Trust Me

by Isabel Jolie

  “He is? Where?”

  “Surprise. Just like you with Sam. You are two lucky bitches. You have romantic men. What do I have? Enough bizarre dates to publish a dating memoir.” She taps her nose. “Maybe I should pitch that? Isn’t that what nonfiction writers do? Pitch their idea before writing it?”

  “I don’t know. You could Google it,” I say as I ponder the possibility that Jackson and Sam got together and planned this weekend. It would be fun, but I’m kind of hoping for a weekend alone with him. Maybe he’s not ready for a weekend away with just us? It is kind of a daunting step. And just last night I was debating even going.

  Delilah tugs on my hair as we’re heading out of the elevator with me wheeling my well-worn black carry-on behind me. “Hey, you okay?”

  I shake my head to clear it as we step out into the lobby. “Yeah. You made me wonder if Sam and Jackson might have gotten together to plan something. It’s kind of coincidental we’re going away the same weekend, right?”

  “No, I don’t think so. Jackson and Anna seem to go away at least one weekend a month. They usually go places they can take the dog, though. But still, given they’re both workaholics, they like to escape together.” She bounces a bit on her toes. “Yeah, I guess it’s possible. You said Sam and Jackson are friends, right?”

  “Yep. They work together a lot too.” I haven’t been a part of the meetings, but I’ve done a ton of prep work for Jackson for various projects they are working on. Investments and acquisitions they are exploring. Jackson’s even been considering leaving his firm to start something up with Sam. Jackson has shared a lot about it. Sam hasn’t mentioned it at all.

  Delilah squeezes my shoulder. “Look, even if you are meeting up with them, it doesn’t mean anything. Don’t second-guess. Enjoy. Women can second-guess the shit out of a new relationship. Create so much anxiety they miss the magic of falling in love.” She wags her finger at me. “Do not do that. You enjoy. Enjoy each moment. Be in the moment. Not in your head.”

  I can’t help but smile at my golden friend. A romantic optimist. I pull her in for another hug as Sam walks through the door.

  “Hello, there.” He’s smiling big enough that both his dimples are showing. He bends and presses his lips to mine then turns to Delilah, extending his hand. “Hi. I’m Sam.”

  Delilah places her hands over her heart. “Hi, there. I’m Delilah. And aren’t you just a bundle of goodness.” She tosses an approving smile my way as they shake.

  Sam takes my luggage handle in one hand and reaches for my hand with his other. “I’ve heard a lot about you, Delilah. Glad to finally meet you.”

  “Same here.” Delilah grins. “Well, I have to get back to work. You two have fun.” She speeds out of the lobby and right before opening the doors turns and says, “Olivia, in the moment!” She blows a kiss and walks out the door.

  Sam squints from the sunlight through the glass and I expect a question about her parting comment, but instead, he squeezes my hand and asks, “Ready? Car’s outside.”

  Chapter 18

  Sam

  “Where are we going?” Olivia asks with an eager smile the moment the car turns right onto 82nd Street.

  I lean over to secure her hand in mine and reach my left index finger over to tap her nose. “That’s a surprise.” I wiggle my eyebrows and grin. I’ve never done anything like this before. Of course, I’ve never dated someone I wanted to whisk away.

  She shifts slightly to watch the city whiz by. I imagine she’s wondering where we’re headed. Given we are flying out of Teterboro, New Jersey, she’s gonna have a hard time guessing what we’re doing. I feel like a kid who is hiding in an awesome place with the knowledge the seeker is going to be hunting for a long, long time. “I like Delilah.” I say.

  Olivia’s wearing a sweater dress that hugs her curves and tall suede boots. The same tall boots she wore on our second date. Well, our first date solo. Her dark, glossy hair and large sunglasses make her look a bit like an actress. Effortless elegance. She turns to me and flashes her brilliant white smile. “She’s the best. It was really kind of her to come up on her lunch break to help me.”

  “Help you with what?”

  She glances down to the floor, sort of timid, and mutters, “Nothing.”

  I’m not at all sure it’s nothing, and I angle my head, trying to decide if I should push harder.

