by Robyn Kelly
“Yes, Ms. Whitkins,” he mutters.
“Better take two.” Mrs. Johnson hands him a couple of yogurts. He hands her some money but she shakes her head.
“I insist,” Jackson coos, and I can tell by the look in her eyes that it isn’t just a dollar bill he’s slipping into her palm. She giggles like a schoolgirl (even though she’s old enough to be his grandmother) and finally leaves. Jackson sets the yogurts down on the table and heads to the kitchen for a spoon.
I step out from behind the door and take a seat. I’m so mortified by this entire episode I pray it’s all a bad dream, and I’ll wake up very soon.
Jackson returns, rips open a yogurt, and sticks the spoon in with one swift motion. We don’t talk while I eat. I start to feel my old self, except for the part of looking like a fool in front of this man. “I’m sorry.” I keep my eyes glued to the yogurt container.
“Don’t be sorry. Just don’t forget to eat. You scared me.”
“I can’t imagine you scared of anyone.”
He raises an eyebrow at me. “I feel partly responsible. Like I said last night, I thought you were more experienced and I played too hard, too fast. I can sometimes misread things. You’re probably afraid of me, at least subconsciously. And then what you must have read on the Internet made it worse.”
“Are you trying to tell me this is post-coital stress disorder?”
“Pre-coital, Jillian. Definitely pre-coital. You don’t feel like you can trust me, and when I showed up at your door…”
Tonight was just one more embarrassing moment we’ve shared. It’s time to reboot. “Can we call a truce? Can we just agree that you weren’t drugging Pippa; I wasn’t scamming you; you offered to buy me, I didn’t understand so I spent all that money on your brother’s party; I overreacted when the real estate agent hinted you were buying the church; you overreacted when you kidnapped me.”
He shifts toward me in his chair. “I’ll agree if you change kidnap to abduct. I wasn’t doing it for a ransom.”
“Duly noted. Can we also decide to stop manipulating, threatening, overreacting, and abducting, and instead try communicating as our first response.”
Jackson smiles and nods his head.
“Then in the spirit of communication, I’ll be honest. You said you played too hard, but I still found it…erotic. I’d like to trust you.” He stares at me, and it’s too intimidating to hold his gaze. I pretend to concentrate on scraping the bottom of the yogurt container. “I’m not sure I can trust myself. I don’t trust I can finish what we started.” I look down at those lovely hands of his, and see them clench. “Even if I want to,” I add in a small, shy voice.
I must still be a little off-kilter because when I look into his face, his expression tells me either he’s confused, or surprised, or just trying to find a way to get out of here before I go totally off the deep end. I’ll give him the opportunity for a graceful exit. I owe him that. “I’m sorry for ruining your evening. They must have canceled the dinner reservation by now. I’ll get your invoice and if you have any questions, you can email me.”
He stands and I can’t help thinking that I could be on a date with a sexy, single billionaire if I had a working refrigerator. He holds out his hand. “No restaurant cancels a Jackson Hunter reservation. Come.”
We’re doing this? I put my hand in his and stand up. He helps me on with my coat, and I notice the front door of my apartment is still open. I close it behind me while he presses the elevator button. Suddenly it clicks.
“You didn’t leave my front door open for the air, did you?”
“I’m used to women being afraid of me. I always give them a clear escape route.” He motions toward the small elevator car. “I can take the stairs if you want to ride alone.”
“I’m embarrassed enough at what I did. I think I can hold it together for five floors.”
The doors close and the elevator begins its slow descent. Part of me wishes he’d grab me and kiss me senseless (like that “Fuck the paperwork” line) but he’s all business, staring at the floor numbers above the door, and I can’t blame him. I do miss the flirty Jackson, though. If I can lighten the mood, he may realize I’ve returned from my trip to Looneytown.
“Why don’t restaurants cancel your reservations? Do you write scathing Yelp reviews?”
