Start Me Up

by Maggie Riley

  Chapter 4

  LIBBY

  I tried not to take it personally. Though most people liked to talk about themselves, it became immediately clear that Jack had literally no interest in discussing anything that wasn’t related to the work. And he was happy to talk about the work.

  Which might have been fine if I understood a fraction of what he was talking about. As the day went on, I began to piece things together. Jack was the brains behind an eco-friendly tech company that specialized in transportation, specifically cars. In addition to Celero, he had a driverless car in the works, the details of which were very hush-hush.

  “We need to perfect it before we start sharing any details with the press,” he told a meeting full of his engineers. “People are of two minds when it comes to technology like this. They like it but they’re terrified by it. We have to make sure it’s completely safe before we start rolling out anything official. One bad accident can set an advance like this back years.”

  I followed him around all day, looking up articles and profiles on him whenever there was a lull between meetings or when he stepped away to talk one-on-one with his employees. From that I learned a lot more about Jack as a person.

  He was a graduate of MIT – top of his class and valedictorian. He was known for his obsessive attention to detail and his inventive problem solving. He was thirty-two – which made him one of the youngest self-made millionaires in the country.

  But more personal details were harder to find. At least it was difficult to find consistent details. Even Wikipedia was unable to confirm much about Jack’s life before MIT, and the current information out there seemed like a mix of exaggerated tabloid fodder and just plain fiction. For example, I was pretty sure he had not been in an orgy with several supermodels after the Oscars last year. Pretty sure, but not positive.

  I glanced over at Jack, who was talking with Mrs. Reynolds. My gaze traveled down his broad, strong back to a really, really nice ass. There was no doubt in my mind that he could have an orgy with supermodels if that’s what he wanted, but from what little I had seen about his work ethic, it seemed unlikely he had much time for models or orgies. It stood out in stark contrast to the millionaire playboy image that was touted in the press.

  “Getting all you need?” he asked me, gesturing for me to join him in his office.

  “I think so,” I told him, sitting down in the same chair I had been sitting in hours ago. Amazing how that day had flown by. And how much had changed since that meeting. “But I would like to talk to you about what your expectations for the book are. That way I can get a better idea of who I need to talk to. Employees obviously, but are there family members I can interview?”

  Jack held up a hand. “No family members,” he said.

  “But–”

  “No,” he repeated, his mouth set in a firm, unfriendly line.

  Clearly I had unwittingly stumbled upon something he’d rather not discuss. Which made me curious. But I didn’t say anything. After all, he was the one paying me.

  “Ok, so if I can’t talk to your family, are there any particular employees or colleagues that I should reach out to?”

  “I’ll have Mrs. Reynolds give you a list,” he told me, glancing at his watch. “I think we’ve done enough for today.” The statement was brusque.

  I might have learned a little something about Jack and his company, but I still had no idea what he wanted me to write about. Or what the schedule and deadline was.

  “When are you expecting this book to be completed?” I asked.

  “By Celero’s launch,” he told me.

  I coughed. “But that’s in a month!”

  He fixed me with an intense stare. It was one I was already becoming quite familiar with, and it continued to unnerve me. I squirmed under his gaze. “Is that going to be a problem?”

  “It might be,” I told him, knowing full well that I wasn’t giving him the answer he needed. “Publishing is a slow process.”

  “Don’t worry about publishing,” he said, flipping open his laptop. “All that concerns you is writing the book. Can you do that in the next three weeks?”

  I wanted to say no. Because it was an insane, unreasonable deadline.

  But it was also twenty thousand dollars. Followed by another forty thousand dollars. There was a lot I could do with that money. Such as pay off my student loans, not stress about rent, and get my cat the veterinary care he needed without sacrificing my own need to eat on a regular basis.

  “Ms. Hanson?” Jack startled me out of my thoughts and I realized that I had been standing there, mentally going over all the ways the money would help me, all the while actually counting it out on my fingers.

