“I think we have a deal. Send over the contracts, and we’ll make this work.”
“Great. Let’s enjoy our lunch.”
Like magic, our plates arrive and are placed in front of us.
“I heard you had an exciting morning,” Mason says.
“Not my favorite way to lose productivity, but it does make the highlight reel.”
“What happened?”
“A messenger delivered a box for my admin—”
“Corrine?”
“Yes, I brought it upstairs and thought nothing of it. When she opened it, it smelled of shit. She took it downstairs to open it without offending our senses. And, trust me, it was pretty bad. Our security guard is a former Army explosive expert—trained by Jim and Clear Security, of course—”
“Absolutely.”
“He recognized that because it was fertilizer, it could be a bomb.”
“Corrine is lucky it wasn’t.”
“No kidding. She was halfway out the door when the security guard insisted that she put it down. He called the police department, and the bomb squad came. It was complete chaos. They cleared the building and the rest of the block.”
“What a mess.”
I shrug. “We lost the morning.”
“Who sent it?”
“There was a message in the box that told her to keep her hands off her ex-boyfriend.”
Mason sits back, looking shocked. “Was she messing with her ex?”
I shake my head. “I know I’m not known to be the most sensitive guy out there, but this asshole broke up with her on the news.”
“The news?”
“Yeah, he’s the quarterback of the Goldminers.”
“Corrine’s a cheerleader?”
Mason obviously saw the segment where he talked about that.
“No, he dumped Corrine for the cheerleader.”
He takes a drink of his water. “That is insensitive.”
“I can’t believe it. It pisses me off. Talk about not having any class. How do people even like a guy who breaks up with his girlfriend during a news conference? It’s no wonder his new girlfriend feels so threatened.”
Chapter 3
Corrine
While Jackson’s gone, I ponder his invitation to Cecelia Lancaster’s funeral. I’m honored to get to pay my respects, but I’m also completely surprised that he thought of me long enough to make the offer. I guess maybe he’s more aware of me than I think. Or he was today. That stink bomb made my presence hard to miss.
I sigh. Cecelia’s death is such a loss. She was terrific to work with and fantastic at getting technology billionaires—Jackson included—to contribute to her foundation. Her goal was to make sure every child has access to a computer. Her foundation leveled the playing field for those unable to afford them, and hopefully lessened the poverty divide.
Jackson has been very generous, but then again, he’s worth billions, so why wouldn’t he be? He seems to make smart decisions and doesn’t flaunt his money all over the place with too many flashy toys. He doesn’t buy a ton of expensive gifts for his girlfriends, either. He seems to dump them as soon as the timing would warrant it.
When Jackson returns from his lunch meeting with Mason Sullivan, he has a spring in his step. He asks me to follow him into his office.
“I see it went well,” I tell him as I do.
“Even better than we’d hoped,” he says proudly. “We should celebrate.”
I smile at him. I know he doesn’t mean we as in him and me, but him and the current Barbie.
“I’ll see where I can get you and Valerie a dinner reservation,” I tell him. “Would you want to try French Laundry up in Napa and a night at the Meritage?”
“No! I meant you and me.” He points at me. “We should celebrate over dinner. I owe you for all our success. You completed the patent application and put the funding proposal together so well, they didn’t even need me to pitch to them.”
“Me?” I’m completely taken aback. This is the strangest day ever.
The closest thing to a personal interaction we’ve had before today was when he interviewed me and asked me to tell him something about myself. And all I shared was that I went to college at the University of Texas in Austin, and how working for him would be perfect because I want to save the environment. I arrange his dates, but he and I don’t get personal.
He’s still smiling at me. “Sure. Why not? Without you, I’d have nothing to celebrate. They gave us an extra ten million for a minor percentage increase and a commitment for round two.”
“That’s fantastic.” His enthusiasm is contagious. “But I only make the package look pretty. It’s all your ideas and numbers. Don’t worry about me.” I change the subject. “You received a package, by messenger, from Viviana Prentis. She’s selling you an estate in Maui for a dollar? Must be nice.”
“I think it’s just a beach house I won playing poker. I’ll need to fly out and see it before the next tournament. I may want to keep it or maybe let her win it back.”
When you trade multimillion-dollar pieces of property in a poker tournament, you are in a completely different stratosphere than the rest of the world.
I school my features so I don’t look astounded. “I’ll look for a few days you can work from Maui in the next few weeks. I have the next tournament on the calendar, tentatively set for next month. However, with Cecelia’s death, that will likely change.”
He nods. “I’m in the mood for a good steak. How about you make us a reservation at Morton’s or Ruth’s Chris? Whichever one can seat us at eight.”
“I’ll make sure Valerie is there,” I say as I walk out.
“No. You and me. No Valerie. Definitely not Valerie.”
I’ve learned that if he’s determined, there’s no stopping him. So, I’m better off just letting him have his way. “If this is your way of making sure someone drives me home, I get it. You don’t have to buy me dinner.”