  She tilts her head to the side and then, as if she’s admitting an embarrassing secret, “I wasn’t sure what to pack. I was nervous.”

  A huge smile breaks out on my face. “You were nervous to be with me?”

  “Well, yeah. We’ve just started, you know, and I don’t know where we’re going.”

  I tug her hand. “We’ve just started what?”

  “I don’t know what. Whatever it is we’re doing.”

  “Dating. We are dating. I want to hear you say it.”

  The corners of her lips lift into a smile. “Dating. We just started dating.”

  I unbuckle my seatbelt and slide closer to her and give her a long, slow kiss. She must use some sort of rosemary mint shampoo. It smells fresh and inviting, and I hope she never switches to another kind. A soft whimper escapes her as we kiss. My hand slides up her thigh. My erection is hard and uncomfortable in the confines of my jeans, and I can’t help but wonder if she might entertain joining the mile-high club.

  I slide back into my seat, putting space between us while still holding her hand. There’s no divider in a Tesla, and I don’t need to make Wes feel uncomfortable. I trace her knuckles with soft kisses. “As ego flattering as it is for you to be nervous about what you wear around me, let me tell you. There is no need to be nervous.”

  She smiles as she shifts in her seat, and her sweater dress rises higher, exposing more of her shapely thighs. Yes, she might be willing to join the mile-high club.

  Traffic is light, given the time of day, and we make it to the small airport quickly. The car turns, and we pass the blue and white sign that reads “Airport Teterboro.”

  She immediately asks, “We’re flying somewhere?”

  “Yep. Guess where.” I can’t hold back my boyish grin because surprises are fun.

  She shifts to look out the window, watching carefully as if she’s trying to figure out which plane is ours. She’s doing what I’d do without missing a beat. She’s sizing up the jets, planning to use the size of the plane as a clue. As we drive around to the back of the airport, there are several jets lined up for takeoff. One of the jets bears an Esprit logo, but from this angle, it’s not visible.

  She wrinkles her nose in indecision, a cute little thing I’ve noticed she does. “Paris?” she asks, hesitant.

  I laugh. “Paris? Wouldn’t that be a little too expected?”

  She grins. “Okay. Let me guess continent, and when I get that right, we’ll go to country and then I’ll work from there.”

  “Okay. And I’ll toss in a hint. You’ve never been there. Or at least it wasn’t on your list.”

  She gives me a look that says, ‘I seriously doubt that.’ And she could be right. It wasn’t in her list of locations she told me she visited, but that doesn’t mean she gave me her life’s full list. Now I’m a little nervous. I want to take her somewhere she’s never been before. A first for her with me. Of course, I planned this around a business trip, instead of aiming for a remote destination.

  “Europe?”

  “Nope.”

  “North America”

  “Yep.”

  She squints and wrinkles her nose. So cute. “Now you’ve got me stumped. I’m pretty sure we’re going to a city, and I’ve been to the big ones.” She mutters, almost to herself, “Maybe it’s not a city.”

  The car stops by our jet, and we step out. Our flight attendant greets us and asks, “You do both have your passports, correct, sir?”

  Olivia turns to me. “Canada?”

  “Yep.” I’m smirking at her as we follow the flight attendant into the jet and Wes collects our l
uggage.

  “Montreal?” she asks, sounding unsure.

  I lean down and loudly smack a kiss on her lips. “Winner, winner, chicken dinner. How’d you guess?” There are a lot of places in Canada we could go.

  “Well, because of all the cities in Canada that I could think of that I hadn’t been to, Montreal sounds the most romantic.”

  “I thought so too. You haven’t been there, right?”

  “No, I haven’t.”

  I want to fist bump someone. Yes.

  We get seated. I have a business meeting this afternoon, so we’re taking the Esprit jet. The jet features two seats on each row facing each other, with a walnut table between the seats. The table can slide away if it’s not needed. It’s a good configuration for business discussions or to get work done.

  This is a business trip, but it’s also a two birds with one stone kind of event for me. And I have no intention of taking my laptop out, because on this flight, I’m focused on Olivia.

