Billionaire Wolf Needs a Pilot

Book 9 of the My Grumpy Werewolf Boss series.

She’s the cheerful pilot who believes in luck. He’s the brooding CEO wolf with a secret that could destroy them both.

When Felicity Foster takes on a private charter to Angel Spring, she expects a routine flight. In and out, and home in her apartment before nightfall.

Tanner Roberts doesn’t believe in luck. He takes what he wants. From the moment he steps on the plane, he’s annoyed by Felicity’s habit of kissing her pendant before takeoff.

But when their plane crashes in the remote wilderness, these opposites find themselves fighting for survival. Tanner’s protective instincts explode as they navigate freezing temperatures and dangers lurking in the mountains.

When rescue finally arrives, Tanner faces a truth he can no longer deny. His wolf has chosen. And this alpha always claims what’s his.

What will you get in the My Grumpy Werewolf Boss series?

• Grumpy billionaire wolf shifters
• Sunshine heroines who melt their icy hearts
• Steamy romance scenes
• Happily-ever-after endings guaranteed
• Forbidden workplace romance

Excerpt

CHAPTER 1

FELICITY

My phone screen lit up on the counter as I sipped my morning coffee. I lunged for it, almost sloshing my caffeine fix to the ground in the process.

“This is Felicity!” I chirped, tucking the phone between my ear and shoulder.

“Felicity, it’s Gladys from Discreet Talent Connections.” Her voice held that particular tone that always meant money. “I’ve got a last-minute charter for you. Very high-profile.”

I straightened, suddenly more alert than my coffee had managed to make me. The recruiting company specialized in servicing rich and powerful clients. Some of those services included on-demand private flights. “I’m listening.”

“Tanner Roberts needs immediate transport to Angel Spring.”

The coffee I’d just swallowed nearly came back up. “Tanner Roberts? As in Roberts Mining?” The death of the old owner of the mining company had been all over the news this week. His son, the sole reluctant heir, was an infamous regular in celebrity gossip news. Tanner was a notorious playboy who seemed more at home at a club in Miami than a remote mountain town like Angel Spring.

“The very same. The heir himself needs a pilot today, and he’s willing to pay double our premium rate.”

I sank against the counter, the numbers already calculating in my head. Double premium rate meant six months of Mom’s nursing home covered in one day’s work. Six whole months without that gnawing dread when I checked my bank balance.

“Text me the details. I’ll be at the airstrip in forty minutes.”

After ending the call, I dashed to my living room and snatched my pendant from the coffee table. The silver airplane felt cool against my lips as I kissed it.

“Luck’s on my side today,” I whispered to the empty room.

Twenty minutes later, I stood before the mirror in my crisp navy uniform, adjusting my collar. The pendant’s familiar weight was a comfort against my chest.

“Thank you, Universe,” I murmured, smoothing down my jacket. “One easy flight to Angel Spring, one giant leap for Mom’s care.”

The small mountain town was barely four hours away by air. I’d be back in Huntington Harbor in time for dinner and my weekend visit with Mom. Except this time, I’d arrive with the weight of financial worry temporarily lifted from my shoulders.

When I arrived at the private airstrip, Bryce, my first officer, was already there, meticulously going through the pre-flight checklist. His fresh-faced enthusiasm was evident even from across the tarmac. His pilot’s cap sat perfectly straight on his sandy brown hair, still crisp with newness compared to my well-worn one.

“Morning, Captain Foster!” he called out with a wave, clipboard clutched in his other hand. His eager smile reminded me why I’d agreed to mentor him despite my usual preference for flying solo.

“Morning, Bryce. How’s my baby looking today?” I nodded toward the Cessna Citation X gleaming in the morning sun.

“Pristine! Just finished the external check. Fuel levels optimal, all surfaces clear, hydraulics responsive.” He rattled off the list with textbook precision, still at that stage where procedures were memorized rather than instinctual. “I’ve already filed our flight plan to Angel Spring.”

“Good man.” I patted his shoulder as I walked past, unable to resist running my hand along the fuselage. “Though you missed one critical check.”

His eyes widened in alarm. “I did? What did I—”

I grinned, tapping the side of the aircraft. “Always say good morning to the lady. She knows when you’re being rude.”

Bryce’s anxious expression dissolved into a relieved laugh. “Right! Sorry, ma’am,” he said to the plane with an exaggerated bow.

“You’ll learn. First year flying commercial is full of lessons they don’t teach in flight school.”

