Start Me Up

by Maggie Riley

  “What are you thinking?” he asked, drawing a finger down my forehead which seemed to have wrinkled when I became distracted.

  “Just how much I’m enjoying getting to know you,” I rolled onto my side to face him.

  “Oh yeah?” he raised an eyebrow. “Is that what the kids are calling it these days? ‘Getting to know you?’”

  I laughed, but before I could answer, I found myself trapped beneath Jack’s long, hard body, his chest pressing against mine in the most delicious way.

  “I’m enjoying getting to know you too,” he growled, the evidence of that hard against my thigh.

  I wrapped my arms around his neck, pulling him down for a kiss.

  “Then let’s get to know each other even better,” I panted when we broke apart, giving him a wicked smile. “After all, we have all night.”

  Chapter 20

  LIBBY

  I left Jack’s just as the sun was coming up. He was still fast asleep. I thought about waking him, but he looked so peaceful and relaxed. It was one of the few times when he didn’t look completely serious and stressed so I let him sleep. I figured I would see him at the office when I got there – and I prayed it wasn’t going to be awkward.

  I managed to make it back to my place without feeling too much like I was doing the walk of shame until I got into my apartment and got the stink-eye from my cat. It was a look that said, “I know where you were, you slutty little slut.”

  “Don’t judge me,” I told him, with a frown. He just lifted his tail and stalked off into the closet where he was no doubt peeing on my shoes. My cat was not very progressive when it came to female sexuality, it seemed.

  Despite Mr. Mistoffelees’s obvious disapproval of my evening activities, I was feeling pretty damn good about everything that had conspired last night. Yeah, ok, my body felt a little sore, but it was a really nice kind of sore, one that I hadn’t felt in a really, really long time. Too long, in fact.

  The more I got to know Jack, the more I liked him. It wasn’t just the sex – though that was pretty damn incredible – it was the person he was when he let his guard down, even if it was just for a moment. He was resilient and driven, but also funny and kind. I was enjoying getting to know him – in every sense of the word – and was excited about what was happening between us.

  Even though I didn’t really know what it was exactly. Were we dating? Hooking up? Friends with benefits? However, I knew that nothing would stop this in its tracks faster than me asking what our “status” was. Still, I couldn’t help but be a little curious.

  There would be time for that later, I told myself. Just enjoy the fun and the sex for now. Once the book is done, once I was no longer working for Jack, then we could figure out what we were exactly.

  Still avoiding Mr. Mistoffelees’s side eye, I took a quick shower and pulled on a pair of black pants – not sexy ones like I’d worn last night – and a simple blouse. The last thing I wanted was to give people at Jack’s office any reason to gossip or talk. I knew enough about Jack to know that he would absolutely hate that.

  It was the Friday before the Celero’s launch and I knew that everyone was going to be busy at the office. It was also the perfect time to capture some of the personal details I needed for the book. People always showed their true colors when they were under stress, and even though I didn’t think I’d see a negative or bad side of any of Jack’s employees, I was still curious to see if they’d loosen up a little and share some more details – fun details – about working with Jack.

  When I arrived, Mrs. Reynolds was there but Jack’s office was dark. I was surprised – he was usually there before everyone else, it seemed, but Mrs. Reynolds didn’t seem concerned. I checked my phone, hoping for a message from him but there was nothing. I tried not to be disappointed. Maybe he was just late. Maybe someone had worn him out the night before and he had overslept. I couldn’t help smiling at the idea that I might have thrown him off his schedule, just a little bit.

  But after I spent the morning talking to people, I swung back around to his office to find that the door was still closed and the room was still dark. Strange.

  Unable to help myself, I called Jack. It went straight to voice mail. Very strange.

  “When will Mr. Willis be in?” I asked Mrs. Reynolds after lunch.

  “He won’t be,” she told me without looking up from her desk. “He’s off today.”

  It was a good thing Mrs. Reynolds was focused on her computer because she missed the surprise that I was sure was plastered across my face. Jack was off today? He hadn’t said anything about it last night, and I found it hard to believe that he would take time off so close to the Celero’s release. But Mrs. Reynolds didn’t seem concerned and no one else at the company seemed to pay it any mind. They were all operating as if everything was business as usual.

  I decided that I had gathered enough information for the day and went to my favorite coffee shop to work, hoping that when I looked through today’s notes I’d find something to add some real personality to the book. But after working on it for several hours, I had to accept that it was still flat and boring. So boring that I wanted to tear my hair out.

  I was just about to start banging my head on the table with frustration when my phone rang. It was Jack. I tried to calm my fluttering heartbeat at the sight of his name, but I had absolutely no luck at the sound of his voice – that rich, smooth baritone that seemed to vibrate through me.

  “Libby,” he said, reminding me of how he had said my name the night before, his voice hoarse as he thrust into me.

  Even though I was in the middle of an air conditioned coffee shop, I still had to fan myself, my skin heating up at the memory.

  “Hi there.” I tried to sound casual and failed miserably.

  “I missed you this morning,” he told me and my heart starting thumping double time. There was a question in his voice and I realized that while I had been wondering what his absence at work had meant, he might have been wondering the same about my absence in his bed when he woke up.

