by J. A. Huss
She side-eyes me as we walk to the back of the room to make this all official.
“You must really like helping kids,” I say. “Or your cosmetics biz needs a big tax write-off this year.” Then I laugh because I’m only half joking.
“Mmm-hmmmm,” she says, tight-lipped.
I frown. Is she having regrets? Will she refuse to sign the papers?
But no. She signs them. And then they give her a sash that says, Winner of Jesse Boston!
Which I love. So fucking great.
“Shall we?” she asks.
“Oh, for sure. We shall,” I say, offering her my arm.
She glances down at it. Then up at me. Then back down at my arm. Then back up at me.
I point to it and say, “You can put your hand there if you want.” Thinking maybe she’s confused? New money? Not sure how to act?
She frowns at me, then sighs, kinda loud, and places her hand on my arm without gripping it. I’m not really sure how one does that, but she manages. “What now?” she asks.
“Uh… well. I’m pretty sure my brother had something really spectacular planned.” Then a thought hits me. “Hey, you didn’t bid on me because you thought I was Joey, did you?”
“Nope,” she says.
“So you knew it was me. Jesse.”
She points to her sash.
“Right. I see that. OK. So… thank you,” I say, bowing my head a little. “The children certainly appreciate your contribution to help their struggle.”
“Mmmmmmmm,” she says, again with the tight lips.
Right. Is she not into me? Am I doing something wrong here? I mean, the date hasn’t even started yet and she seems kinda pissed off.
“Well, OK. To the lake house, I guess. Should I drive?”
“I think so.”
“Wow. Three whole words. That’s the most you’ve said so far. Things are looking up.”
I’m kind of a funny dude. I mean, I don’t normally have trouble making people who like me laugh. So her not laughing at my easy-going banter gives me the impression she’s more of a hater.
But why would a hater pay ten million dollars to spend a weekend with me?
I dunno. See, this is why I hate people. I just don’t get them. People are fucking confusing.
“OK. I’m this way, I guess.”
I lead her out of the auction room and into the lobby of the hotel and every single set of eyeballs—even Old Bat’s—turn to look at us. The whispers start immediately.
She sighs again.
“Don’t worry about them. They are obviously jealous.”
“Yeah,” she says. “Obviously.”
Wait. Was that sarcasm? Is she not happy to be with me? I don’t understand this. Why pay ten million dollars for someone in an auction if you don’t want to spend time with them after?
Joey arranged the transportation so I have to scan the cars in the valet area for a second before I recognize his sleek, black Aston Martin right in front, with a valet standing at the passenger side door. “Good evening, Ms. Dumas. Mr. Boston,” he says, bowing a little as we approach. Ms. Dumas thanks him softly as he waits for her to get in, then closes her door.
I hand him a twenty-dollar bill and walk around and get in, trying not to stare at Ms. Dumas as I adjust the seat and pull on my seat belt.
“So,” she says, looking out the window.
“So,” I say. God, this is awkward. I pull away from the hotel and try for some small talk. “So what do you do?”
“I’m the CFO of Bright Berry Beach Cosmetics.” She’s still looking out the window. Not at me.
“Right, I think I heard that,” I mumble, pressing my foot on the clutch and shifting into a higher gear.
“From who?” she asks, finally turning her head towards me.
“My cousin, Zach. He told me who you were in the lobby before the auction.”
“I see.”
Then she’s silent. So I try again. “CFO, huh? So you’re the money girl.”
“I’m the chief financial officer.”
“Right.” Jesus. This is gonna be a long night. “Wanna know what I do?”
There are like three seconds of silence. Then she sighs and says, “Sure. Why not.”
Wow. She is tough. But I’m damn charming. At least I was back in my twenties. I know how to do this. And I suddenly feel the urge to charm the pants off this woman.
So I say, “I’m a consultant. For yacht-racing teams.”
“How’s that working out?”
“Ouch,” I say. “Is there something I’m missing here? Because I get the feeling you don’t like me. And I’m kinda confused why a smart businesswoman such as yourself would pay so much money for a guy she hates.”
“It’s for charity.”
“Yeah. The children. I’ve heard that a lot tonight. And I’m sure it’s true. I’m sure all charity functions like this one are all about the charity.”
“Is that sarcasm?” she asks.
“You should know.”
“What’s that mean?”