The sleek black SUV pulled onto the tarmac then, and I watched Bryce’s eyes widen as he recognized our high-profile passenger emerging from it.

“Is that—?” he whispered.

“Tanner Roberts himself. Remember what I told you about VIPs?”

“Act professional, not starstruck,” he recited, straightening his already-perfect posture.

“And…”

“The customer is always right, even when they’re being a complete jackass,” he finished with a grin.

“Exactly. Now follow my lead.”

The SUV moved across the tarmac before stopping aggressively next to us, just like the man who emerged from it. Tanner Roberts. He was taller than his magazine photos suggested, his dark hair perfectly styled despite the early hour. His scowl, however, matched every tabloid snapshot I’d ever seen.

Under a thick black down jacket, he wore a light blue tailored shirt with no tie and the top two buttons undone. Even with his eyes hidden behind his dark sunglasses, he scanned the airstrip with clear disdain.

I approached with my brightest smile and extended my hand. “Hi, I’m Felicity Foster, your pilot for today.”

He removed his sunglasses, and his deep brown eyes barely flickered toward my outstretched hand before returning to his phone as he brushed past me. “Let’s get this over with.”

“Mr. Roberts,” I called after him, maintaining my professional smile. “Standard safety protocol requires a brief pre-flight orientation.”

He turned, one eyebrow arched imperiously. “I’ve flown private jets since before you had a pilot’s license. Skip it.”

I stepped closer, forcing a smile on my face in spite of his gloomy attitude. “Company policy, sir. I’d be happy to abbreviate it for someone of your extensive experience.”

His jaw ticked with annoyance. “Fine. The exit’s there, oxygen masks drop down, and I buckle my seatbelt. Orientation complete.”

“Perfect!” I chirped, secretly enjoying how my cheerfulness seemed to grate on him. “And in the extremely unlikely event of a water landing—”

“I’ll use the billionaire special and swim to shore using stacks of hundred-dollar bills as flotation devices,” he cut in.

I couldn’t help the laugh that escaped. “That’s not in our safety manual, but I’ll make a note of it.”

His eyes narrowed, clearly unused to being laughed at. “Are we done?”

“For now, Mr. Roberts.” I gestured toward the cabin. “Your flying experience awaits,” I said before following him toward the plane. Mom’s face flashed in my mind, her gentle smile when I visited, how she sometimes remembered my name. For her, I could tolerate one grumpy billionaire.

Inside the cabin, Tanner dropped into one of the cream leather seats with the stiffness of someone expecting discomfort despite the luxury. His jaw clenched as he watched me complete my final preparations.

I slid into the cockpit and pulled out my pendant, pressing it to my lips in my pre-flight ritual.

“Superstitious nonsense,” he muttered, just loud enough for me to hear.

I tucked the pendant away under my collar and focused on the controls. Some people didn’t understand the comfort of routine, the power of believing in something. Their loss.

“We’re cleared for takeoff. Sit tight, Mr. Roberts!” I announced, making sure to inject extra cheer into my voice.

The engines roared to life beneath my hands, the vibration traveling up my arms. It was a familiar sensation that never failed to thrill me. The Cessna responded to my touch like an extension of my body, climbing smoothly into the morning sky. The airstrip fell away beneath us as we ascended into the clear blue.

I leveled us off at cruising altitude, checking our flight path. Perfect conditions, minimal wind resistance. We’d make excellent time.

Tanner was silent in the cabin. If I turned around, I imagined that I would find him gazing out the window with an unreadable expression. His fingers would drum against his thigh, and the small action would be the only sign of his apparent discomfort.

“So, Mr. Roberts, what brings you to Angel Spring?” I asked, attempting to ease the tension.

“Business,” he replied curtly. “That’s all you need to know.”

Well, that certainly killed the conversation. I adjusted our heading slightly, unfazed by his abruptness. I’d dealt with difficult passengers before, though rarely ones with such sculpted jawlines and sharp cheekbones.

“Well, I’ve heard that it’s a beautiful place,” I continued brightly. “You couldn’t pick a more idyllic spot for business.”

Tanner responded with a grunt that seemed to require minimal movement of his perfectly formed lips. I heard him rummage around, and then the sound of him typing on a laptop keyboard, the universal motion that signaled our conversation was over.

I returned my attention to the controls, letting silence fill the cabin. Some people preferred quiet, and I could respect that, even if my natural instinct was to fill awkward silences with chatter.

