, Airbus, Bombardier, and all the rest aren't going to want to pay me if they don't have to, so I'm sure they're going to fight the patent. Rather than pay me, they're probably going to claim it isn't a new idea or that I've infringed on another patent, or something like that."

"Have you?"

"No, but there's a problem. It isn't a new idea. You heard of Orville and Wilbur Wright?" I nodded. "My wing works very similarly to how the wing on the Wright Flyer worked, how bird wings work. The warping wing idea went out of favor a long time ago because the idea has some serious performance shortcomings, but using modern materials, along with advancements of my own design, my wing overcomes all the shortcomings of the Wright Flyer wing without any of the compromises of modern wings, but the basic idea is the same."

"Which is what?"

"To change the shape of the wing to provide the most efficient lift characteristics for any given circumstance. High lift on takeoff and landing, very efficient at speed, and everything in between, without the complications and weight of moving parts such as flaps, ailerons, slats, or spoilers, all of which work by fouling the efficiency of the wing in various ways."

"I still don't understand why this couldn't wait."

"Because in two or three months, I'm either going to be flying all over the country demonstrating my wing, in court fighting to protect my idea, or both. This may be my only opportunity to..."

"To what?"

"To enjoy myself a little."

I glared at him as he sat on the edge of my bed. I was still cross, but my flair of anger was fading. I couldn't imagine anyone being that dedicated to an idea. I loved designing and making clothes, but I still took time to enjoy life.

"When was the last time you had a vacation?"

He looked at me and smiled a humorless smile. "Summer of 2004, between my freshman and sophomore years of high school."

"Fourteen years?" I asked, my voice loud with my shock. "You're kidding?"

He shook his head. "No."

I almost felt sorry for him. No, I did feel sorry for him. "That's stupid. You need to take a break, to get out and enjoy life a little."

He looked at me and grimaced slightly. "Yeah, I know. That's what I planned to do with you."

I glared at him. "By working?"

He looked down. "No."

I continued to glare at him, unsure what I wanted to do. I'd sleep on it and decide in the morning if I was going or staying.

"This is it," I said Sunday morning as I opened the door and flipped on the lights in the hangar. Azumi stepped in behind me and I closed the door.

Last night had been tense. Azumi was, if not angry, at least annoyed with me. After thinking about it, I could understand her position. Since high school work had been my life, but I wanted to change that. I didn't want to be like my father, or even worse, my grandfather. I didn't want to live to work as they did, but it was hard to change when you'd been doing something for so long. I'd committed so much of my life to this, and I was so close that I had to see it through.

My grandmother died while I was still in high school, and though Grandfather attended the funeral, he was back at work the next day, apparently unaffected by what should have been a devastating loss. My dad had flown us to England the day before the funeral, and we'd returned home the day after. He too had returned immediately to work. Mom and Dad were still married, but they lived like roommates, sharing space but not a life. I often wondered if Mom was cheating on Dad, and if he'd even care if she was.

I didn't want to live like that. I'd been pushed to excel for as long as I could remember, and anything other than top marks and a straight A report card was considered a failure.

My family was wealthy, old money from Cyril Bentley, who'd made his fortune in shipping during the heyday of the British empire. That money had allowed me to attend the finest schools and given me every opportunity to achieve great things. I'd excelled, graduating in the top one percent of my class at Harold R. Wilson Preparatory School, and the top five percent of my class at Stanford, but George and Phillip Bentley, my grandfather and father respectively, considered my placement at Stanford a relatively poor showing. The fact I was the youngest Ph.D. recipient of my class had carried no weight at all.