“Well, you’re pretty good at sarcasm. At least from what I can tell from the past ten minutes we’ve known each other.”
She huffs, clearly frustrated.
But what did I do? I didn’t make her buy me. I didn’t raise her fucking hand when that auctioneer got up to the ten-million-dollar mark. I didn’t even want to be here. I’m just a stand-in.
“Oh,” I say, as understanding sinks in. “I get it. You came to the auction for Joey, didn’t you?”
“I already told you I didn’t buy you by mistake.”
“Right. But that’s not the same as expecting one thing then settling for another. And it’s OK. If you’re into Joey and not me, that’s fine.”
“I’m not into your brother,” she snaps. “I’m into…” She pauses. “I just want to go on our date.”
“Well, we are on the date and you’re obviously not having any fun. So… should I take you home?”
“I paid ten million dollars for this night.” She huffs. “I’m not going home. Just… take me to the lake house so we can get this shit show on the road.”
Wow.
“OK,” I say, giving up. “To the lake house it is.”
We drive for a little while. The hotel where the auction was held is up in a sleepy little village nestled in the rolling hills, all surrounded by trees. I’ve been up here before. Not for the auction, obviously, but there’s a big lake nearby and they have a small festival every summer that I went to a couple times with friends back when I was a teenager.
Our lake is about thirty miles north of there and the road is long and winding. Also kinda boring since it’s pitch dark out now and there’s literally nothing to look at out that window she’s fixating on.
But we have to drive through another little village before we get to the little valley where our house is, and while we’re passing through a memory hits me.
We came here too, when I was young. Me and my friends. Sometimes we’d have girls with us, sometimes not. But every time we came through on our way to the lake house we’d stop at the Tastee-Freez and get ice cream.
It’s such a kid thing to do. I can’t recall a single moment after that last time I was up here that I stopped someplace to get an ice cream.
So I change our plans and pull into the nearly packed parking lot, then shut the car off and look at her.
She’s very pretty. I will say that. And it’s not just the fancy red gown, either. Or her specially styled hair or carefully applied makeup.
She’s just pretty.
CHAPTER SEVEN - EMMA
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“What’s it look like?”
“It looks like you’re parking at a Tastee-Freez.”
“Nothing gets by you, does it, Emma?”
“Why are you taking me to a Tastee-Freez?”
“Usually people come here for ice cream.”
I just blink at him.
“You
don’t like ice cream?”
“Everyone likes ice cream.”
“Exactly,” he says, grinning like a foolish, charming bastard. Which makes no sense at all, but wow. I’d forgotten about that smile and how disarming it is. He looks at me. “Come on,” he says. “It’s a date, right? You paid ten million dollars for this date and now you’re going to complain when I do something date-y?”
This wasn’t part of the plan. The plan was:
Buy him.
Drive up to his lake house.
Drug him.
Wait for the girls to show up.
Take him over to our lake house.
Tie him up.
Make him regret all his asshole decisions thirteen years ago.
Probably gloat too. Little bit of, “Look at me, so rich and powerful now. And you dumped me, you dumbass. But oh, hey. I’m too good for you now. You could’ve had all this and now you’ve got nothing. Sucks to be you.”
Which is all pretty childish because he’s Jesse Boston. He could get any girl he wants. Just look at how they fell all over him tonight at the auction.
Ten. Million. Fucking. Dollars.
I feel sick. Literally, I feel sick. It’s not that we can’t afford the ten mil. It’s just… that was not the plan. This asshole isn’t worth ten million. What the hell were all those women thinking?
And us. What the hell were we thinking? This is all Hannah’s fault. I’m gonna kill her later.
No revenge plan is worth ten million dollars.
And now he wants to have ice cream with me.
Uggggh.
“So?” Jesse says.
“Hmm?”
“Are we gonna get out of the car? Or are we going to sit here all night?”
“I’m not really in the mood for ice cream,” I say.
He grins at me again. Oh. God. Why is he so damn hot? It’s not fair. “See, that’s the best part about ice cream. You don’t have to be in the mood for it. In fact, eating it when you’re not in the mood is the best part. Because it puts you in the mood.”
And then he does one of those little eyebrow waggles.
I squint at him. “Are you coming on to me?”
“What?”
“Was that innuendo?”