  “I’m sorry I left without saying anything,” I said quickly. “You just looked so peaceful and cute.”

  He laughed, the sound giving me delicious goosebumps.

  “I can’t remember the last time someone called me cute,” he said.

  “Well, you were,” I confirmed. “Very, very cute.”

  “And you were very, very hot last night,” he informed me. “I’m sorry we didn’t have another chance to get to know each other this morning.”

  “Me too.” My whole body had gone taut with desire. “Maybe we can make up for it this weekend?” I hoped I didn’t sound too desperate.

  “I wish I could,” he sounded apologetic. “But I’m unavailable this weekend.”

  “Oh.” Now I hoped I didn’t sound too disappointed. I also tried to tamp down my curiosity. Was he busy with stuff for the Celero? Or was it something else? Something personal that he didn’t want to share? Information that he couldn’t trust me with? The thought was an unpleasant one.

  “How about Monday?” Jack asked, alleviating some of my disappointment.

  “Monday is great,” I said eagerly.

  “Glad to hear it,” Jack’s voice had a smile in it. “I had a good time last night.”

  “I did too,” I whispered, caught up in my memories of exactly how many good times I’d had last night. Four? Five good times?

  Jack laughed and I got the sense that he knew exactly what I was thinking. I blushed.

  “See you on Monday,” he told me, his voice low and sexy. Full of promises. Very, very sexy promises. Promises I couldn’t wait for him to fulfill.

  Chapter 21

  LIBBY

  I decided to spend my whole weekend working on the book. That I would work on it until I found a way to make it good. But by Sunday morning, I hadn’t gotten any further than I had been at the coffee shop on Friday. The book, unfortunately, stunk.

  It was well-written, informative and spec
ific. It was also deadly boring. I had almost fallen asleep several times when I was trying to edit it. Not even wine had helped. Instead it just gave me a nasty headache that I was still trying to get over Sunday morning.

  I paced my apartment, Mr. Mistoffelees at my heels, trying to think of ways to make the book better. Then I realized I hadn’t gone outside the company for interviews. Jack had mentioned his best friend several times – someone named Mac who owned a motorcycle shop. I wasn’t sure of Mac’s last name, but I did a little googling and eventually found information about the two of them. Jack had mentioned that they went way back, and I felt like a fool for not thinking of reaching out to Mac earlier.

  Checking the website for Tom’s Bike Shop, I got the number and tried calling, but the line was always busy and eventually I would get voicemail. But I also saw that the shop was open today, so I decided that instead of sitting in my apartment waiting for Mac to call me back, I was just going to pay the shop a visit and see what I could learn about Mac and Jack.

  The shop smelled like motor oil. And Jack. Something about the combination of the oil and the sweat hanging in the air, reminded me of him. It was the thing that I hadn’t been able to identify, a scent that seemed to be an intrinsic part of him. Just standing in Tom’s Bike Shop made me feel close to him. Made me feel like I understood him a little better.

  “Can I help you?” a tall man about Jack’s age came over to me. He wasn’t as built as Jack, but he had a lean kind of strength to him. He wore coveralls that were stained with oil, his hands and nails just as black. He was obviously someone who knew how to fix engines and other bike-related things.

  “I’m looking for Mac,” I told him, even though I already had a pretty good idea that I had found him.

  Sure enough he nodded and confirmed my suspicion.

  “Do you have a bike that needs repairs?” he asked, though the long look he gave me indicated that he knew I wasn’t there because of engine troubles. I could sense a wariness to him that Jack often wore as well.

  “I’m a, uh, friend of Jack’s,” I offered, stumbling a bit over how I could describe myself in relation to Jack.

  “Are you?” Mac asked, his eyebrow raised.

  I nodded. “I work for him,” I clarified. “I’m writing a book.”

  The wariness didn’t lift from his expression.

  “My name is Libby,” I offered, but there was no change.

  This was not going well. At all. I glanced around the shop, and suddenly caught sight of something familiar.

  “That’s Jack’s bike, isn’t it?” I asked, pointing at the motorcycle Jack had picked me up on for our date.

  “It is,” Mac said, hesitantly. “You know it?”

  “He took me out on it last week.” I mentally crossed my fingers, hoping that information might help me.

  It did. His face became friendlier immediately.

  “You’re the girl,” he pointed a finger at me. “The Bullet girl.”

  “The Bullet girl?” I asked, confused.

  He gestured towards the motorcycle. “That’s a 1939 Royal Enfield Bullet. It’s one of the best motorcycles ever made and Jack is one of the few people who owns one in such good condition.” He puffed out his chest a bit. “Thanks to me, of course.”

  “Of course.” I looked back at the motorcycle, having had no idea how old or famous it was.

  “Jack keeps the bike here, and only takes it out when he wants to impress someone.” Mac gave me another searching look. “Someone meaning a woman,” he said, as if he needed to clarify.

  This time it was my eyebrows that went up.

  “How often does he take it out?” I asked before I could help myself.

  “Very rarely,” Mac told me, a smile growing across his face. “You said your name was Libby?”

