My eyes dropped from gazing at the ocean to watching his hands on the steering wheel. They were big, with a light dusting of hair and prominent veins. I remembered what those hands felt like, threading through my hair, holding my head in place while he kissed me.
I flushed hot, and almost as if he could read my thoughts, his head turned. "Are you warm? Do you need the air on?"
He reached out and cut the heater on my seat.
I shook my head, shot him a glance and then turned toward my window, away from him, watching the scrubby coastal hills out the right side of the car.
"So, uh, should we talk about what happened the other night in the alley?" I finally heard myself ask. It was a question that had been nagging at me ever since it had happened. But I hadn't overtly planned on uttering it out loud.
He was silent for another stretch of time while the Range Rover ate up the miles with its smooth glide along the highway. I didn't dare look at him, nor did I even move. I was too afraid he'd snap my head off.
Finally, he let out a sigh. "It shouldn't have happened and it won't happen again. I apologize."
I frowned. That wasn't what I'd wanted him to say. Maybe something like, "You're so hot and sexy I couldn't keep my hands off you." Or, "I hate you because you are beautiful." Or, "In vain I have struggled, it will not do. My feelings will not be repressed...You must allow me to tell you how ardently I want to fuck you." My mouth quirked at my modern take on Mr. Darcy's classic words. Yes, those would do nicely.
Instead, I'd gotten a curt apology. Like he had belched in my presence instead of hand delivering an amazing orgasm. That thought made me laugh. And when the laugh bubbled up, it could not be repressed--much like Mr. Darcy's feelings. The laugh gurgled up and over like lava spilling from a volcano.
Soon, I was laughing so hard I was crying, and the more my hilarity increased, the grumpier he got. It started with a frown, then he squeezed the steering wheel, shifting in his seat. Meanwhile, I was wiping tears from my eyes with the back of my hand. By the time I managed to calm down, he'd affected a full-blown scowl.
"So that's what I get for my apology?"
"Oh, that was an apology? 'Sorry, ma'am, for the orgasm. It won't happen again.' Is that your usual MO? Did Sexilicious Sondra get an apology from you after you cuffed her to the bed and made her scream your name?"
Now he was red-faced and shooting me a glare out of the corner of his eyes. "That is not what I meant. I meant that it wasn't appropriate given our professional relationship."
"Yes, Mr. Fawkes, you are very inappropriate. And now, thanks to Essie's training, I know how to tell you that."
"We're here. Thank God."
I glanced up and saw the sign for the Santa Barbara exits, then bit my lip before I started laughing again.
"What now?" he said as he flipped on the signal to change lanes.
"You still have to sit in the car with me all the way home. Maybe you'll get some more text messages that I can read to you."
I stared out the window again, attempting to control my laughter. Santa Barbara was a picturesque little city curved around a sparkling blue bay. Houses climbed toward the back hills, called "morrows" here. It was cultured, sophisticated and a great place for the city-bound to get away for the weekend. But we weren't here for a romantic getaway, as much as the idea of doing something like that with the car's other occupant might have had me feeling warm and fuzzy inside.
No, we were here for a stuffy business meeting.
Minutes later, we were in the parking lot of the investment banker's office. Jordan got out and procured his suit jacket from where it hung on a hook in the back seat so it wouldn't wrinkle. He proceeded to slip it on his broad shoulders and button it up, straightening his tie.
"Should I wait in the car or...?"
He made a face like I'd suggested I go dance around on the curb like one of those human billboards. "No. You're coming inside as my assistant. Do you want to learn this shit, or are you just some trust fund brat going through the motions 'til Daddy delivers you a fat wad of cash to live on?"
My eyes narrowed at him and my cheeks flamed. That was below the belt. His lips curved in a slight smile, as if he were satisfied with himself that he'd baited me. I'd let my feelings show that time. I was usually better at hiding them, but he seemed to bring out the worst in me--and what's worse, he did it almost effortlessly.
I swallowed the irritation and glared heat-seeking missiles--daggers would not suffice--into his back as I followed him through the glass doors.
