Who Is The Author Of The Private Pilot Oral Exam Guide?

Gabriel, an ex-special forces soldier with his own security company, is called back to the small town his mom ran away from when he was a kid to help out the dying father he hasn’t seen in almost twenty years. The last thing he expects to find among the rough and rugged bikers in his dad’ Chapter is a literal diamond in the rough.The billionaire businessman can beat off calculating society belles with a stick, but he finds it hard to walk away from the shy and unassuming Silla. He feels protective and strangely drawn to her at first sight.With her life in danger, romance should be the last thing on his mind, but when he moves her into his home things, can’t help but reach boiling point.The Gentleman Biker is created by Jordan Silver, an eGlobal Creative Publishing Signed author.

A month before the SATs, I, Jenny Reid, could see my score. Literally. It was just floating right above my head. But there was a catch. Every time I cracked open a prep book, my score would drop by ten points. But if I skipped a day of school? It jumped right back up by ten. So, I played the system. For a whole month, I barely lifted a finger. And on the day of the test, the number glowing over my head was a solid 1560. When the scores finally dropped online… I'd scored a 500. And the 1560? That was my little sister Patricia's score. My parents lost it. As punishment, they got me a grueling night-shift job at a local electronics factory. That first night, a bunch of guys I'd never seen before cornered me in the parking lot and beat me half to death. Fading in and out of consciousness, I heard my sister's voice right by my ear. "You just had to one-up me, didn't you? Thought you were so smart… but you never figured out I was the one controlling that number over your head." The truth hit me like a physical blow. The score had been her trick all along. I opened my eyes—and I was back. One month before the SATs. The number above my head read exactly 1300. "Hey," my sister said, all fake sweetness. "Want to study together tonight? We can go over the practice tests." I looked at the stack of papers in my own hands. Without a word, I pulled out my lighter and set them on fire right there in the driveway. "Exams are coming," I said, watching the flames. "I'm not studying." My score ticked up to 1310. My sister's face was this perfect mask of disappointment, but the second I turned away, I caught the sly smile she couldn't quite hide. She had no idea… the real performance, the one I'd been rehearsing just for her, was finally about to begin.

"Part OneTracie Hill thought she’d died and gone to heaven when she discovered the stranger who showed up at her office after hours and engaged her in a night of hot sex was none other than her new boss, J. P. ”Pete” Montgomery. Not only that, but he set some very specific rules for her office attire – skirts only and no underwear.Part TwoFor Zane the storm was a reflection of his emotions and the messy condition of his life. He relished the isolation until he had to rescue Zara from the stormy sea. Then the storm reached full level in the cabin.Part ThreeZana and Dara settle into the beginnings of a permanent relationship and she thinks she’s finally found happiness and security. Then her past comes back to smack her in the face. Part FourDealing with a messy and humiliating breakup with her Dom, Bree Donovan welcomed the invitation to leave Chicago for meeting with a potential client in Texas. An impulsive attendance at a private BDSM gathering wiped all other thoughts from her mind the moment Rafe Morales claimed her as his for the evening. The Pleasure Principle is created by Desiree Holt, an EGlobal Creative Publishing signed author."

"I… I can't hold it. I need to use the bathroom." The flight attendant in the interview slumps in her chair. Her face is twisted in pure agony. I've secretly fitted the chair with a vibrator, so the moment I press the switch, it jerks and rattles unpredictably. As I watch their faces turn red and their bodies tremble uncontrollably, a sense of supreme satisfaction washes over me. To my astonishment, one of the flight attendants hitches up her uniform skirt and insists I attend to her needs on the spot. …

I have always had an almost pathological sense of paranoia. Ever since I was a child, I was convinced that the people around me were out to get me. Back in elementary school, when everyone was lining up for their student ID photos, I flatly refused to have mine taken. I insisted that the district office was going to use my picture for identity theft. The situation escalated so badly that the principal had to personally sit me down and spend half an hour trying to convince me otherwise. Then, there was the fingerprint registration system in middle school. The school required every student to submit their fingerprints to access the campus buildings. I was so terrified that someone would steal my biometric data that I literally rubbed the skin off all ten fingertips to make them unreadable. Even when my fingers were bleeding, I kept shouting that they were trying to steal my identity. I would rather climb over the school fence every day than cooperate. Every relative I had called me crazy. My parents were so fed up that they seriously considered having me admitted to a psychiatric hospital. I did not care. I guarded my privacy with obsessive determination, gritting my teeth and holding my ground all the way up to the eve of the final exams. Then came the day before the exam. That afternoon, our homeroom teacher, Tracy Collins, walked into the classroom carrying a metal lockbox. A warm, motherly smile spread across her face as she set it down on the desk. "Everyone," she said, "to make sure nobody forgets their documents tomorrow, I'd like you to hand over your IDs and exam admission slips for safekeeping tonight." She patted the lockbox reassuringly. "Tomorrow morning, I'll personally return them to each of you outside the testing center. This way, there's absolutely nothing that can go wrong." The class was deeply moved by her thoughtfulness. Some students even looked close to tears as they eagerly pulled out their documents and lined up to hand them over. Everyone except me. My hand clamped down over my pocket so tightly that my knuckles turned white. Cold sweat poured down my back. A sharp alarm bell was ringing in my head. Trying not to attract attention, I fished out a spare flip phone from my bag, ducked beneath my desk, and dialed emergency services. As soon as the call connected, I lowered my voice and spoke into the receiver. "Hello. I'd like to report a crime. My name is Charles. "I believe a teacher at St. Alden High is working with an identity-fraud ring and is planning a large-scale operation tonight involving examination fraud and identity theft."

The day I found out that my pilot husband, George, had given our wedding band to his widowed childhood sweetheart as a talisman, I changed his contact name to Captain Tanner. When I was suffering from a severe stomach bleed, George got a call from Tammy, saying that her son had woken up from his sleep, missing his late father. Without another word, George walked out on me. He promised to be there for my follow-up appointment, but he was quick to change his flight for Tammy because she was afraid of the thunderstorm while at the airport. I snapped a photo of my medical evaluation and texted, “Have a safe flight, Captain Tanner.” It was the same old reply. “Quit acting up. Tammy and her son have had it tough enough.” Later, he booked our favorite restaurant to slip the ring back onto my finger in celebration of our seventh wedding anniversary. Before we could get inside the establishment, the call from Tammy came in. “George, I’m scared. Can you pick me up? Liam said that you’re the only father he’s got…” George took one look at me and opened his mouth to explain. I handed the ring box to the server. “Please dispose of this for me.” I then turned to him. “Captain Tanner, your passengers are waiting.”