Clean-power center, the words made me want to retch. Arguing the economic standpoint, though, wasn't getting me anywhere since many of my neighbors wouldn't be able to understand the distinction between minimum-wage service workers and the construction personnel who would be raking in the real money. To my neighbors, a job was a job, and we needed every one we could get.
Still, I couldn't let Jack win the argument that was most likely to sway the local community. "But haven't you seen in other communities like ours that short-term gains in the job market are obliterated by the loss of tourism revenue and by the higher health-care costs that inevitably follow coal plants into town?" I retorted. "Construction will only take a couple of years, then we'll be left dealing with the aftermath on our own once Clean Power has reduced its presence in the area down to a skeleton staff."
"Doesn't that sound a little cynical?" Jack responded with feigned bewilderment. Rather than focusing on my face, now, he panned his seductive smile across the crowd. "As I mentioned earlier, Clean Power commits to the communities we become a part of. Why, my family has already bought a house here in town and we're paying our local staff generously." The raised eyebrows that my opponent shot in my direction dared me to continue arguing the point when I, personally, was a poster child for Clean Power's efforts at community relations.
And, since I hadn't come to any conclusion about where I stood on the issue of Lena and of Jack's enticing job offer, I was left fumbling for words. Cheeks flaming, I dropped back down into my seat as Jack fielded a few more questions, most of them enthusiastic requests for more information about where to pick up job applications. At last, the city councilman closed the meeting and left the group of Cuadic members staring at each other glumly.
"Well, that was a catastrophe," Kimberly said unhappily, breaking the maudlin silence. "Who knew Clean Power would send a smooth-spoken hunk to put us in our place?"
Then, when I thought for sure my evening couldn't get any worse, the hunk himself insinuated himself into our cluster. "Well," Jack said, staring into my eyes. "That was fun. Wasn't it?"
Chapter 5
"No, it wasn't fun," I growled, refusing to meet the eyes of the treacherous man standing in front of me. Saying hasty goodbyes to my companions, I turned on my heel and strode toward the auditorium doors and the chilly night air that promised to cool my head. I definitely needed to calm down before I did something stupid, like chewing out Clean Power's golden boy (again) in front of a national audience...or begging him to kiss me. You know, crazy stuff like that.
But I'd forgotten about the attending coal miners. With the sheriff's deputy still inside to keep an eye on the crowd, there was nothing to mitigate the menacing stance of the dozen camouflage-clad men just outside the high-school doors. They were all strangers to me—no big surprise there since coal miners often worked long shifts and weren't likely to pass through Food City during my usual hours. But I clearly wasn't a stranger to them. My speech, or the debate with Jack a few minutes later, was enough to light a predatory spark in the men's eyes as I strode out the door by myself. My vehicle suddenly seemed unbearably far away, a hike through the parking lot more dangerous than passing through a moonlit jungle on a night when tigers were on the prowl.
"There you are." Despite myself, I welcomed Jack's voice at my back and his hand on my shoulder blade. "I thought you'd promised to let me walk you to your car?" Mr. Fish Sticks flashed the miners a charming grin that had their stolid faces almost smiling back, then he took my hand and pulled me out of the entryway and toward my vehicle.
"I don't need..." I began to mutter irritably, but the truth was, I did need his help just then. Better the devil incarnate walk me to my car than a passel of angry miners walk me somewhere else. So I fell into step with Clean Power's golden boy and followed him into the darkness. I just hoped we were walking fast enough that none of the other Cuadic members saw us leave together.
This was the third time that Jack had taken my hand, and the third time that I'd let him despite my best intentions to pull away. How does that impact his gentleman's code of honor? I couldn't help wondering, the stray thought fluttering through a brain that suddenly seemed dim and full of cobwebs. Rather than rehashing the antagonistic words that we'd shared in front of television cameras moments before, all I could seem to think about now was the way our strides matched up despite Jack's longer legs. Like a gentleman, he must have been reining in his usual walking speed to mirror mine.
