Stop thinking of me as Mr. Fish Sticks, he had written. Talking to dearest Dad. Will explain shortly.
"I'm well aware that it's my job," Jack continued, still speaking into the phone. His words were more tense now, as if his father had moved on to a topic that was nearer and dearer to his heart, and where Jack was less confident of his footing. "But don't you think that Lena's just a tad more important than getting this plant pushed through a couple of weeks early?" A pause, then: "Yes, you are her legal guardian, but I'm assuming you want my sister to go to college?" Another pause. "I know you can get her admitted into any university you choose, but Lena isn't a robot. If you don't want your daughter to drop out of the next boarding school you send her to, then you need to give me a few days of leeway to build Lena's excitement about her future."
Jack was drumming his pen on the desk so loudly now that I thought he might dent the surface, and I put my own worries on hold long enough to walk around the wooden expanse to his side. It felt unbearably bold to reach out and begin to knead my employer's neck muscles, especially in light of his extreme reaction the last time that I'd offered a reassuring brush of the hand. In fact, I was slowly coming to understand that, even if Jack had enjoyed the attention of dozens of glamorous women in the past, he may never have been touched by someone who simply cared about him as a person.
So I was unsurprised when my boss's already tense muscles tightened further as I began my massage. But then Jack angled his head to shoot a glance up at my face. Whatever he saw there must have reassured him, because I was instantly rewarded by a loosening of the tightness in my companion's shoulders. Jack's pen stopped striking the desk, and I could now just barely make out his father's voice emanating from the phone.
"Lena will do what I tell her to," the older Mr. Reynolds was saying, his voice entirely calm, without a trace of the emotion that filled his son's. "This plant is a very strategic initiative for Clean Power's future growth, as you well know, and it requires your full attention. But I guess a few personal days won't put us too far behind schedule." The man sighed, as if Jack's plan to take time off for his sister's sake rather than pouring every waking hour into taking over the world was simply the cross that Mr. Reynolds senior had to bear. "Go. Have fun," Mr. Reynolds continued. "I'll talk to you next week."
Without a farewell, Jack clicked the end button on his phone and carefully set the device down on his desk...before sending his pen flying across the room with such force that it gouged a hole in the far wall. "Fuck!" he exploded, the pent-up rage that my employer had been carefully hiding from his father coming out in the single word. Florabelle responded with an expletive of her own as Jack's head dropped onto his desk.
But as quickly as his rage had arisen, it disappeared, and Jack's usual calm demeanor returned. "You look even more enticing all cleaned up," my employer greeted me, swiveling his chair around and tugging me down into his lap. The move startled a laugh from my lips, and even though I was terrified at the thought of being caught in a compromising position if Shirley or Lena walked by the open door, I allowed myself to lean into his warmth.
"I want to kiss you until neither of us can breathe," Jack whispered huskily into my ear. "But I know I owe you an explanation before my sister shows up." And, to my dismay, my employer barely allowed his lips to brush across the skin of my neck before he set both of us onto our feet.
Chapter 16
"What I told my father probably sounded bad," Jack offered, returning us to the unpleasant topic of our power-plant battle. He came out from behind his desk and began to pace across his vast expanse of office, elucidating why he required a workspace nearly as large as my entire trailer—so that the businessman could vent his frustrations without damaging the wallpaper.
"Not everything you said sounded bad," I soothed, despite my best intentions to take my employer to task for his anti-Cuadic strategizing. It was that lost-kitten impulse again—Jack was clearly in pain, and I couldn't quite make myself strike him while he was down. "I'm glad Lena has someone to stand up for her," I continued. "Your father...doesn't sound like a very nice person."
"He's not," Jack agreed, and I was glad to see that my words seemed to have had their desired effect. The man I yearned to kiss was back, Jack's coiled energy once again contained within his handsome form, the frantic intensity that had driven his pacing now stilled. My companion let the silence lengthen as he bent to set up a card table that had been leaning against the wall, and then, without any prompting from me, he lined the surface with a thick layer of newspapers out of the basket that I'd provided. "Will this be a good spot for Florabelle?" he asked.