Within minutes, Jordan was introducing me to the banker, Wallace Holden, one of the team of bankers who would fund the initial set of shares for Draco's IPO. As I took my seat, I watched Jordan smoothly sit down and unbutton his coat in one fluid motion. I pulled out my notebook and poised my pen over a blank page, ready to take notes or create a bulleted action list or do something that might make me appear more like an official assistant.
Despite his formal dress, Jordan affected a casual posture, sitting back and resting an ankle across his opposite knee. With a grin, he began to chat up Wallace--whom he called Wally.
"So I saw that your boy's baseball team made State. He must be over the moon. Are the scouts coming around for a possible scholarship? Heard he's got an amazing arm."
Jordan knew stuff about Wally's kids, his wife--even his last golf game. I watched him under my lashes. He was a smooth operator. They spent twenty minutes talking about Wally and his life, and Jordan seemed intensely interested in all of it. In the end, they only spent ten minutes on business.
"So what's the status on your initial public offering?" Wally finally asked.
"We're a go," Jordan beamed. "My CEO couldn't be more excited."
Wally's brows twitched in surprise. "I've heard your CEO is a little...tight on the reins. Is he going to give us anything more than a tiny slice of the shares to list with?"
Jordan waved his hands. "Adam is thrilled about the IPO and can't wait. He's got big plans. Amazing plans. The kid is a genius, and not just because he lets me take care of the business side of things," he said with a wink. "He's a visionary and, let me tell you, he's light-years ahead of the rest of us."
As I watched him ease the banker's ruffled feathers, I couldn't help but wonder if his smooth reputation with women wasn't based on the same principles with which he conducted business. Telling people what they wanted to hear could be as much an art as anything else.
In the end, Wally's fears seemed allayed and we walked out after shaking hands and exchanging pleasantries. In the parking lot, Jordan took off his coat, rehung it and pulled off his tie, unbuttoning his collar.
I watched him with a frown. He stopped and quirked a brow at me. "What?"
"How'd you know all that stuff about him? His kids--family?"
He shrugged. "Social media. And I have some people..." He glanced away. "Collecting info in this day and age is not difficult. But I'm no cyberstalker."
"You have people, do you?" He sounded like my dad, and I was a little uneasy about that comparison. The less I thought about my dad these days, the better.
He gave me a canny smile and opened the door, sliding into his seat. I slid in beside him, turned and folded my arms across my chest. "Did you collect information on me?"
That glib smile froze and his eyes looked a little panicked for a split second before he turned back toward the wheel, laughing it off.
"You did, didn't you?"
"You are the creator of a PR situation for my company, Weiss. Does that surprise you?"
Biting my bottom lip, I shrugged. "I'm sure you didn't find out much, considering I'm rather boring. I'm one hundred percent positive it wasn't worth the effort it took."
A brief frown crossed his features before he glanced at the time and sighed. "Well, that was a huge pain in the ass drive to shoot the shit with a skittish banker for thirty minutes. Sometimes I hate this job."
"You could have taken the train up and had a driver bring you o
He scowled at me. "Last I checked, this is California. We drive everywhere ourselves. Even when we are rich enough to have drivers. It's part of our culture. Plus, I needed to get my ass out of the office. And I needed to get your ass out of the office, too."
"My ass? Why would you--?" I cut myself off as understanding dawned. "Oh...you were afraid I was going to confess to Adam while you were gone."
He touched his nose and winked at me.
"We have another stop to make before heading back down south. I'd planned on this before I knew I was bringing you. So you are just going to have to humor me because if I back out, there will be hell to pay."
I raised my brow. Was he checking in with one of his ladyloves? Because if so, I wanted no part of that.
My stomach growled. He laughed. "And lunch is included."
We headed into the city and through the quaint downtown before driving to a middle-class residential area on the outskirts. Soon, we'd pulled into the driveway of a modest-looking bungalow-style house. I puzzled this one out as I slipped out of my seat and followed him to the front door.
