by J. A. Huss
I glance down at the screen and read her message. I’m right behind you.
Then I glance in the rear-view and see her waving at me from a… what the fuck?
She’s smiling broadly from the driver’s seat of a matte-black Lamborghini Huracán, her curlicue pigtails bobbing around her face.
She honks again. My phone dings. The text reads. Get in. I’m driving.
Oh, I don’t think so. I came here in a motherfucking Ferrari Portofino. Red. So I text back. You get in. I’m driving.
My phone rings. “What?” I ask, so annoyed. Because while the Portofino was an excellent choice, I do have to admit the Huracán has sex written all over it.
“I’m driving. Get in.”
“You’re not driving,” I say. “I’m the man, I do the driving.”
She revs her engine behind me. “We’re taking my car. If you’re a good boy maybe I’ll let you drive it.”
“I could buy my own Huracán, Emma. I don’t need to drive yours.”
I catch her smiling even bigger in the mirror. “We can compare dicks all day long if you want. But I’m not getting out of this car until we arrive at our destination. So. I suggest you pick and choose your battles carefully, Mr. Boston. Because as you can see, I’m sporting pigtails. And what you can’t see is that I’m wearing the same outfit I was that day at the shaved ice stand all those years ago.”
“Hmm,” I say.
“Hmm, indeed. This is your fantasy, right? You want to make me look like that teenager I was back then. Fine. I’ll play along. If you let me drive my car.”
“I don’t know where you got this car, but it’s definitely not yours.”
“It is now. I had it delivered fifteen minutes ago.”
“You bought a two-hundred-thousand-dollar car to impress me?”
“Two-seventy-five with upgrades. But who’s counting? And I didn’t do it to impress you, Jesse. Don’t be dumb. I did it to make you feel inferior.”
“So that’s how this is gonna go?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“You’re trying to hate-fuck me with a car.”
“I… don’t really know if that’s a thing. But sure.”
I hesitate.
“You know you want to drive it.”
“I really don’t have a thing for fast cars, Emma. You miscalculated.”
She revs her engine again and it sounds like a fucking lion. Or a lion ready to fuck. One of the two. “Everyone has a thing for this car. Don’t you want to see the interior? I wish I had time to customize it myself, but oh, well. Listen to the sound system—”
The chorus of Smells Like Teen Spirit blares out into the city. Everyone within a hundred yards turn to look at her.
I check the mirror again and find her banging her head and laughing hysterically, her pigtails flying back and forth.
I text, Stop it. You’re embarrassing yourself.
She pauses her head-banging to text back. Get. In. The. Car. Now. Or I’ll roll down the window and ask that hot-as-fuck jogger to get in instead.
I glance at the jogger. He’s shirtless, sweaty, and not bad-looking—OK. No. He’s hot, even I can see that—and he’s also smiling at Emma like he wants to throw her down on the hood of that Huracán and fuck her right here in front of the whole city.
I get out, toss my keys to her building valet, and intercept the jogger with a hand in the air. “Back off, asshole,” I say.
He sighs, shakes his head, then continues on his way.
The valet dude gives me a ticket just as the Huracán’s passenger window slides down. Emma turns the music off and says, “Aww. He was interested, wasn’t he?”
I open the car door, slide in, and… holy fuck, this is a nice car. The seat hugs my ass and shoulders like it was custom-made for me and the whole thing feels like the cockpit of a very nice private jet.
“Told ya,” Emma coos. Then she shoves the gear shift into reverse, backs up squealing her tires, and zips around my Ferrari like she’s Danica Patrick.
She giggles as we ease our way down Broad Street towards downtown, glancing over at me every few seconds to see if I’m intimidated.
I’m not.
Pffft.
“So where were you planning on taking me?” she asks as we pull up to a stoplight.
“Breakfast,” I say.
“Where?” she insists.
“The Champion Hotel.”
“A hotel,” she scoffs. “Come on. Are you serious? Were you hoping that I’d be so impressed by your little Ferrari and their overpriced eggs and bacon that I’d beg you to take me upstairs so you could get what you missed out on last night?”
“It’s a very nice restaurant,” I scoff back.
“Hmmm,” she says. “I guess. If you’re into boring. Too bad I’m not. And anyway, I already planned our whole day.”
“Did you?” I ask.
“Mmmm-hmm. So we’re going to skip the Champion and go with option B.”
“Which is what?”
She looks at me and winks. “You’ll see.”
Option B is the airport. More specifically, the small one only private jets use, and not the giant commercial one everyone else uses. I raise an eyebrow at her.
She just smiles like a fucking Cheshire cat.
“We’re at the airport, Emma.”
“I can see that.”
“What are you doing?”
“Taking you on the dream date. I did pay ten million dollars for you. And you seem to think I owe you a good time. So… good times are coming your way, buddy. And it all starts here.”
Then she shifts gears and we shoot forward onto the tarmac. I grip the dash and yell, “You can’t drive on the fucking tarmac!”
She laughs and laughs. Then turns the wheel, the Huracán slides to the right, and we stop in front of the biggest corporate jet out there on the market today.
Hot pink in color and Bright Berry Beach splashed across the body.