  “Are we going to have a problem?” The question and the look Jack gave me was the same one he had given to his employee that afternoon. And my answer was going to be the same as that young man’s.

  “No,” I told Jack. “We aren’t going to have a problem at all.”

  “Are you crazy?” Georgia asked me.

  “Probably,” I confessed.

  She was staring at me, her eyes wide, her mouth hanging open. After my long day of following Jack around (and trying to keep myself from drooling over him), I needed a night out with my best friend. Or a mini-night out since I had agreed to meet Jack at 7:00am the following day to get a tour of his newest factory. So even though I had to be home and in bed by ten, I could still have one drink with Georgia and tell her that I had agreed to write a book in three weeks for a hunky millionaire.

  But by the look on Georgia’s face, it was obvious that she was going to need more than one alcoholic beverage to process the insane day I had just had. If I hadn’t committed to getting up early tomorrow, I would be doing the same.

  “Ok, you need to start at the beginning,” she told me.

  “You mean the part where my best friend set me up for a job interview without providing details on who or what I was interviewing for?”

  I wasn’t really mad at her. It was impossible to be mad at Georgia. We had been friends for years, and I knew she had my best interests at heart.

  “I had no idea it was for Jack Willis!” She held up her hands.

  “You know who he is?”

  “You don’t?” She was agog. “Libby, you need to get your head out of the arts once in a while and see what is going on in the rest of the world.”

  It was a common discussion between the two of us. Georgia appreciated my artsy-fartsy nature (her words, not mine), but she was the pragmatic one between the two of us. It was the reason she was still working at a well-paying job that she hated, living in a nice apartment with nice clothes, while I scrimped and saved but was generally happy with the work I did.

  Part of me wondered if I was selling out a little by taking this job. I wasn’t particularly keen on large corporations, even ones as eco-friendly as Jack’s appeared to be, but I really, really, really needed the money. And even though Georgia – being the good friend that she was – had offered to loan me money on more than one occasion, I never felt comfortable taking money from friends.

  I also didn’t feel comfortable starving or not being able to take care of my cat, so any fears about losing my “artsy-fartsy” street cred was going to have to take a back seat to basic necessity. And it was only three weeks. I could put aside my dislike of corporations for three weeks. I could also donate some of the money to my favorite charities.

  If anything, it could serve as just another reminder of why I shouldn’t be lusting over Jack, no matter how strong his biceps were. We were too different. Something I was sure was blindingly clear to him.

  I took a sip of my drink, disappointed to find that my glass was already empty. Dammit. I had planned to nurse it for at least an hour.

  “I can’t believe you didn’t know who Jack Willis is.” Georgia threw up her hands again. “He’s only the most influential voice in tech right now. He’s a star. And a total fox.” She fanned herself dramatically.

  “We
ll, I did notice that,” I told her, and her eyes widened.

  “So he’s as beautiful in real life as he is in his pictures?” She leaned forward eagerly.

  “More so,” I confirmed, thinking again of how well he filled out his suit. His dark hair and smoldering stare. Maybe some people found it intimidating but I just found it hot. Really, really hot.

  Which was not my usual reaction at all. I never went for the aggressive, take-charge type. I tended to gravitate towards nice men. Quiet, polite men. Jack was nice but he certainly wasn’t quiet, and he wasn’t polite.

  I had a feeling he wouldn’t be polite in the bedroom either. And I had a feeling that I wouldn’t mind that at all. I shivered just thinking about it – that intense stare of his, looking down at me as he pressed me into the bed. Or against a wall.

  Georgia let out a sigh, interrupting my very inappropriate fantasies. “You are so lucky,” she said. “He’s the most sought after bachelor in New York. Everyone wants to be him. Or sleep with him. I fall into the ‘sleep with him’ category, obviously, and I’m very jealous that you’re going to be spending so much time with him.”

  “Don’t be,” I took a deep breath. “Because nothing is going to happen. Beyond writing the book.”