He knocked loudly and then turned the knob, calling into the house, "Pop? It's Jordan."
There was a call from the back of the house, and Jordan opened the door for me to precede him. The house was decorated in an understated style that was a little outdated and had a feminine, homey touch to it. I glanced around, taking in the large, pastel lampshades, an art deco-style mirror, a few antique pieces, and a big, overstuffed suede couch.
A tall, thin man appeared. He looked like a sixty or seventy-year-old version of Jordan, wearing a sweater and corduroy pants. He immediately clasped Jordan in a bear hug.
"Well, it's about time you got up here to see me," he said. The older man caught sight of me over Jordan's shoulder and his eyes widened. "You didn't tell me you were bringing a lovely lady with you."
Jordan stepped back and turned toward me, appearing embarrassed. "She's my assistant, Pop. April, this is my grandpa, Reverend Gerald Fawkes."
Reverend? Jordan's grandpa was a minister? How...strange and ironic that was. I wondered if he had any idea what a tomcat his grandson was. I stepped forward and gave him my biggest smile as I shook his hand. "Pleasure to meet you, sir. I'm April Weiss."
"Are you hungry, Miss April? Because I made lunch and it's a lot of food, even for Jordan."
"I'm not sixteen anymore. I don't eat like I used to."
"Not even my homemade shepherd's pie?"
Jordan grinned. "Okay, you might have me there. I think I'm drooling."
"Give me a few minutes. Sit down at the table. And be a gentleman, please, and pull out the chair for Miss April."
Jordan rolled his eyes and his grandfather scoffed. The older man was adorable, and I giggled as Jordan did exactly as his grandfather asked with a long-suffering sigh. "So your grandpa lives here? Susan said you grew up in San Luis Obispo."
"I did. My parents are still in SLO. My grandpa had his ministry here until he retired." He pronounced SLO like "slow"--as many from the area referred to it.
"What a pretty place to live and work. What denomination did he minister for?"
"Methodist. And I swear if you crack any jokes about it, Weiss--" He had a playful smile on his sexy lips.
I kept my face as straight as I could manage. "Does that mean I can't ask about his beliefs regarding fornication involving pink fuzzy handcuffs? My spiritual education is at stake."
He only narrowed his eyes, but I could tell that he was trying to keep from laughing.
"It's all right. You can laugh. You won't spoil your reputation as Grumpiest Boss on Earth. But don't think I'm not going to try and get some dirt on you from your grandpa."
He shook his head. "You won't get anywhere."
"Ah, but I am half Jewish. We have our ways of wheedling the truth out of the most unlikely places." Not that I was in tune with my Jewish half at all. It was pretty much the entirety of what I had in common with that part of my family.
I couldn't deny the slight twinge I felt when I'd watched him hug his grandpa. Or when I watched other people connect with their family members. I had no real idea how that felt. So I joked about Jewish stereotypes instead and laughed it off, because putting the other person at ease was more important than my own feelings.
I stole a glance at him. Now that his words were in my head, they seemed to color my perception of all my interactions. I took a deep breath and met his gaze. Get out of my head, would you?
Jordan hopped up to help his grandpa bring in the plates and food. He soon reappeared carrying a fragrant casserole dish and placed it on the waiting trivet.
The shepherd's pie--a casserole of meat, potatoes and cheese--was delicious, and the company, given that his grandpa's presence had a mellowing effect on Jordan, was pleasant. Reverend Fawkes mentioned that it was an old family recipe, passed down from England. Legend had it that they were descendants of the infamous Guy Fawkes of the Gunpowder Plot. The man who'd tried to blow up Parliament hundreds of years ago.
Jordan rolled his eyes to the sky when his grandfather brought it up.
The Reverend turned to me. "Don't pay any attention to him. He doesn't like being reminded that he's named after him."
"What?"
Jordan grimaced. "My middle name is Guy. My father's idea of a sick joke."
"Don't they burn Guy Fawkes in effigy in the UK?" I asked, thankful I'd been paying attention during my European studies class.