At my nod, Jack continued to talk, even though his hands were gentle now as he lifted the cockatiel's cage into place. "I know this thing we're starting, me, you..." He waved his hands between us to take in the budding relationship that neither of us was brave enough to name. "I know it's complicated by the power-plant struggle. But I want you to know that, no matter how I spin it to my father, I'm not going to stab you in the back. I need some time to figure out how your work and my work can coexist, but I'm hoping we can call a truce on that front for the next few days." Jack's eyes bore into mine, and the earnestness of his words felt much more real than anything I'd heard him say before. Well, except for his almost-apology in my kitchen two days prior.
Not wanting to break the flow of my companion's explanation, I simply nodded and was glad when Jack kept speaking. "I was hoping we could treat this trip as a vacation. No worrying about work, just getting to know one another. I want us to have fun."
"I'd like that," I said simply, allowing a real smile to spread across my face.
"A perfect romantic getaway," Lena interjected, stepping through the door. "Just you two...and your chaperone."
***
"I thought for sure you'd balk at the airplane," Jack said as we settled into the private jet he'd commandeered to begin our adventure, but I was almost too giddy to reply. For the first time in my life, I'd be traveling by air, heading further away from home than I'd ever been in my life. My dreams of seeing new places would finally come true, and I couldn't wait for us to take off.
Still, I forced myself to keep the breathiness out of my voice when I answered Jack's implied question. "People think air travel is dangerous, but it's really not," I confided. "One percent of American deaths occur in car accidents, but your lifetime odds of perishing during an airplane crash are about one in seven thousand. I'm not worried."
Lena had disappeared behind headphones and a tablet, making the two of us feel virtually alone in the cabin...which was a good thing because my recitation of statistics set Jack off in a bellowing laugh that probably carried all the way to the pilot's cabin. When his mirth didn't seem likely to stop anytime soon, I couldn't help continuing: "I know I'm neurotic, but at least I'm rational about it."
"Thanks for that," my companion said at last, wiping tears out of his eyes. "Unlike you, I'm terrified of flying. So, fasten your seat belt, and then take my hand."
Jack's commands were dangerously easy to obey, and the jet was already rolling down the tarmac before I was able to focus on anything other than the warm weight of my companion's hand in mine. Then the plane accelerated, and I almost didn't notice that its nose was tipping up into the sky. In fact, I wasn't sure whether my sudden inability to breathe came from the change in gravity, or from Jack's presence so close by my side.
"I love this part," Lena said moments later, as the plane began to level off, and I realized that the teenager had returned her attention to the real world, putting her electronic toys away in order to experience liftoff. Not that something so run-of-the-mill (by her standards, not mine) could capture the teenager's interest for long, as her next words proved: "So, what's the plan?"
Jack had been in charge of mapping out our adventure, so we turned to him for details. "I thought we'd hit Harvard today," our trip leader started. "Drive up to Yale and Princeton over the weekend, then fly to Stanford on Monday. Soun
d like fun?"
Fun? Perhaps. Wise? No. Despite my best intentions, I could tell that the corners of my lips were curving downward. Of course Mr. Fish Sticks would think that a college tour consisted of a visit to the Big Three, plus one. Wasn't that the typical big-money response—to go for the most prestigious options without even considering what best suited the individual? True, Lena was Jack's sister and this was his trip, but still....
"Okay, what did I do wrong now?" Jack asked as my silence lengthened. My employer had that look on his face that meant he was reading my mind and was unhappy that I was mentally referring to his frozen-food entrée yet again, and my lips twitched up into a hint of a smile at his perspicacity. "Do you need to get back sooner?" my employer supplied.