  The flight attendant offers to bring us something to drink. She mentions she’ll be serving lunch after takeoff and then heads to the front to sit in an area for the crew. Glancing around the cabin, it hits me we don’t have complete privacy. I make a mental note to look at other jet options for the future. With Olivia by my side, the mile-high club now resides as a recent addition to my life’s wish list.

  The attendant delivers Prosecco for Olivia and Wild Turkey on ice for me. We’ve pulled out the table between us, a smooth walnut piece wide enough to accommodate two laptops. No, I’m not sure I like this jet configuration at all.

  Olivia buckles her seatbelt and pointedly watches me until I also buckle mine. “So, tell me more about this stalker person. I have more questions.”

  “I’m sure you do.” I lean back and rest my arms on the armrests. “Shoot.”

  “How did it happen?” she asks, concern etched on the outset of caring blue eyes. Her long hair drapes over her shoulder, curving around her breast. I force myself to return my gaze to her face. She taps her fingers on the armrest as she awaits my answer.

  We do need to have this conversation. By dating me, she’s placing herself in some degree of danger. I’ll do what I can to mitigate it, and while I like my plan, she should be aware. “You mean how did the obsession start?”

  “Yes.” She leans forward and wraps her fingers around the stemless wine glass.

  “I wish I knew. When we went public, our PR team was out doing everything they could to get press. It’s a big part of going public. We hired an agency that specialized in investor relations. Tried to get lots of press leading up to IPO day.”

  She tilts her head and crosses her legs. “My background is in advertising, you know? I’m familiar with the PR world.”

  Of course she is. She could be running a division of an ad agency in Europe right now if she hadn’t turned down a job offer. “Well, one small angle,” I say, placing my thumb and index finger close together, “was to push the fact that the two founders are bachelors. We were in our early thirties. It was easy to get some of that press and buzz, and I didn’t think much of it. A photographer came out, took some photos of Collin and me one afternoon, and that was it. The vast majority of people don’t care at all what a CEO looks like. But then we had a successful IPO.” I stare out the window at the bright sunlight, not sure how to explain. “Things started to change. At some point in that whole press phase is when it all started.”

  “What do you mean by ‘things started to change’?”

  “Well, it’s not just this one woman, right? Suddenly, I’m a CEO at a public company worth close to a billion dollars. My assistant’s overwhelmed with charity invitations. I walk in a room, and, yeah, to some degree it’s business. People know deals can be made fast if you start with the CEO. Which is fine, right? I built my business by seeking out the right people too. But then, after the IPO, shit became real. People started telling me my kids will need security because they’re a kidnap risk. Now, every time I’m on a date, my brother is telling me to be sure to ‘wrap it up’ because someone might want to trap me.” She giggles, and I grip the armrest. It’s crazy and sounds funny, but it’s not so funny when you’re living it. It’s not so funny when it actually happened.

  “Did it feel like it happened overnight?”

  “Yes and no. For the most part, it’s all fine.” I pause, thinking about how to best explain it. “It’s a bizarre sort of celebrity. The vast majority of people have no idea who I am. The financial freedom I gained has taken away a bit of the trusting person I used to be. Want to be. And that part, I’m not really okay with.”

  Our lunch is served, and we take a moment to get our food set up. Once we are alone again, Olivia cocks her head and asks, “The IPO led to a form of fame?”

  “Yes.” I sip my drink as a touch of turbulence has us both sitting straighter in our seats. The plane levels out, and I continue. “But the thing is, actors, they seek out fame. When they’re struggling to make it, some part of them wants that fame. Me? I’m a geek. A coder. A business guy. A ranch hand. I didn’t ask for fame. And for the most part, I don’t have it. The only people into me are into my bank account. Not how I look in a photo or the character I played in a movie.”

  She chews on the corner of her lip. I want to bite that full lower cherry-red lip. She smiles at me and hesitates. Her hesitation tells me she’s second-guessing what she’s about to say. I bump her foot with mine and gesture for her to say whatever it is she’s holding back. “Are you sure it’s not because of how you look in a photograph? Because, I didn’t know who you were at all, and I couldn’t stop looking at you in that coffee shop.”