The Cessna cut through the sky, smooth as silk. Up here, with clouds beneath me and endless blue above, I found the peace that eluded me on the ground. No medical bills, no heart-wrenching visits where Mom looked at me with blank confusion. Just me and the sky. And today, one grouchy billionaire.

The sudden snap of a laptop slamming shut broke my reverie.

“How much longer?” Tanner’s voice carried an edge of impatience.

I checked our position on the navigation system. “About two hours and forty minutes, Mr. Roberts. We’re making good time.”

He exhaled sharply.

“Is there anything I can do to make you more comfortable?” I offered.

Another grunt. “Just focus on flying the damn plane.”

“Always do, Mr. Roberts,” I replied, my tone deliberately light. “Though multitasking is one of my special talents.”

“Is professionalism another one?” he asked pointedly.

“Right at the top of my resume, along with tolerating difficult passengers,” I countered, unable to resist baiting him.

“Do you speak to all your clients this way?” he demanded. Irritation and surprise colored his voice. People probably didn’t talk back to Tanner Roberts very often.

“Only the ones who could use a smile, sir.”

“I don’t pay you to make me smile, Ms. Foster. I pay you to fly.”

“Two-for-one special today,” I quipped, turning my attention back to the controls. “The smile comes complimentary.”

He muttered something that sounded suspiciously like impossible woman before the clicking of his keyboard resumed.

The sky ahead darkened unexpectedly. The forecast had mentioned potential weather systems, but nothing serious. As we approached the cloud bank, I noticed the unusual density. Snow. A blizzard system was moving in faster than predicted.

The first jolt of turbulence hit us like rolling over a pothole on a country road. Then another. The Cessna shuddered.

“Mr. Roberts, please buckle your seatbelt,” I called back. I kept my voice steady despite the plane’s increasing shudders. “We’re hitting some unexpected weather, but we should be through it shortly.”

“Reducing power to stabilize,” Bryce called out, his voice higher than usual as his hands moved across the controls. Sweat beaded on his forehead despite the cabin’s cool temperature.

“Steady, Bryce,” I said calmly, taking primary control as the turbulence intensified. “Remember your recovery training. This is just like the simulator, except with better coffee afterward.”

He attempted a laugh that came out more like a nervous hiccup. To his credit, despite the fear evident in his wide eyes, his hands remained steady on the co-pilot controls, mirroring my movements.

“Ms. Foster, is your co-pilot capable of handling this situation?”

Before I could respond, Bryce squared his shoulders and replied with more confidence than I’d heard from him all day, “Yes, sir, Mr. Roberts. Captain Foster and I have this under control.”

I shot him an approving glance. The kid was learning fast. Fake it till you make it was half the battle sometimes.

I adjusted our altitude, seeking a smoother air current as the snow thickened around us, transforming our clear flight path into a swirling white tunnel. The winds buffeted the small jet, but I held her steady, with years of experience guiding my hands.

“Come on, baby,” I whispered to the Cessna. “Just a little turbulence. Nothing we haven’t handled before.”

The Cessna bucked again, harder this time. My lucky pendant pressed against my chest. I didn’t dare take a hand off the controls to touch it.

“What happened to good conditions?” Tanner growled.

“Mountain weather changes fast,” I replied, keeping my tone light despite the concentration required to maintain our course. “These systems can develop in minutes. But don’t worry, this aircraft is built for conditions twice as rough.”

Another violent shake threw us sideways. I compensated immediately, adjusting flaps and throttle with practiced precision. The storm howled around us, ice crystals pelting the windshield like tiny bullets.

“Is this normal?” Tanner demanded. A slight tremor in his voice betrayed his composure.

“Perfectly normal,” I lied smoothly. The severity wasn’t normal, but panic wouldn’t help the situation. “Just a weather front moving through faster than forecast. I’ve flown this route dozens of times.”

I checked our instruments, running through calculations in my head. We could divert east, attempt to skirt the worst of the system. Or push through, which would be uncomfortable but quicker. The storm hadn’t been on any weather report. It had materialized almost supernaturally fast.

“I don’t pay for detours,” Tanner said, as if reading my thoughts.

I bit back a retort about choosing safety over schedules. Instead, I maintained our heading, hands steady on the controls as we bounced through another patch of rough air.

“We’ll be through this in ten minutes, tops,” I assured him, though I wasn’t entirely convinced myself. Something about this storm felt wrong. It was too intense, too sudden. My pendant seemed to burn against my skin, almost like a warning.