"No." That question, at least, was easy to field. "I don't have to be home until Tuesday evening, for a Cuadic meeting." I glanced in Jack's direction, not sure if he'd take advantage of the information to derail my responsibilities toward my other job, but he simply nodded and waited for me to elaborate. "And I can see why you'd want to hit the top universities," I continued. "But I don't think they're really the right fit for Lena."
"My sister is smart enough to get into any of those schools," Jack bit out, his words instantly heating up to combative levels, and this time I really did smile. Lena was lucky to have a defender like her big brother, especially since her father would probably fit the girl's own criteria for assholedom. At the moment, the teenager seemed quite content to let me and Jack duke out her future—I almost thought I saw her reach for popcorn as she gazed avidly in our direction.
"Of course Lena could get in," I placated, before Jack grew any angrier. "But I think a small liberal arts college would be a better fit for your sister. They're more personalized. Students call their professors by their first names and don't get lost in huge lecture halls."
I could see my employer's shoulders relax as he realized I was just trying to look out for Lena rather than denigrating her abilities. Still, he wasn't willing to give in so easily. "There are some really good schools in that category," Jack conceded. "But names like Williams and Reed don't open doors. Eight U.S. presidents have attended Harvard, and the university's alumni network will help Lena go places."
"But are they places I want to go?" Lena interjected, finally choosing to join in our debate. "Ginny, show him the book."
My face colored, knowing that Jack would read far too much into my battered copy of Fiske Guide to Colleges, even though I'd been careful to remove the sheet of test scores while packing last night. Worse, everything my employer guessed from the dog-eared pages would probably be true, and I didn't want his pity. But Lena was hard to deny, so I unzipped my backpack and handed over the dream book.
Jack accepted the tattered tome as if it were a holy relic, his intent gaze making it clear that he understood that I was offering a piece of my soul up for his perusal. Then he opened to the first bookmarked page and began to read. Even from a distance, I could see where I'd underlined statistics, circled highlights, and penciled notes into the margins, and I cringed to think of what my younger self might have considered to be the most important facets of those yearned-for institutions. Did I really want to share my sixteen-year-old personality with Jack's astute eye? No, I didn't. But I suspected I also didn't have any other choice.
I expected my employer to flip through the pages quickly, then to reenter our discussion, but instead, he seemed content to settle in and read. The text was nearly a decade out of date, so it wasn't a very useful research tool...unless Jack was interested in learning about something other than college stats.
"He'll pore over that thing for hours if you let him," Lena said at last. "Let's go up to the cockpit and see if they'll let me fly the plane."
Watch an inexperienced teenager pilot a jet at thirty-thousand feet, or stand by while Jack delved into my soul? The correct answer was clear. "Sure," I agreed. "Sounds like fun."
***
Before landing, we settled on a compromise—the three of us would attend the interview that Jack had already set up with a Harvard admissions counselor, then we'd let Lena decide where to go from there. I could tell that my employer hoped his sister would fall in love at first sight as soon as she set foot on the campus of one of his alma maters, but instead I was the person whose tongue was dragging on the pavement, leaving drool streaks behind as we walked down pathways emptied out for the summer. Yes, an ivy-league university wouldn't have been my first choice for Lena's education, but I could almost smell the knowledge clinging to the university's brick walls, and I craved that wisdom like I sometimes ached for chocolate.
If I'd thought I was walking on air two days prior at the lake cleanup, now I was floating in the stratosphere. Lena pranced ahead like an overeager puppy while Jack and I strolled up a tree-lined pathway, and when my companion's arm tentatively settled around my shoulders, I slowed my steps to lean into his embrace. We'd just come out of one of the libraries, so book titles were spinning through my mind with wild abandon. And at the same time, the warmth of Jack's body felt like a furnace setting my own skin on fire...even through three layers of clothing, with no skin-on-skin contact. Seeing that Lena's attention was otherwise occupied, I seized the moment and lifted on tiptoes to plunder Jack's mouth, an action that my companion definitely didn't seem to mind.