“You know my net worth better than I do. It’s not a financial hardship for me to make sure you’re safe. In fact, look at it as my own self-preservation. If this psycho scares you off, I’ll have to find someone half as good as you are, and that would be near impossible. I’ll let Brian know when we’ll be leaving.”
I hold up my hands in mock surrender. “Okay, I’m not fighting it. It’s not worth the argument.”
***
That evening, when we arrive at Morton’s, they seat us in a prime location. It’s the spot to be seen, which also means we’re interrupted a dozen times.
A creepy man approaches the table. “Jackson, I heard you met with Mason Sullivan today.”
“Ronny, this is Corrine, my assistant. She’s the one you harass each time you call my office.”
He doesn’t do much more than glance at me and give me a half-smile. “I hope you’ll give me the chance to bid on your new venture.”
“I think anything Golden Gate Capital can bring won’t be enough to beat SHN. We’ve worked together before, and they’ve made a significant commitment to maintaining that relationship.”
“I’ll call and set up a time on your schedule next week.” He winks at me and walks away, seeming satisfied.
I shudder with dread. “In your dreams,” I mutter.
“I agree,” Jackson says.
I hope I’m not blushing. “I’m sorry I said that out loud. Give me one drink, and there goes my filter. I’m happy to make the appointment, if you’d like. I just don’t trust that man.”
“No, it’s not necessary. Plus, the dickhead didn’t even acknowledge you.”
I shrug. “That’s not abnormal. I don’t usually put those guys on your calendar unless you specifically ask.”
“I’m good with that. I would think anyone who wants to meet me would know they have to get through you, so they’d spoil you.”
I shake my head. “I don’t need gifts or anything, just respect. If they don’t treat me well, I figure they’ll be a problem later.”
“What did you hear?” Jackson plays dumb.
“Your secretary couldn’t let her ex, Bobby Sanders, go.” He clicks his tongue like he’s riding a horse.
It’s very odd and incredibly off-putting. I feel myself turn a horrific shade of red.
“Actually…” Jackson looks at me and smiles. “The cheerleader was marking her territory over a man who’s a bigger asshole than you are. If you’ll excuse us, we’re trying to eat our dinner before it gets cold.”
We’re interrupted several more times as we eat our steaks. Some visitors inquire about Jackson looking for funding, but mostly they gossip about what happened today.
“Is it always like this?” I ask.
“Depends on where they seat me.”
No wonder the women he dates never last long. They aren’t able to say a sentence without interruption. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know. I’ll make better reservations from now on.
“My dates usually love the attention.”
That’s surprising. “Why? They don’t get to talk to you.”
“I’m not sure talking is why they date me.”
He’s a beautiful man, but he does like his women to look like Barbie. He likes their looks, and they want his money. No surprise there.
“Well, from my limited conversations, they don’t strike me as conversational types.” My attempt to recover is terrible at best.
“No, I suppose not.” He seems uncomfortable, so I shouldn’t give him too hard of a time, but sometimes a girl can’t resist. “You have a type you like to date.”
“Apparently so do you.”
“Yes, I seem to like assholes.”
He laughs a deep belly laugh. “And what would you call the women I date?”
“Barbies.”
He nods.
“Floatation devices,” I add.
“What?” He was drinking his water, and I think it came out his nose.
Not a smart move with your boss.
“What’s a floatation device?” he asks, giving me the side eye.
I shrug, a little embarrassed about my honesty with the man who signs my paycheck. “She doesn’t have any original parts—a plastic surgeon’s masterpiece.”
He looks at me and takes another drink. “What kind of girl should I date?”
“I’m not sure this is something I should have to explain,” I tell him. “But what about someone you can talk to and enjoy as a human being, and who isn’t interested in your checkbook? Looks can fade, and the way you’re betting when you play poker, so could your luck.”
He looks down, and I can see him fighting a laugh. “Where is your family?”
“In Texas.”
“Ah. That explains so much. Dallas or Houston?”
“You can’t insult me about Texas. I’ve heard it all. My folks live much farther south in the Rio Grande Valley. My mom is, uh, in Corpus Christi, and my dad lives in McAllen.”
“What do they do?”
I typically hate these conversations, but this one is just strange. Jackson and I have worked together for over a year, and he’s never shown any interest in me personally before today.
“My dad has a farm—cattle mostly these days.”
“He used to farm other things?”
“Yes. He stopped growing cotton when I was in elementary school because the market wasn’t there, and he stopped growing sugarcane because of the drought and the effect it had on the Rio Grande when I was in high school.”
Jackson looks at me, surprised. “I never pictured you a cowgirl.”
I sit up straight and put on my best cowgirl act. “When I was six, I won the mutton busting at the Texas State Fair for staying on a sheep’s back for two minutes and twenty-seven seconds. And I can rope a calf. In high school, I even had a bull win the stock show. That’s how I paid for college.”
He looks at me dumbfounded. “How did that work?”