The white enveloped us completely now, visibility reduced to mere feet beyond the windshield. I flew by instruments, trusting the technology and my training more than what my eyes could see.

“You better know what you’re doing,” Tanner muttered, but the usual bite in his voice had softened.

“I always know what I’m doing, Mr. Roberts,” I replied, allowing myself a small smile he couldn’t see. “Especially in the air.”

The Cessna lurched violently, dropping several hundred feet in seconds before I could pull us level again. My stomach flipped, but my hands remained steady.

“That was just a downdraft,” I called out, fighting to keep us stable as more turbulence rattled the small jet. “Common in mountain storms. Nothing the plane can’t handle.”

As if to contradict me, the aircraft shuddered again, more violently this time. Warning lights flickered on my control panel. The de-icing system was struggling against the rapidly forming ice on our wings.

This wasn’t just abnormal weather. This was impossible weather. The conditions outside matched nothing in my years of flight experience. It was almost as if the storm had targeted us specifically.

“Captain!” Bryce’s voice cracked slightly as his training warred with instinct. His face had gone pale, but his hands remained steady on the controls. “Fuel pressure’s fluctuating on the starboard engine.”

I nodded, appreciating his attentiveness. Despite his inexperience, he’d caught the indicator before I had. “Good eye. Compensating now.”

I adjusted the throttle, feeling the subtle shift as the Citation responded.

“Run the emergency checklist, Bryce,” I instructed calmly, watching as he immediately reached for the laminated card without hesitation. His fingers trembled slightly, but his voice remained clear as he read through each item.

“Backup systems engaged. Cross-feeding fuel.” He worked methodically through the procedures every pilot practiced dozens of times in simulation. “Engine parameters stabilizing.”

“Not bad for your fifth flight,” I murmured to Bryce, intentionally loud enough for our passenger to hear.

Bryce’s head snapped up, panic flashing across his features before he caught the teasing glint in my eye. “Very funny, Captain,” he replied, the color returning to his face as he continued monitoring the systems. “For the record, Mr. Roberts, this is actually my twenty-third flight with Captain Foster. And in case you were wondering, Captain Foster has logged over eight thousand flight hours and has a perfect safety record. There’s literally no one better to fly through whatever this is.”

I raised an eyebrow at his newfound boldness. “Careful, Bryce. Compliments go to my head faster than altitude.”

“Just stating facts, Captain,” he replied, his earlier nervousness now replaced with determination as we prepared to navigate back into the storm’s fury.

The plane shuddered as we hit another pocket of turbulence, but this time Bryce matched my adjustments without prompting, his movements becoming more intuitive with each passing minute. Whatever awaited us on the other side of this unnatural storm, at least I could count on my co-pilot.

“I thought you said ten minutes,” Tanner called out.

“Change of plans,” I replied, forcing confidence into my voice as I increased power to the engines. “We’re going up and over.”

I pulled back on the yoke, climbing to find clearer air above the storm. The Cessna fought me, sluggish with the weight of ice forming on its surfaces.

“Come on,” I whispered to the aircraft. “You can do this.”

Through the white chaos outside, a flash of blue sky caught my eye. A way out. I adjusted our heading toward it, heart pounding as the engines strained against the battering winds.

“Hold on, Mr. Roberts,” I called back. “We’re almost through.”

The turbulence intensified for one terrifying moment. The plane shook so violently I feared the wings might tear away. Then suddenly, like breaking through a barrier, we burst into clear, calm air.

Brilliant sunshine streamed through the windshield, nearly blinding me after the storm’s gloom. Below us, the cloud bank boiled like an angry sea, but up here, everything was perfectly still.

I exhaled slowly, realizing I’d been holding my breath. The controls steadied under my hands as the Cessna found its equilibrium again.

“See?” I called back, allowing a note of triumph to enter my voice. “Told you we’d get through it.”

“Lucky chance,” he muttered. His seat creaked as he reclined back.

I bit back a grin. “I don’t take chances, Mr. Roberts. I calculate.”

My hand brushed against the pendant. Whatever had caused that freak storm, we’d escaped it. Now we just needed to—

The plane jolted violently, as if struck by an invisible fist. The engines made a sound I’d never heard before, a high-pitched whine that froze the blood in my veins.

Our moment of reprieve had been an illusion. We weren’t above the storm.

We were in the eye of it.