  “Maybe not.” She gestured to the bartender for another drink before I could tell her about my one drink limit. “But a girl can inappropriately fantasize, can’t she?”

  Another martini was placed in front of me. Maybe I’d just nurse this one. After all, what was one more drink?

  The bartender didn’t even look at me, but gave Georgia a dazzling smile. It was always like this when we went out together, so I was used to it. But it wasn’t always easy. I watched her glossy dark hair falling over one shoulder, and self-consciously touched my wild curls. Georgia always looked so put together in her skirts and blazers. She wore heels every day and never seemed in danger of falling over like I would if I ever attempted to walk around Manhattan in those stilettos. If she weren’t my best friend, I’d be totally jealous of her gorgeous hair and trim physique.

  But today, it seemed like I was the one inspiring jealousy.

  “Jack Willis is a damn sexy man. And you get to look at him all day. Every single woman in Manhattan would mow you down to get a chance to spend time with him,” Georgia was saying, downing her gin and tonic, and immediately gesturing for another one. “Lucky bitch,” she said with a smile and no venom.

  “Yeah,” I winked at her. “That is a nice perk. The sexy man part, not the inspired jealousy of millions of women.”

  “Both are pretty good perks, if you ask me,” Georgia clinked her empty glass against mine. “Ok,” she leaned in, “now start at the beginning. And don’t leave out any details. Physical details, that is. Start with his hair and just work downward. Slowly. Very, very slowly.”

  Chapter 5

  LIBBY

  I was an idiot. An idiot with no self-control. Somehow a single drink had turned into two and then I had gone to the bathroom only to return to another fresh drink that Georgia had ordered me. After that, the whole thing was kind of a blur. In my drunken state, I was pretty sure I justified my continued drinking with the rationale that I was already toasted, so why not continue having a good time?

  And I was paying for it. Hard.

  “Dammit,” I squinted at the sky, which was way, way too bright for seven AM.

  I dug in my purse for a pair of sunglasses, but only found a ridiculously oversized vintage pair that I would wear at the beach.

  “Double dammit,” I muttered, sliding them on. It was a momentary relief from my awful hangover.

  I looked down at myself, wondering how the hell I had managed to get out of bed, get dressed and get to midtown on time. My last memory was stumbling up to my apartment at four am. It was a damn good thing I had set my alarm before meeting Georgia at the bar.

  The whole night had gotten out of control fast. I could have blamed Georgia for buying all those drinks, or the cute bartender who seemed to be making them extra strong for us, or the fact that I hadn’t eat any dinner last night, but the truth was it was my fault and I should have known better. I rarely drank to excess and I was so embarrassed that I would be starting my first full day on this new job painfully hungover.

  At least I was more covered up than I had been yesterday, though hardly less colorful. But even if I wanted to fit in with Jack – Mr. Willis, I had to keep mentally correcting myself – and his associates, I was doubtful I could find a single solid black or blue outfit in my closet. The only thing that came close was a Pucci-style black and white mod dress, but I was too hungover to risk staring at that dizzying print all day.

  So I had settled for the second most muted thing I could find – a maxi dress with stripes and a neckline that didn’t show off the girls. Of course, the whole thing was made of flowy chiffon, which was currently being blown up towards my knees by the unexpected spring breeze heading down Fifth Avenue. I struggled to keep it under control, because I showed half of New York my Marilyn Monroe impression, but I somehow only seemed to make it worse, getting my hair in my face as well.

  And of course that was the moment Jack walked out of the building.

  “Morning,” he said in that low, sexy voice. A voice that I was certain he did not intend to be sexy.

  I batted away my hair and shoved down my dress. He, of course, looked amazing. A blue suit today but one that fit just as well as the one yesterday. God, those arms. I imagined what it would be like to have them around me, how his muscles would feel flexing beneath my fingers.

  Dammit. Why did I keep thinking dirty thoughts about the one person I shouldn’t be thinking dirty thoughts about?