“Good fucking God,” I say. “Where the fuck are we going? Australia?”
“Oh, we’re not taking that one. They just needed to move it out of the hangar to get my personal jet out.”
“You have a personal jet?” I ask.
“Don’t you?” she counters.
“What the hell are you doing? Are we playing Who’s Got More Money? Because that’s so juvenile.”
“You wanted me to look like a teenager today, right?” Then she shrugs her shoulders, gets out of the car, and walks towards a valet.
I get out and meet up with her just as the valet says, “No problem, Ms. Dumas. Your jet is just about ready. The crew is preparing breakfast now. Why don’t you and your friend board and grab a bite to eat as we get clearance for takeoff?”
“Sounds wonderful, Benjamin. Thank you for coming in on short notice today.”
“It was my pleasure, ma’am.” Benjamin bows to her like she’s some kind of foreign dignitary, then backs away and heads towards the Huracán.
“Jesse!” Emma calls over her shoulder as she walks. “We’re this way, sweetie.”
I have to suck in a deep breath of air to hold my tongue, because she’s treating me like man candy. What the fuck?
Where is she taking me? And why is she doing this?
Oh, I know. She wants to get even. She’s not satisfied with simply drugging me and tying me up, then walking out after I make her come. No.
This is a power grab. The ultimate power grab.
I follow her to the other side of the pink monster jet and find a much smaller Gulfstream. Black. With a hot pink stripe down the side.
Subtlety isn’t one of her strong points.
There’s a red carpet laid out in front of the airstairs and what I can only assume is a flight attendant bowing to her as she approaches. She greets him with both hands in hers, then laughs and tosses her pigtails.
My heart suddenly skips six or seventy-six beats. Because she does look like the girl I met all those ye
ars ago.
And just for a second I forget that this is a game. Just for a second I forget that she’s one-upping me. Just for a second I wonder what it would be like to date Ms. Dumas for real.
And then she opens her mouth and says, “This is Mr. Boston, Miles. I bought him at an auction last night so we’re spending the weekend together.” Then she looks at me and smiles before turning back to the jet and climbing the stairs.
I watch her. Mostly focused on her ass cheeks, which look fantastic in those shorts. But then her eyes, because she stops at the top and looks over her shoulder to say, “Hurry along, Jesse. I don’t like to be kept waiting.” And disappears inside the cabin.
Oh. That’s enough.
I climb the stairs after her thinking… OK. I’ll play. You wanna play, lady? I’ll play.
Before this day is over I am gonna hate-fuck the fuck out of you and show you who’s boss here.
Me.
I’m gonna be the bossiest motherfucking Boston Brother there is.
CHAPTER NINETEEN - EMMA
Even though this jet is one of the smallest on the mainstream luxury market, I had it customized to my exact specifications.
I figured if I had to fully immerse myself in this corporate life, I was going to do it in style. As CFO, I’m the one who makes the most trips. Hannah almost never leaves the corporate office and neither does Mila. It’s Natalie and I who jet-set all over the globe striking deals and forging new relationships.
When we go together we take a whole staff with us, which is why we need the Bright Berry Monster, as we affectionately call her.
But I go alone a lot too. And it’s not environmentally responsible to take the Monster in those situations so a smaller jet was a necessary expense.
Still, it’s quite impressive.
The cabin has been divided into three sections—the galley and seating for the two staff, then the middle section, which is workspace, and finally the aft cabin which is for resting.
Yes, I have a bed in my jet. But I deserve to look fresh when I arrive in Europe for a quick meeting.
I glance over my shoulder at Jesse once he enters the cabin and smile.
Take it all in, asshole. You think you’re rich?
I’m rich, motherfucker.
I don’t need to be wheeled around town in your stupid red Ferrari or brunched at your favorite posh hotel.
Welcome to my life.
I missed out on nothing when you ghosted on me thirteen years ago.
He wants a date? He wants to force me to spend time with him over threats of prison?
Fine.
We’re on a damn date.
I’m gonna date the hell out of this man today and show him who’s boss.
“Come in,” I say. “No, don’t sit there. That’s for the staff. Come this way, Jesse.”
He’s glaring at me. Which is so perfect.
The work station in the center section has been transformed into the dining experience configuration. Fine china with napkins folded into the shape of swans on top, heavy silverware gleaming in the sunlight pouring through the windows, and no fewer than three crystal glasses each.
“This is… a bit much, don’t you think?” Jesse says, feigning indifference.
“Is it really?” I ask. “Or is it just that you’re not the one going over the top?”
“Emma,” he says, unbuttoning his jacket. He’s very smart casual today. Brown sport coat over an untucked, dark-blue button-down shirt and dark jeans.
“May I hang up your coat, sir?” Miles asks him.
“Sure,” Jesse mumbles, removing the coat and handing it over.
“Would you like coffee this morning?” Miles asks as Jesse takes his seat across from me.
“No, thanks. Just water for me. I’m dehydrated from last night.” He glares at me when he says this. Like I need reminding that he was drugged.
“I’ll have water as well,” I say, brightly.
Miles disappears into the forward cabin, drawing the pocket door closed behind him so we can have some privacy.
