"And you're forgetting why I'm here, and besides that you're supposed to coördinate. Right now you're uncoördinating."
Before Grant's eyes flashed the memory of her orders with the signatures at the bottom. She was already climbing the steps.
"Just don't touch anything, that's all," he conciliated, following her up. Her seams were straight, he noted.
Bridget thudded into the narrow pilot's seat and wiggled herself into a comfortable position.
"Awful crowded," she smiled up at Grant.
"I hope you tore your nylons," he groused.
"Now, if you'll just explain these gadgets," she said, moving her hand over the panel embedded with digit-rimmed dials.
"Hands off, please."
"By your reaction, I would say you don't know what some of them are," she counter-fired, and tossed her protruding bunch of curls.