"Libraries turn you on," Jack purred. "Noted." Then, as Lena turned back around to see what the holdup was, my companion broke away to stride past his kid sister and then walk backwards up the paved path in front of us. "On your left, you'll see the glorious University Hall, designed by Charles Bulfinch, class of 1781," he boomed in his best imitation of a college tour guide, and Lena and I both descended into uncontrollable giggles.
***
An hour later and a mere minute before our appointment in the admissions office was slated to begin, Lena slipped into the bathroom. Relieved of duty for the moment, I sank into a chair, relishing the stolen seconds of quiet.
Except that it quickly became apparent that Jack had been waiting to get me alone all afternoon, and for a less pleasant reason than to steal kisses. "So, there's something I wanted to discuss with you," my companion said quickly, before I could offer up any comments on the beauty of his school. "You should be aware that I set this up as a joint interview, for you and Lena both."
"A joint interview?" I didn't get it. "You mean, you want me to keep your sister company while you wait outside?"
"No," Jack said. "We'll all be in there, but I told the admissions counselor that you and Lena each want to attend Harvard." I opened my mouth to deny the scenario, but my employer spoke over my objection. "It's believable," he continued. "You dog-eared that page in your book, and Harvard does have an extension program for adults. And the joint interview is really just to make Lena feel more comfortable. She looks up to you."
I eyed Jack dubiously, knowing I was being played in true Mr. Fish Sticks fashion but unable to figure out exactly what my companion's intentions were. While I wanted to get to the bottom of his joint-interview decision, water running into the bathroom sink proved that we only had a few more seconds before Lena would once again be standing in front of us. Best not to fight in front of our charge. So I just shrugged off whatever scheme my employer had come up with and, moments later, allowed Jack to lead the way into the nearby office.
The admissions counselor was just as stuffy as I'd expected anyone associated with Harvard to be, and I pasted a fake smile on my face as the official shook hands with Jack and thanked him for his generous contributions over the years. The man (whose name I missed as I peered at the university memorabilia lining his walls) seemed nice enough when greeting Lena, drawing the girl out about her interests and typing an occasional note into a digital file on his laptop as they spoke. I still didn't think Harvard was the best school for the girl, but I was glad to see that she was making a good impression.
"And I understand we have two potential students with us today," the admissions counselo
r continued, pulling me back into the conversation with a kindly smile, although his words sounded condescending to my overly sensitive ears. "Jack didn't have all of your information available when we spoke this morning, so I couldn't finish building your file before you came in. Do you mind giving me your social security number and date of birth?"
I did mind, but wasn't rude enough to say so. As I rattled off the digits, I hoped against hope that Harvard's computer system wasn't as advanced as I knew it would be. Surely data from seven years ago wouldn't still be kicking around within their internal server?
No such luck. The man's brow furrowed as he pulled up the information that was evidently waiting inside his system. Now the counselor's voice was more respectful as he looked in my direction, no longer seeing the older potential student as the charity case that required a hefty donation to even be worth considering. My SAT scores, my 4.0 average, my valedictorian credit would all be there in front of his eyes. And one more thing.... "Virginia Moore, right?" he queried. Then, at my nod: "It looks like you already applied...and were admitted."
Chapter 17
"You were admitted to Harvard." Jack's voice was full of carefully controlled fury as he shepherded us toward the limousine waiting to ferry our group back to the hotel. My boss couldn't get off the campus fast enough now that my sordid past had been revealed, although I wasn't really sure why he was so angry. I'd love to think that his romantic heart was saddened by missing out on a shared campus experience, since we could have potentially become a couple at the tender age of eighteen had I attended his alma mater. But, in reality, I had a feeling that Jack was simply annoyed that I no longer fit the square hole he'd been attempting to peg me into.
Despite the Gentleman's Riches: Sweet Billionaire Romance (For Richer or Poorer Book 1) Page 12