  Because you are horny and hungover, a voice in my head told me. And it was correct. But that didn’t mean I had to listen. So I pushed those thoughts from my mind, wiped my lips to make sure I hadn’t been overtly drooling, and gave Jack the biggest, most non-sexual smile I could muster.

  “Good morning,” I responded, immediately regretting the perky tone in my voice. The high pitch of the words echoed in my ears like a drum.

  I bit back a groan. What I really needed right now was a day on my couch with a cool cloth and some tea, not following a tech genius around to meetings. No matter how cute he was.

  “Ready to go?” he asked, giving me a strange look.

  “Ready,” I said and then actually gave him a thumbs-up. Who over ten did that?

  “The factory’s an hour or so outside of the city,” he told me, his gaze still questioning. “I usually drive there.”

  “Fantastic!” This time I couldn’t hold back my wince.

  “Is something wrong?” Jack finally asked.

  “I’m great!” I lied my ass off.

  “Right.” Jack was obviously not buying it, but didn’t pry. “Shall we go then?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  He led the way towards the garage and I followed, trying to think if there was any world in which I could get away with taking a nap during the drive. Then I saw what we would be driving in and the thought of a nap totally left my mind.

  I was never someone who paid that much attention to cars. They kind of all looked the same to me, big, shiny (if you washed it regularly), and capable of getting you places. This car was something else.

  “It’s beautiful,” I breathed.

  Pride showed on Jack’s face. It was the first time I had seen a real expression from him – one that wasn’t guarded and controlled. He clearly loved his car. It was such a typical man thing, but it was super endearing because Jack was definitely not a typical man.

  “She’s something special, isn’t she?” He patted the hood like a proud parent.

  Not that I could blame him. The car was sleek and modern, but not obnoxiously so. It was a good sized two-door with what looked like a convertible top, but it didn’t have that “my car represents my dick, which is totally big, believe me” look to it. You could tell it was expensive and state of the art but it wa
sn’t in your face about it. Everything looked like it belonged and had a purpose instead of those cars covered with fancy gadgets that never seem to have any practical use.

  “Is this the Celero?” I asked.

  “Not exactly.”

  It was then I noticed that he didn’t seem to be holding any keys.

  “Door one,” he said, and the driver’s side door popped open. “Door two.” And the passenger side did the same.

  He walked around and pulled the door all the way open for me. I was charmed. I’d never had a man hold a car door open for me before. Not even a cab door. I clearly had been dating the wrong kinds of men.

  Gathering my skirt so it didn’t get stuck in the door, I slid into the passenger seat. Because the car was small and somewhat low to the ground, I thought it would be an awkward movement, as getting into convertibles usually was. Instead, I slid into the car easily, immediately settling into the buttery soft leather seats.

  “Faux leather,” Jack told me as he got into the car, and found me petting the armrest.

  “Really?” I was surprised.

  Not just because it felt so good, but because I had assumed that someone like Jack would have gone for the more luxurious, less animal friendly option available. Not that I was one to judge, I thought, imagining my favorite leather boots at home in my closet.

  “They’re making some incredible advances in synthetics.” He started the car, but the engine didn’t make a sound. If anything, it purred. “There’s no need to spend money on leather which tends to be an ineffective and unnecessarily expensive material, when you can create something that’s even better and also happens to be better for the environment.”

  My eyebrows went up. Now I really was surprised. From the research I did on Jack, I knew his company was focused on eco-friendly transportation – I just hadn’t expected him to be so passionate about it across the board. It was kind of hot.

  Ok. It was really hot. Which was extremely annoying.

  We pulled out of the driveway and began the slow, traffic-filled journey out of the city. Unfortunately this meant there were lots of stops at lights, lots of last minute pedestrians to avoid, all of which did not help my hangover. My stomach started to get a little queasy and I started to sweat nervously. Faux leather or not, the last thing I wanted was to throw up in Jack’s state of the art car. So I attempted to distract myself by talking. I was pretty sure anyone would take word vomit over real vomit any day of the week.