“Are you sure you want to know?” Most men want to run away when I tell them this.
He nods.
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
He looks at me, concerned.
“I sold my prize-winning bull’s sperm.”
Jackson chokes on his rare cut of beef. “What?”
I nod. “A prize-winning bull catches twenty-five thousand dollars per sample.”
He looks at me carefully. “Did you have to stroke off the steer yourself to get his sample?”
I’m laughing so hard people are turning to look at us. “I’m sorry. I’m just kidding. I grew up in Houston, and my dad is an executive for a large oil and gas company. His brother runs the farm in McAllen. I did win the mutton busting when I was six, and I can sort of rope a calf. But I’ve never had a bull win the stock show or sold sperm—although that is what prize-winning sperm costs.”
Jackson is laughing just as hard as I am. “I totally believed you. I can’t believe you had me. You’re very funny. Why did you tell me that story?”
“Besides the fact that you’re a city boy, I told you because we work to combat what my dad produces.”
“I’m going to get you back for that,” he assures me. He’s still chuckling.
I’m on fire tonight. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” I warn with a giant grin.
He shakes his head.
“Everything I’ve done since I left home is to fight climate change,” I explain. “I may not be able to design solar panel film or wind turbines, but by supporting you, I do my part.”
Jackson looks at me with a twinkle in his eye. “Our new project would be dead in the water without your help.” He lifts his glass. “To a strong partnership.”
I lift my glass in return, and we enjoy the rest of our dinner with a few more interruptions before Jackson has Brian drop me home on the way to his place.
“See you in the morning.” I wave as I get out of the car.
I’m still laughing to myself about pulling the wool over Jackson’s eyes. I hate saying that my dad works in oil and gas. People are so derogatory about that. I get it, but it’s not like they’re willing to give up driving their cars.
I’m still smiling when I walk into my apartment. It’s dark, which means both my roommates are staying with their boyfriends. I pull my cell phone out to play some games while I mindlessly watch television to unwind. I missed a call. The caller ID says it’s from Bobby. He’d better be apologizing for his skank girlfriend.
I push play and listen.
“You attention-seeking whore. How fucking dare you call the police over some bullshit! Collette didn’t have anything to do with that shit, and you know it. Do you want to know why I broke up with your fat ass? Because you sucked in bed. I was being nice by not telling you, but since you made up some fake reason to try to get me back, now you know why. Leave Collette and me alone or I’ll pull a restraining order.” And he hangs up.
I’m numb. As if this could get any worse. With a trembling hand, I do the only thing I know how to do and call Gabby.
“Hey, babe, what’s up?”
“Can you come over?” I fight through the tears and sniff.
“I’m on my way.”
When she arrives ten minutes later, I’m a complete mess.
“What happened?”
I can’t talk through the tears, so I hand her my phone. She listens to Bobby’s message.
“What the fuck? What a complete asshole! Bad in bed—that man wouldn’t know a clitoris if it jumped out in a well-lit room. So, I know that’s not true. And fat? Maybe your big toe is fat, but the rest of you is all curves that the guys go crazy for.”
“Maybe I am bad in bed. And compared to the cheerleader, I am fat, but really—"
“Stop it. That’s not true. Don’t let him demean you in any way. He’s a first-class asshole. Where are your roommates?”
&nb
sp; “At their boyfriends’.” I sniff.
“Well, you can’t stay here, and we don’t both fit in your twin bed. Come back to my place.”
“Thank you, but I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“I feel silly being so upset over some meathead being mean to me.”
“Which is why you’re coming to my apartment. Plus, I have a pint of Chunky Monkey and a pint of Chocolate Fudge Brownie at my place.”
“Are you sure? It seems like I’m being a baby.”
“I’m positive. Pack an overnight bag and let’s go. I’m in the mood for ice cream.”
I adore Gabby for making me feel better. By the time we arrive at her apartment and eat all of her ice cream, we’ve solved the world’s problems, picked out engagement rings, and even made a voodoo doll of Bobby. Of course, breaking his playing hand makes me feel much better. We fall asleep just after two, and I feel loved.
****
When the alarm sounds at five thirty, it’s way too early.
“Why do you get up so early?” Gabby mutters.
“Big day today and every day,” I answer, more chipper than I actually feel.
Gabby rolls over and pulls the covers over her head. Through the sheets, I can barely hear, “I’ll check in with you later today.”
“Thanks for last night.” I pat her through the blanket and run out of her apartment. The sun is just peeking through the clouds when I catch the bus down to the financial district and march into Starbucks. I keep telling myself today is going to be a better day. I mean, Jackson did acknowledge me as a full-fledged human yesterday. That has to be a positive step forward.
Since I order our drinks from the mobile app on the drive in each morning, I whiz in and pick them up and prepare to walk across the street. I’m just leaving when Jackson calls.
Before I can speak, he yells, “Where are you?”
Royally Flushed: Tech Billionaires Page 3