"Every November fifth," Reverend Fawkes said. Then he leaned toward me conspiratorially. "It happens to be his birthday."
I leaned back, laughing, and Jordan's face clouded. "Okay, you have to admit, having the name Fawkes and being born on November fifth...I can totally see why your dad thought that was a sign."
Jordan scowled and I remembered Susan's words. Except the dad. There's something up with his dad.
That joking reference had brought him some sort of unwanted feeling or memory. I wanted to reach out and touch his arm, but I stopped myself, my hand twitching atop the table.
The Reverend seemed to sense the sudden change in mood. "Let me get the pitcher of iced tea for refills." He stood and went into the kitchen.
I smiled, trying to cheer him up. "You should have thought twice before bringing me to visit your grandpa. I'll have all your secrets out of him soon."
He opened his mouth to reply when the doorbell rang. Jordan's grandpa called out to ask Jordan to get the door. He slid out of his seat, but before he could get there, the door opened. "Pop, we're here!" a young lady called.
Jordan froze and they met each other's gaze. She was about eighteen, tall and willowy with long, light brown hair and a pretty face. Upon seeing Jordan, she shrieked and leapt at him. "What are you doing here? I was wondering whose shiny new car that was!"
Jordan stiffened, gazing at the doorway she had left open. He wrapped an arm around her while she kissed his cheek. "Who's we? Who are you here with?" he snapped.
She took a breath and stepped back, frowning. "Well, hello to you too, big bro. I'm with Mom and Dad, but no one said you were going to be here." She flicked a curious glance my way before Jordan turned on his heel and stormed off to the kitchen.
We were stuck staring at each other for a long, awkward moment before I stood and walked around the table. "Hi, I'm April Weiss. I'm Jordan's assistant."
She and I both turned and gazed at the closed kitchen door where Jordan's raised voice could be easily heard. Poor grandpa.
"I'm Hannah Fawkes. Little sister to the moody man. And I'm betting that my grandpa didn't know you were coming or he would never have tried to pull this off."
I opened my mouth to ask the question when two more people came through the open front door. I recognized them from the family photo on his desk as Jordan's parents. His mom was slim, of medium height, with red hair that was cut short. Jordan's dad looked like him--or vice versa, as I reminded myself. He had that distinguished thing going for him, and I was caught by the strong family resemblance of the three generations of Fawkes men. It was like looking at Jordan twenty-five years into the future and beyond.
Hannah waved toward them. "These are my parents," she said. Then she turned to her dad. "Jordan's here."
The man scowled. "That explains the gas-guzzling, global-warming machine in the driveway," he muttered.
Jordan had reentered on the tail end of that and tossed a glance at his dad before snapping up his keys. "Nice to see you, too." Then he turned to me. "We're going."
I stood rooted to my spot, uncomfortable at being caught in the middle of the family drama. Jordan strode to the door without further acknowledging his father. His mom spun and went after him, catching his arm just inside the still open door. Reverend Fawkes reemerged from the kitchen with a ginormous chocolate cake on a glass cake stand and set it in the middle of the table.
"You want to explain this little stunt to me?" Jordan's dad asked his grandfather.
"Simmer down and have a seat," the Reverend replied affably. "All of you sit down. Maybe Carol can coax Jordan back to the table."
My eyes flew to where Jordan and his mother were conversing in tense voices near the front door. Jordan's body language was rigid, his hands in his pockets. His mother still had a hand on his arm, the other one gesturing to emphasize her point. I half wondered whether she and the grandfather had colluded to get father and son together in the same room. Maybe this was like a drug intervention or something.
And here I was, smack dab in the middle of a dysfunctional family reunion. Like I didn't have enough family dysfunction in my own life.
I hurriedly gathered up the dirty lunch dishes and utensils from the table and took them to the kitchen. I paused for a moment before spotting a stack of dessert plates and forks. I grabbed them and carried them to the table.
The sooner the cake was cut and served, the sooner we could excuse ourselves, if necessary. Or maybe Jordan and his dad would be able to talk to each other. Maybe.
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