“Who was the friend of friend?”
Noah looked slightly embarrassed. “She was a woman I picked up in the hotel bar. I took her to my room and the next morning she was gone and so was my bag. Which had the copy of the plans.”
“And you didn’t think to tell me?” Josh asked, his temper rising.
Noah slouched over the bar, cradling the glass in his hand. He lifted his shoulder into a half-shrug. “They were a copy, Josh. I didn’t think anything of it.”
“We have to fight this.” Josh only realized he’d shouted when he took in the startled looks of the other bar patrons. “We didn’t work so hard to file the patent then get this investor just to let it all be flushed down the drain.”
Noah sat up and drained his drink. “Maybe there’s nothing left to fight for.”
Only Josh wasn’t so willing to give up the fight. He went on to spend the weekend researching everything he could about PMV Engineering, the firm that had filed the patent two weeks before the McMillan brothers. PMV consisted of three partners. One had retired and moved to Belize, which—in and of itself—made Josh suspicious. The other two were still active. Andrew Peterman was the second principle and his son Drew had joined the firm. From the photos Josh found on the Internet, he made the highly unscientific judgment that the man was cold blooded enough to set Noah up.
After hours of researching and brainstorming and only six days before the investor pulled out, Josh decided to go to Kansas City to confront the bastards in person. By a stroke of luck, the daughter of the third principle, Bart Vandemeer, was about to get married. Josh could use the distraction to catch them off guard.
Noah thought he was crazy, but he drove him to the airport all the same. Since the ticket had been purchased at the last minute, Josh had needed to spring for a seat in first class. It had cost a fortune, but at least he could have a beer or two and relax on the flight to Kansas City, take the opportunity to figure out a real plan.
Or at least that’s what he’d thought.
He hadn’t counted on being seated next to the anxious brunette. She was pretty with long, dark hair that hung down her back and long, slender legs—definitely his type—but within a minute of sitting down, she’d accused him of being a terrorist and made her crash and burn comment.
It was going to be a long flight.
Maybe he could get the eager flight attendant to move him to coach.
After they reached a cruising altitude and the airline attendant stood, Josh grabbed her attention, not a hard thing to do since she’d kept her eye on him most of her time since takeoff.
She walked straight toward him with an eager look in her eyes. “Can I help you, Mr. McMillan?”
“I need a Jack and Coke,” he said, forgoing his planned beer. The woman next to him was already driving him crazy. He was going to need something stronger than a beer to endure her tics.
“Of course. Anything else?” The attendant flashed him a blinding smile. The name tag pinned to her uniform read “Tiffany.”
“I want another mimosa,” the woman next to him said.
The attendant barely acknowledged her order before spinning around to head to the galley.
When she returned, she leaned in closer then necessary to place the woman’s drink on the tray next to him. Then she set a cup of ice along with a can of Coke and a mini bar bottle on his tray. “Would you like me to make it for you?”
Ordinarily, Josh might have been interested in her, but today he didn’t need the distraction. “Thanks, I’ve got it.”
Her smile faltered as she walked away, but while he felt a little bad, there was no sense in leading her on. He was a man on a mission and his mission currently lacked an accompanying plan.
“Do you get along with your mother?” the woman next to him asked, apropos of nothing.
He turned to her. “My mother?”
“Yeah, you know,” she waved her hand dismissively. “The woman who raised you.”
He gave her his full attention, still confused. She looked more relaxed now and he was sure it had something to with the drink she’d had downed before takeoff. “Maybe I was raised by two fathers,” he said, keeping a straight face.
Her eyes widened as though she’d had an epiphany. “Oh. Were you?”
“No.” He couldn’t hide a smirk.
She watched him for a second and he studied her while he waited. Her big brown eyes didn’t seem entirely focused. How much had she had to drink?
“So do you?” Her thin eyebrows lifted in an exaggerated movement.
“Do I what?” He’d forgotten her question as he watched her shift in her seat. Her light blue skirt hiked up to mid-thigh and stayed there, but she didn’t seem to notice.
“Get along with your mother.”