He turns his head, and looks puzzled. “You don’t know how power works in this town, do you?” Instead of turning away, he just keeps staring, and there’s something in his eyes.
His words make me feel like a child, but that look makes me feel like a sex goddess.
His car is parked in front, and Jackson holds the door for me. Ron watches me in the rearview mirror and I give him a quick smile before he looks away.
I reach into my coat pocket. “I have your invoice with me.” I hand Jackson the slip of paper and the check.
He is momentarily confused, and then realizes what it is. “Oh, that.” He slips it into his jacket pocket without even looking at it. “I wanted to talk to you about the church. The numbers don’t work unless I can make it generate some income. Then I remembered your advice. You said Bryan would make a good club manager. When I asked if he was interested, he said yes. Jumped at the chance, actually. He would have given me another damn hug if I had been anywhere near him.”
“You bought your brother a church for his birthday?”
He pulls his phone out of his pocket. “I haven’t bought it yet. That’s where you come in.”
I suspect Jackson has a soft spot for his family that he likes to keep hidden, and I would say something if he wasn’t making a phone call right now. I think it’s a little rude to be calling someone while he’s with me, but he is a mogul and I’m the crazy woman who lives on the fifth floor of one building in his real estate empire.
“The space could be a great event venue. My brother is energetic but inexperienced. I need someone to guide him. I thought you did an excellent job and would be the perfect person. I’m not going to buy it unless you agree to work with Bryan.” He puts the phone up to his ear. “Hi, Bryan. I’ve got Jillian here and told her the deal. I’ll let her give you her answer.”
He holds the phone out but I refuse to take it. He presses the speakerphone button, and Bryan’s voice fills the car. “Hi, Jillian. I hope you’re going to say yes.”
“Actually, this is the first I’ve heard of it. I’m not sure what I’m saying yes to.”
“Oh.” I can hear the disappointment in his voice. “Maybe you should take this off speakerphone and we can talk privately.”
Jackson’s manipulating me again, and all the gratitude I felt toward him for putting up with my little breakdown disappears. When he reaches to press the button, I grab the phone out of his hand. “I know how to work a smartphone.” I turn the speaker off and put the phone to my ear. “Don’t assume this is any more private. I suspect your brother taps his own phone.”
“Look, I bet you’re feeling used right now. That’s not uncommon when working for Jackson…but don’t let that make the decision for you. I’m nothing like him. I respect you, I think we communicate well, and this could be really fun. Just give it a try. The worst that can happen is that you don’t like it and quit.”
Of course. I can quit. “Well, we are going to dinner right now. Let me find out exactly what the offer is.”
He decides to go for one more sales push. “My brother knows how to fit the right people to the right job.”
“That’s not what you were saying in Italy.”
“This isn’t Italy. This is San Fran-friggin-cisco. Please, Jillian, say yes.” He’s pleading now, half in jest—but only half.
“Good night, Bryan.”
“He’ll send me back to Italy. I know he will.” He sighs in mock desperation.
“Good night, Bryan,” I repeat, chuckling to myself.
“Hunter Enterprises will look great on your resume,” he says in his Jackson voice.
“Bryan, I’m hanging up now.”
> He tries one more guilt trip. “I won’t sleep until one of you calls me!”
I hang up and hand the phone back to Jackson. “I may have a grin on my face but that was manipulative, and we had just agreed not to do that.”
“No. That was time management.” He looks out the window. “See. We’re here.”
The here he’s speaking of is the House of Prime Rib. It’s right out of Mad Men. Solid, traditional, and lots of prime beef. Much like Jackson. I chuckle at my private joke and he raises an eyebrow at me. “Is there something I should know about the kitchen here, also?”
“No. They are very fastidious. But I’m noticing you do like your old school San Francisco restaurants.”
“Can you see me in a trendy restaurant? They’re too loud, too crowded, and too rude. I prefer someplace less hectic when I’m discussing business.”