  I nodded. “Libby Hanson.”

  Mac wiped off his hand and held it out. “Nice to meet you, Libby,” he said, and it seemed like he meant it, although he seemed a little too pleased to meet me. I wondered if coming here was a bad idea.

  “I’m ghostwriting a book for Jack,” I told Mac.

  “I see.” He smiled. “And you’re hoping to get some dirt on my oldest, closest friend.”

  “Not dirt, per se,” I objected. “I’m just trying to inject a little more personality into the project.”

  This time Mac’s smile was nearly blinding. “Well, why didn’t you say so in the first place?” he asked. “Come into my office.” He gestured towards a room at the other end of the building. “And I’ll tell you every dirty detail you want to know. And even some you don’t want to know.”

  Chapter 22

  LIBBY

  My interview with Mac changed everything. I left Tom’s Bike Shop eager to get home and work on the book. It was everything I needed and I couldn’t wait to create something that I could be proud of. That Jack could be proud of.

  There was a part of me, however, that worried a little bit about how Jack would feel knowing that I went to speak to Mac. Even though their friendship was common knowledge, as well as the fact that Mac had been Jack’s first investor and continued to be one of his strongest supporters, I had a feeling that other people who had gone to interview Mac hadn’t gotten the same warm welcome that I had.

  Mac had spoken to me – in great detail and enthusiasm – about his friendship with Jack because he thought that something was going on between Jack and me. Which wasn’t untrue. But I still didn’t know how to define that something and it wasn’t until I left Tom’s Bike Shop and was heading home on the train that my initial glow of excitement began to wear off and I started to worry that I was sticking my nose where it didn’t belong. Or where Jack didn’t want it to belong.

  If I had learned anything about Jack, it was that he was a deeply private person. Mac hadn’t spilled all of Jack’s secrets – or so I assumed – but he had definitely shared a few stories that did not seem to be common knowledge. Stories that I wanted to put in the book, but I also felt a twinge of guilt for even knowing about them.

  Such as the story about how Jack had taken apart the engine of his foster dad’s car and had been unable to put it back together. It was one of his first forays into mechanics and he had gotten in so much trouble that it took a while for him to build up the interest to try again. Luckily, it seemed that Mac and his dad had done a lot to save Jack. They had given him the kind of opportunities that his foster parents, though well meaning, didn’t have the time or resources to give him.

  Even though all of Mac’s stories were hilarious, I couldn’t help the twinge of sympathy I felt when I thought of young Jack and all he had gone through to get to this point. It made me want to make the book as great as it could be. I wanted the whole world to know exactly what went into these products – that it wasn’t just metal and oil. It was passion and devotion and a true, pure love of the work. I knew that I could show that side of Jack to the world, and the world would fall in love with him even more. They’d see him the way I did – not the way he was portrayed now, as a playboy millionaire who liked fast cars – but as a kind, thoughtful man who did what he did because he couldn’t do anything else. Because he loved the work and he wanted to make the world a better place.

  But I didn’t know if Jack wanted the rest of the world to see that side of him.

  I couldn’t worry about that now. If he didn’t like the personal details I added to the book, he could take them out – he had first look and first refusal after all. But I knew that without them, the book would be so boring that people would be using it to help themselves fall asleep.

  When I got back to my apartment, I wrote for hours. It wasn’t until my phone rang that I looked up and realized it was dark outside. Then, I glanced at my phone to see who was calling me. It was Jack. Those warring emotions of excitement and nervousness spun through me as I answered.

  “Hi.” I practically held my breath, my whole body tensing, anticipating his voice.

  He didn’t disappoint.

&
nbsp; “Hey there.”

  My toes curled in my carpet. God, everything about the man made me hot.

  “My evening freed up,” he told me, that voice still sending chills up and down my spine – the good kind of chills. “Feel like a walk along the High Line?”

  I looked at my clock. It was dark, but it was still early enough that the High Line was open. And it happened to be one of my favorite places in the city.

  “Sounds great,” I eagerly and quickly agreed.

  “When can you be ready?” he asked.

  I looked down at the sweats and ripped shirt I was wearing. “Uh, thirty minutes?” Definitely not enough time to get as sexy as I would like, but then again, it would probably take several hours and a team of professionals to get me that sexy.

  “I’ll come get you,” he offered.

  “On the bike?” I asked, my voice betraying how eager I was to ride with him again. There was something about being pressed tightly up against him that was becoming slightly addictive.

  He laughed. “Sure,” he agreed. “On the bike.”

  After hanging up, I whirled through my apartment like a Looney Tune, trying to find something that was both sexy and bike-riding appropriate. I couldn’t wear my badass black jeans again, and everything else had a flowy hippie-vibe that I usually liked but tonight I wasn’t really feeling. I dug through my closet and finally came up with a pair of professionally ripped jeans and a tight black top that barely contained my boobs. I had a feeling Jack would be a fan.

  And when he picked me up thirty minutes later, the way his eyes lingered on my curves as I came out of my building, made me damn glad I had chosen that outfit. Before I could climb on the bike, Jack snagged my wrist and yanked me against him for a searing kiss.