  This woman is genuine and real. She’s sophisticated, but not so hoity-toity that she’ll hold back from saying what she’s thinking. Back in the coffee shop, I’d immediately thought she knew who I was. But, in reality, she’d simply been a girl checking out a guy in a coffee shop. I sip my drink and notice the light reflecting off her diamond earrings. “You know, before the IPO, I never questioned a woman’s intentions. If she approached me in a bar, I’d move forward if I had an interest. Now, I always wonder.”

  “When did you realize you had a stalker?”

  I run my hand through my hair, thinking back. “It took a while. At first, I thought it was in my head. It was a coincidence that this woman was on a bench outside my work and outside my—well, at the time, it was a hotel. Then she somehow got my cell phone number. The frequency of hang-ups and texts started disrupting my ability to work. I mentioned it to Bill. He had my cell changed. Wanted to put security on me. Started sharing stats on stalkers. She broke into my hotel room and was waiting for me one night. I opened the door, and she was lying on the bed in only lingerie. I backed right out and went down to the lobby. Police came. Bill took over.” There’s more to the story, but I’ve shared enough. I pull up the photos I asked Bill to send to me and pass my phone to her.

  She takes the phone from me and flips through the photos. “I can’t tell much with the toboggan and scarves. She looks like she’s wearing layers. Is she homeless?”

  “No. She has an apartment. You’re right. Those photos are recent, and it hasn’t been that cold. Maybe it’s a symptom of her mental illness? Her husband left her. She doesn’t have anyone in her life. I haven’t seen her in person in ages. She used to be more put together.”

  She passes the phone back to me. I glance through the photos again. They were taken on the street recently. She’s wearing enormous sunglasses, her signature incognito look. Her clothes are ratty. So different from her streamlined, professional look from years ago.

  Olivia thoughtfully toys with her wine glass, swirling the light golden liquid, then changes direction with her questions. “Well, now you have security. And the security keeps you safe from her?”

  Frustration rises with her question, and I clinch my fist. I’m not a weakling. Regardless of what the board believes, I can keep myself safe. “I suppose. Some days it drives me nuts. Mostl
y when Bill makes a comment that lets me know his team has been reporting back to him. That he knows every single thing I do. That I’ve lost a degree of privacy. But Bill is head of Esprit security. It’s not like he’s trying to be invasive. His goal is to keep me safe. Can’t fault him for that. And another way of looking at it is if someone stole my laptop, the amount of damage they could do to our company could be monumental. Not that anyone would, but as the stakes rise, the risks do too.”

  She reaches out and takes my hand. Squeezes it. Her touch soothes my frustration. As a rule, I try not to think too much about how my life has changed. Try to focus on the business like I always have and corral the bullshit away from my day-to-day. Talking about it kind of reminds me of the negatives, but those blue eyes. Her touch. There’s an energy current between us that draws me to her. Her touch simultaneously invigorates and relaxes. It’s a powerful, heady combination.

  We drop the subject for the remainder of the flight. Our driver meets us on the tarmac and delivers us to the Ritz-Carlton, my favorite hotel in Montreal. Elizabeth Taylor stayed here with one of her husbands. There’s an eight-foot portrait of her in the lobby to commemorate her visit.

  After checking in, I lead her to the spa. I’ve got a meeting I need to attend, so I’ve planned an afternoon of pampering for her. I hope she enjoys it. It’s the kind of thing my dad would do for my mom. She always seemed to enjoy it.

  Once I get this meeting out of the way, it’s me and my girl for the rest of the weekend. My conscience tears at me, reminding me I haven’t told her everything. But I’ve told her enough. There’s no need to get her paranoid and burden her with the bullshit. It’s all under control.

  Chapter 19

  Olivia

  The Ritz-Carlton is one of my preferred hotel chains, and I’m impressed with Sam’s pick. I love the Ritz bedding. The crisp Frette linens and thick comforters are a step above. Sam checks in while I look around the lobby of the Ritz-Carlton Montreal. I pause to study two glamourous, oversized paintings coated in glitter. One’s of Elizabeth Taylor, the other of Marilyn Monroe.