No, I can’t see him in a trendy restaurant. I’m sure he can pronounce every word on a sushi menu, and tell the difference between antipasto and charcuterie, but I bet he’s most at home with a well-prepared steak. Despite a line of people waiting to be seated, we are shown to a private corner table immediately.
With Bryan’s appeal still ringing in my ear, I get right to business. “So, what’s your offer?”
“What do you want?”
The first one to blink loses. “Six-month non-exclusive contract, $10,000 a month retainer, plus ten percent of all event billables.”
“No.”
I didn’t expect him to say yes, and now it’s his turn to blink.
“I hire you as an employee. You’re paid a salary, and will earn bonuses depending on how quickly you can make the club profitable.”
I can see this negotiation is going to be harder than I thought. “I can’t just shut down my business.”
“You have any contracted jobs this year?” My face is all the answer he needs. “Jillian, you are a terrible businesswoman. The only presence you have on social media is what your clients create, I don’t see any marketing plan, and you didn’t even know who I was the first time we met.”
I am about to respond sarcastically, when the waiter approaches. Jackson dismisses him with a wave of his hand.
I take a breath and calm myself. “Why do I need to know who you are to be a good businesswoman?”
“I am constantly in the social pages. My face is plastered on every magazine and local Internet site. I run one of the biggest corporations in San Francisco. Any serious event planner knows who’s who in their market. They don’t wait until I take them to dinner to Google all the dirty little facts about my past.”
“Well, I must be even worse than you thought because I still haven’t Googled you.”
The waiter returns with water and a basket of bread. Dinner with Jackson—bread and water. Just like in prison, and the uniform is a little black dress. My mind pictures him dressed as a guard with a big nightstick and…I need to stop daydreaming. I look from the bread back to Jackson and his expression is less prison guard and more executioner.
“You truly haven’t done any research on me?”
“Sadly, no. Are you going to scold me for that, too?”
“I should.” He breaks off a piece of bread, and butters it. “But I can’t remember the last date I had where I was still a mystery to someone.”
He’s doing that thing with his voice. Where it starts in my ears and somehow moves down my body and makes everything tingle. I’m sure the serpent in the Garden of Eden had the same sensual purr.
But the sting of his criticism helps me ward off his charm. “This isn’t a date. It’s a business meeting, as I remember. And I’m sure you’re a mystery to a lot of people. The mystery to me is why you want to hire a terrible businesswoman.”
He offers me the buttered bread slice. “Eat this.” He’s pulling that Christian Grey crap on me, and I shake my head. He looks me in the eyes. “You’re getting a little cranky.”
“And you think it’s my blood sugar?”
“So eat the bread and prove me wrong.”
“You answer my question, and I’ll eat that butter-soaked bread.”
“All right. I said you were a terrible businesswoman, but I think you’re a remarkable event planner. I still can’t believe what you pulled off in only one week. Especially after I saw the church in the daylight. I almost overbid for it. You take this job and you’ll be able to do what you love and delegate the business end to my team. You’ll have a steady income, you’ll have benefits, and you’ll have security.”
I take a bite from the bread. Chewing it will give me a chance to think. He’s a better salesman than his brother, or maybe he just knows me better. He got me to eat the bread, and he’ll get me to join his team. And maybe join him in bed. Or maybe not, if he’s offering me a job.
I swallow the bread. “I’ve got an employee.”
“Robert? I’ll hire him.”
Maybe I am cranky, but I can’t resist poking the bear. “You do remember he called you an asshole?”
“Most people have called me that at some time.”
He signals the waiter, so I hurriedly scan the menu. I consider ordering the fish but—when in Rome—I order the prime rib. I’m about to ask him how he expects this plan to work, when our waiter returns and dresses our salad at our table with theatrical flourish.
Jackson picks up his salad fork. “So, are you ready to become an employee?” He stabs at the lettuce with the force of a jackhammer.
“We haven’t discussed salary,” I say before I take a bite of the salad. I’m going to have to remember to do dinner meetings with this man. I can buy a lot of time to think by chewing slowly.