The spiderwebs in my brain made it seem like a good idea to engage my companion verbally, but I put in the effort required to maintain a stony silence instead during the short walk back to my car. Fully expecting my escort to leave my side once we reached our destination, I kept my eyes on the ground as I unlocked the door and slipped inside, ready for the night to end.
But despite my lack of appreciation for his presence, Jack made no move to leave. Probably doesn't believe my rust bucket will start, I thought, having to guess at my companion's motives since I still didn't trust myself to speak.
Unfortunately, Jack's evident mistrust of my vehicle was well placed. Half the time when I had turned the ignition key over the last few weeks, all I'd heard was a click as the solenoid engaged but the starter failed to rev the engine into life. When the problem first appeared, I'd gone to a mechanic and he'd taught me the simple trick of banging a wrench against the cylindrical starter, which had worked like a charm on previous occasions. And even though it was a bit embarrassing to have to root around under the hood while coworkers or Cuadic members looked on, I was unwilling to fork over a few hundred dollars to replace the part when a simple bit of wrench action was still sufficient to get my car roaring to life.
Which is all a long way of explaining why I knew that there was a 50/50 chance my car would fail me while Jack looked on. Please start, I begged my rust bucket now, not wanting to have to fall back on my unusual ignition method on a night that had already been exhausting. But any luck I'd once enjoyed seemed to have fled right about the time Mr. Fish Sticks rolled into town, so I wasn't at all surprised to hear a single click as I turned the key...and then nothing else.
Rats. I let my forehead fall onto the steering wheel in dismay and closed my eyes for a moment, hoping that this whole situation would go away. Maybe if I clicked my heels together, I'd wake up in my own bed just like Dorothy had in The Wizard of Oz? It seemed worth a try if earnest wishing could be enough to remove me from a mortifying situation.
"Need a ride?" Jack asked after what felt like months but was probably no more than a minute, his helpful words muffled by the window glass separating us. The golden boy's tone sounded sympathetic, and I was dismayed to notice that the anger I'd been nursing was giving way to that cold feeling in the pit of my stomach that always preceded tears. That wouldn't do—fury would get me home, while a crying jag would just be mortifying.
You're not that girl, I reminded myself. I didn't need anyone to rescue me when I was quite capable of saving myself, so I just shook my head, pushed back my emotions, and rooted through the glove box until a hefty wrench fell into my hands. Popping the hood release lever, I got out and headed around to the front of the car.
"Hey, I was just trying to help!" Jack said, his hands raised in surrender as he stepped back in mock terror, pretending that I was going to brain him with the big piece of metal in my hands. Hmmm, not a bad idea. Despite my best intentions, the corners of my mouth quirked up into a sad excuse for a smile at the thought, and Jack took my softening expression as an inducement to continue talking. "Left the headlights on?" he asked.
"Starter," I replied curtly, feeling around in the dark for the hood support arm that would prevent the sheet metal from banging down on my head. The starter was on the far side of a vast expanse of greasy engine parts, and I knew getting my car going was going to involve staining the formal clothes I'd donned in order to make a good impression at the hearing. Which was a shame since I'd be needing this same blouse for job interviews tomorrow...assu
ming I didn't completely lower my standards and come crawling back to Jack to become his sister's companion.
Whack. I might have banged the starter a bit harder than usual this time around, taking out my aggressions about the man beside me and this whole messed-up night on an inanimate object. But better a dent than assault charges, right?
Still silent, I headed back into the car to try the key again. Sometimes it took two blows to get the starter engaged, something about lost teeth inside, or gears, or something. I didn't really know why the wrench trick worked, actually; I'd just been glad when the mechanic had explained a workaround that wouldn't break the bank.
But he'd also warned me that the starter wouldn't keep going forever. And I'd known, every time I eked another day out of my rust bucket, that the part was bound to fail me at the worst possible moment. Three more trips around to the hood with my wrench while Jack stood nearby in silence and I knew—the worst possible moment was now.