“Where are we going?” Jesse asks.
“Where do you think we’re going?”
“I have no clue, Emma. But wherever it is, I need to be home tonight.”
I shrug. “My wish is their command. I can have you home whenever you’d like. In fact, we don’t even have to go. We can call this charade off right now and just go back to our regularly scheduled Saturday mornings.”
“And get you out of this ridiculous trip?” He laughs. “Not a chance.”
“Good. I’m looking forward to our ridiculous trip.”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“You’ll see when we arrive. Isn’t this how the billionaire date is done? The rich guy comes in and sweeps the poor girl off her feet with promises of fantastic food and exotic trips inside pretentious flying machines?”
“You forgot the most important part.”
“Which is what?”
“Hot sex in my bedroom at the end.” He grins like he’s so charming. Like this is a fantastic joke.
“You mean hot sex in my bedroom. Since I’m the one in charge of this date.”
He smirks again, then looks down at the table, shaking his head. “I don’t give two flying fucks where we have the hot sex, Emma.”
“You presume a lot, you know that?”
“Do I?”
I nod.
“I wouldn’t call it presumptuous. Not after the way I made you come on my face last night.”
I open my mouth with a surprised, “Oh, really.”
He shrugs. “I’m just really good at it. Nothing to be ashamed of.”
“You cannot shame the CFO of Bright Berry Beach Cosmetics with a little dirty talk, Mr. Boston.”
“Funny. Because you’re blushing a bright berry shade of pink right now.”
I take a deep breath. And luckily Miles appears and tells us to get ready for takeoff, then disappears behind the pocket door just as the plane begins to taxi across the tarmac.
But Jesse is on a roll now. Because he says, “I like the outfit, by the way. And the pigtails too.” Now he’s really grinning. And the worst part is that I am blushing. I can feel the heat creep up my cheeks.
“It’s not like I had a choice.”
He rubs the day-old stubble on his chin. “Everyone has a choice, Emma. You didn’t have to buy me last night, but you did. You must have really fallen hard for me back in the day if you were willing to spend that kind of money on revenge. Especially revenge that backfired.”
“It was a group decision,” I say. “It was actually Hannah who bought you, not me. The CFO in me said you were a poor investment.”
“Then why are we doing this?”
“Because you threatened me with prison if I didn’t show up when you arrived.”
“And the feminist inside you couldn’t handle that?”
“Fuck you.” I laugh. “You’re just pissed I showed up with a better car. And now you’re feeling insecure because you know there’s nothing in this world you own that can impress me.”
He stands up, grabs his cock through his jeans, and says, “Wanna bet?”
I can’t help myself. I look.
He’s not hard but I swear to God, he gets hard as I watch.
My eyes dart up to his and he’s grinning wide. “Told ya.”
“Just sit down.”
He sits, still smiling, and then reaches across the table and grabs both my hands before I even realize he’s doing it.
I try to pull away.
Mmmm… that’s a lie. It’s a half-hearted effort at best. But he squeezes them anyway, just to make sure.
“You’re gonna regret this game you’re playing.”
“You think so?”
He nods. “Yeah, see, I’ve got something else you want.”
“Let me guess, you have two cocks hidden in those tight jeans?”
“Are they tight?” he asks, looking down at himself, th
en back up at me. “Nah, that’s not it. I have your… attention, Emma. You’re completely under my spell.”
I laugh. Loud.
“Maybe you forgot about me all these years, and maybe you didn’t. Doesn’t matter. Because now that I’m back you’ll never get me out of your head again. And if we don’t finish what we started last night you’ll spend the rest of your days wondering what if.”
I’m just about to say something snide in return when the plane picks up speed and we jet down the runway. Jesse squeezes my hands again and I make the mistake of looking into his eyes.
Mesmerizing blue eyes that bring back memories of those two days we spent together long ago. His hair is neater now. Not tousled from the beach wind. His jaw has more stubble, and his shoulders are broader.
But it’s still him.
The plane lifts up off the ground and my stomach becomes light and filled with a million fluttery butterflies.
And he’s right. I am under his spell.
Because that feeling in my gut isn’t due to rapid acceleration or altitude change.
It’s all the what-if’s and could’ve-beens.
He lets go of my hands and leans back, frowning now as the plane levels out and then I realize I’ve been holding my breath and let it out. But that anxious feeling doesn’t go away. It actually gets worse.
“Why are you looking at me that way?” I ask.
He just stares at me for a moment. Miles opens the pocket door, ready to take our breakfast order, but Jesse stands and says, “You know what, Miles? We’re gonna hold off on breakfast.” He shoots me a cunning grin. “In fact, come back in an hour. By then we’ll be ready for breakfast in bed.”
CHAPTER TWENTY - JESSE
It’s a bold move. One that definitely comes with a high probability of backfiring.
But I’m nothing if not bold. And besides, all of life’s greatest rewards come from taking audacious risks.
Miles looks at Emma. She stutters out, “Ummm… well… thank you, Miles. That’s all for now.”
Miles then looks at me and I swear to God, there’s a gleam in that dude’s eyes. He backs off and says, “Very well. I’ll check back in an hour, Mr. Boston.”