“I’ll meet your $10,000 a month. And I want a two-year contract.” His fork pile drives into the salad again. I know these salad plates. This line is popular with restaurants because they’re sturdy. I just don’t know if they’ve been tested against Jackson.
I pop a cucumber slice in my mouth while I think. Two years isn’t unreasonable, but a contract won’t let me quit if we can’t work together. “I’ll give you six months.”
“I’m afraid I have to be firm on the two years.” Once more, his fork rams into the salad. His table manners help me understand why he has to pay women to date him.
“That’s too long. Just today, one of the leading CEOs in San Francisco told me that I’m a remarkable event planner. You don’t want to lose me because your ego got in the way of negotiation, do you? I’ll give you nine months.”
He sets his fork down, and I check to see whether it’s bent. He reaches for his phone.
“Now who’s manipulating? You’ll give me a year, I’ll hire Robert, and I’m texting Bryan that you said…” He leaves the sentence open, for me to fill in the blank.
I sigh. It’s been a long day, and I hadn’t expected to be negotiating a job offer. I’m sure it will be exciting, and after the last year of scraping by I’ll be happy for a steady paycheck. If I was smart, I’d hold out for a sign-on bonus, but I just spent $150,000 of his money already this weekend. “Okay. Yes. He’s probably been checking his phone every five seconds. Put him out of his misery, and maybe we all can enjoy the rest of this evening.”
Jackson sends the text and then puts the phone away. When he picks up his salad fork, I tense. To my surprise, he doesn’t use it like a power tool, and we finish our salads in silence. The carver arrives and serves our entrée along with baked potatoes, creamed spinach, and corn bread. Jackson orders us a split of red wine, and I unwind over the lovely meal.
He asks about my start as an event planner. It’s not that exciting a story. How he became a billionaire is probably more interesting, but I tell him how I got into the business. He listens thoughtfully, and when I finish, he looks me in the eye.
“That’s very interesting but I didn’t ask how you became an event planner. I asked why.”
Why? How do you answer that? “I just seem to have a talent for finding out what people want.”
“What do you mean?
”
“I don’t know. I get a sense. Like your brother. Remember his face at dinner and then at the party? The party was what he wanted.”
“And you thought the dinner is what I wanted?”
No, I thought embarrassing me was what you wanted. Now I’m not so sure. “I didn’t know. You were out of town and all I had was a guest list and dinner menu from the party you were going to give him. I tried to give you both what you wanted. It just took two parties to do it.”
My plate is empty and I don’t even remember eating. It’s hard to concentrate on anything else when Jackson is around. My new boss. Is this a huge mistake? He’s right when he says the job will give me security. Financial security. It’s the most money I’ve ever made. It’s emotional security that I’m not so sure about. Something happens to me when I’m with this man. Everything gets magnified. I’m either very angry, very embarrassed, or very turned on. And right now, I’m not angry or embarrassed.
The waiter clears our table and brings two glasses of champagne.
“I thought we’d toast our new partnership.” He holds out one of the champagne flutes to me. I take the other one, and bat my eyes. “A girl can’t be too careful.” He laughs loud enough to make the tables next to us turn.
He raises his glass. “To a woman who knows what I want.”
I hesitate. I wish I knew what he wanted. There are some people I can’t predict. Like my husband and my mother. “I’m not sure I have that skill set. You’re a mystery to me.”
He looks disappointed, but smiles. “I shouldn’t be surprised. Around you, I’m a mystery to myself.”
He taps his glass against mine and we drink, his eyes never leaving me. He sets his glass down, places the napkin on the table, and holds out his hand.
“Now, let’s get you to bed.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
* * *
Jackson doesn’t speak the entire ride back to my apartment. He might be staring at me, but in the dark I only can see his face when we pass under a streetlight. I’m not going to stare at his face to see whether he’s staring at me because then he’ll think I’m the one staring and…I’m overthinking this.