***
"Want a ride?" Jack repeated, his cocky smile back in place. Then, without waiting for an answer, he hailed one of the coal miners, who had finished lingering by the entrance to the high school and was getting into the pickup truck a few vehicles down from our unfolding drama. "Hey! Do you think you could pull this lady's car home?"
Immediately, I was both furious and terrified. Why did Jack think my rust bucket was his problem to solve? And hadn't he noticed the way the miners had threatened me as I left the hearing? "I don't want him to know where I live," I hissed, quietly enough that I didn't think the words would carry to the miner three cars down. Or at least I hoped they wouldn't.
For a moment, I saw a hint of the real Jack appear, the corner of his personality that I'd glimpsed during his brotherly banter with Lena now peeking back through the golden boy's usual charismatic facade. "Ah," Jack said quietly by way of reply, then he raised his voice again to address the miner who was walking our way. "Never mind. We figured out what the problem was. But thanks for coming out tonight." Mr. Fish Sticks' movie-star grin seemed to cut through the darkness like a spotlight, and the miner gave a friendly wave before turning away.
I slumped back against the side of my car in relief now that the danger was averted. I still had to figure out how to get myself and my car home, but at least I wouldn't be lying awake for hours wondering whether angry coal miners would be dropping by to burn a cross in my front lawn.
When I'd stood up to speak against the power plant tonight, I hadn't realized that I would so totally alienate myself from my neighbors, and while I couldn't find it in myself to really regret my actions, the look in the miners' eyes as I left the school warned me that I needed to start being more careful. No longer could I consider our little town so safe that I didn't have to lock my doors. From this day forward, I definitely didn't want strangers to know where I lived.
"So what's the plan?" Jack asked more quietly, the intensity of his gaze turned in my direction once again. I expected his movie-star facade to make me all trembly again, but I was tired enough by now that Jack's eyes failed to affect me. Or perhaps I was just beginning to build up an immunity to his facile charm.
"I'll see if any of my friends can offer me a ride," I said firmly, as if walking back into the high school wasn't the last thing I wanted to do. "And I'll figure out what to do with my car in the morning." Just thinking about the expense and hassle of hiring a tow truck exhausted me, but that's what I had to put up with to enjoy the freedom of car ownership. And it was impossible to live in a rural setting like ours without a car, so I'd make whatever sacrifices were required to get my rust bucket up and running again.
"But you've got an appointment at 9 a.m.," Jack countered. "And my car's right here." He waved his hand behind us, and I realized that Jack's spaceship of a car had indeed materialized into the neighboring spot during the course of the public hearing. Mr. Fish Sticks must have found a ride into town and then moved his vehicle from its curbside parking spot before coming inside to make me look like an idiot, and I couldn't help thinking that the resultant proximity of our two vehicles wasn't an accident. Had Clean Power's lackey planned this whole parking-lot charade?
Not the part where my car wouldn't start, I decided, taking in the real concern lurking under Jack's usual facade. Why get his hands dirty when a rust bucket like mine probably had a pretty good chance of developing ignition problems all on its own? Chances are, Jack had just wanted an excuse to walk me to my car so he could make sure I was going to show up on his doorstep in the morning.
The real question was—did I trust Jack with the knowledge of where I lived? I cringed at the thought of the immaculate gentleman beside me walking through my tiny trailer, turning up his nose at the stain on the ceiling tiles where the roof used to leak, then noticing the gap where windows no longer quite fit into their frames. I wasn't even sure that that Jack would be able to make it through the doorway without ducking his head due to the combination of my companion's tall stature and my trailer's low ceilings.
But shame about my accommodations was beside the point—I definitely wasn't going to invite Jack inside. And, the truth was, even though I found Mr. Fish Sticks infuriating, I did trust him to keep any knowledge of my home address off the Clean Power battlefield. Because I was beginning to realize that, as much as I hated the fact that Jack took the health of our community so lightly, Cuadic's tussle with the electric company was just a game to the company's star employee. The coal miners and I would have to live with the consequences for the rest of our lives, so we took our opposing views seriously, but Jack would be long gone before the real effects of his "clean-power center" could be felt.
And why does that realization make me so depressed? I wondered, before pulling my tired mind back on track. "I don't know if I have a 9 a.m. appointment or not," I said finally. "But, okay, I'd appreciate a ride home."
Chapter 6
"Buckle your seat belt," I bit out between clenched teeth moments later. Jack's car was so low to the ground that I felt like I needed to lift my feet off the floorboards to prevent them from being rubbed raw on the pavement, and the golden boy managed to drive far too fast despite the narrow roads and sharp curves between the school and my home. I'd always assumed that people piloting fancy cars were more likely to get into accidents due to the seductive appeal of high speeds, and now that supposition was being far too roundly confirmed.
Jack glanced over at me with a raised eyebrow. "I thought we were going to talk about my job offer...."
"And keep your eyes on the road," I continued, not feeling bad about interrupting my companion since he appeared to know nothing about defensive driving. Didn't Jack realize that sixteen percent of fatal car accidents were the result of distracted drivers? I probably would've been safer braving the annoyed coal miners than accepting a lift from my current driver. I closed my eyes and tried to imagine I was safe at home in my own garden rather than tearing down country roads at dangerously high speeds.
Abruptly, Jack slammed on the brakes and the car slowed to a crawl. "You're really nervous, aren't you?" my companion asked, his eyes now firmly forward and all bantering absent from his tone. "Hey, I didn't mean to scare you. I thought you'd enjoy the ride—most girls like fast cars."
"Most girls are stupid and unlikely to live a long and fulfilling life," I countered, not wanting to go off on a tangent and point out the sexism inherent in Jack's remark when I had so many other bones to pick with my companion. But now that the car wasn't careening around curves at a rate that made my life flash before my eyes, I knew that Jack was right about one thing at least—we needed to talk about my job. "I can't be there at 9 a.m., you know," I told him. "It takes hours to have a car towed, and even then I won't have a set of wheels to get to your place until the repairs are done. Which is beside the point anyway, because I don't feel comfortable working for you any longer."
"But you need a job," Jack countered. "And you like Lena."
"'Like' might not be exactly the right word..." I replie
d, watching Jack's jaw clench in the dim glow of the dashboard lights. Hmm, maybe Mr. Fish Sticks did have an Achilles' heel after all. "But no, you're right. If you weren't planning on sucking every tiny morsel of life out of our community, I would gladly accept your exorbitant salary to see if I could get Lena back on track."
"Exorbitant, eh?" Jack replied with a little laugh, seemingly unfazed by my diatribe. If anything, he appeared to enjoy the argument now that I wasn't dissing his sister. "You sure do throw around a lot of four-syllable words for a poor country girl. Sure you're not a Harvard-educated industry shill? Maybe our competition hired you to drive up Clean Power's operating expenses."
Unlike Jack, I couldn't resist rising to the bait. "Some of us have no money invested in this battle and are just trying to do what's right for the largest number of people," I ground out. And for the trees and fishes, I added silently, but didn't want to sound like the Señora by appending those words to my statement. "Plus, for your information, I went to community college. Where did you go to school?"
"Yale, then Harvard Law," Jack answered after a pause, sounding a bit chastened after all. The interior of the car grew silent as I imagined being able to jaunt off to two different states for a post-secondary education. I was pretty sure that Yale's library was larger than the grocery store where I used to work, and envisioning each of those shelves brimming with knowledge instead of junk food got my heart racing in a more pleasant manner than the speeding spaceship car had. Heck, Yale probably boasted a dozen libraries, each of which likely allowed students to be surrounded by so many books that the youngsters would feel like dragons curled atop their hoards. "Must be nice," I murmured.
Despite the Gentleman's Riches: Sweet Billionaire Romance (For Richer or Poorer Book 1) Page 4