He frowns. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
I point to his forehead. “You waggled at me when you said ice cream puts you in the mood.”
“I didn’t waggle at you.”
I huff. “Dude, you totally did.”
“OK, whatever. If you say I did, then I did. But no. It wasn’t innuendo. Ice cream is like… that’s just what people eat when they’re stressed, ya know?”
I just stare at him.
“God, for a woman who paid ten million dollars for me, you sure are a tough crowd.”
“I know how much I paid for you,” I snap. “Stop reminding me.”
“OK,” he says, holding up a hand. “Would you like me to take you home? Should we just… end this?”
I huff. “I paid ten million dollars for you. I’m getting my date.”
He stares at me. No. He glares at me. “Then get your fucking ass out of my car and order a motherfucking ice cream.”
And then he gets out, not even waiting for me. Just gets out, slams the door, and walks up to the Tastee-Freez and gets in line.
“Rude,” I mumble.
There’s quite a line too. Everyone who lives in this village must be here tonight. They are mostly teenagers on dates, laughing and joking as they flirt with each other. A few families with small children. Lots of boys and girls in little baseball uniforms, so a local Little League game must’ve just ended. And a few old couples who sit quietly as they stare off at the traffic passing on the road and lick their ice cream cones like this is their regular Friday night.
Jesse has his hands in his tux pockets, just studying the menu. And every single female in this parking lot is looking at him with lust in their eyes.
He pays no attention to anyone. Why should he? He’s Jesse Boston.
I get out of the car and walk over to him.
He smiles at me. “I knew you couldn’t help yourself. What kind of cone do you like? Or do you prefer a sundae?”
“What?” I say. Because I maybe got a little lost in those blue eyes of his. Wow. I’d forgotten how mesmerizing they could be when they’re looking right at you. Like you are the only girl in the world.
“Jesus, Emma. What’s the deal here?”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re so… off. Are you harboring some deep hatred for me or something? Did I say something that offended you? I didn’t mean to snap at you in the car, I’m just… frustrated with how this is going. I wasn’t expecting hostility.”
“I’m not hostile.”
“You so are. You want a refund?”
“What?”
“I’ll pay you back if you’re not having a good time.”
“I don’t need your money. I’m probably richer than you are now.”
He furrows his brow. “Now?”
Ooops. OK. This is going wrong, fast. So I ignore his implied question and stare up at the menu board above the take-out counter. “Vanilla,” I say. “In a cone. Dipped in butterscotch.”
Out of the corner of my eye I see him look up at the board and grin. “I like half and half.” Then he looks at me. “Dipped in cherry.”
I smile back, I can’t help it.
We move forward a few paces as people place their orders. “So what should we do after this?” he asks.
“What do you mean? We’re going to the lake house, right?”
“Sure. I mean, we can do that. But that was Joey’s plan, not mine. We don't have to go to the lake house. We can do anything we want. I’m told this is a weekend date. And I don’t know what the hell we’re gonna do up at that lake house all weekend. We don’t keep boats out there anymore. Haven’t for a long time because we haven’t really spent much time out here since I was a kid. There’s no swimming pool and I don’t play tennis. But if you want to, I’ll give it a go.”
Is he serious? What are we going to do all weekend? Who is this man? Because the Jesse Boston I knew would be picturing all the ways he was planning to fuck me.
“I’m sure we’ll think of something,” I say.
“We could just go back to the city. Maybe hit up a spa for a couples’ massage? Or a concert?”
“No,” I say, too quick. Because no. This isn’t a date. It’s a kidnapping, for fuck’s sake. And I need him to be at his lake house tonight.
“Yeah. Couples’ massage is a bit much for a first date. But I really could use a rubdown.” He rubs his neck, illustrating his point that he’s carrying some stress.
Hint. Hint. I need a massage. Now that is a typical Jesse Boston move.
The people in front of us are done, and then it’s our turn.
“We’ll have one vanilla cone dipped in butterscotch,” Jesse says, taking a moment to glance at me and grin. “And one half and half dipped in cherry.”
And I don’t know why I find that kinda of adorable, but I do.
I am out on a date with Jesse Boston and he just ordered me an ice cream cone.
I would’ve died—simply died—for a date like this, with him, back then.
He pays, then places his hand on the small of my back.
I realize then that everyone is looking at us. We are dressed up like celebrities. My red gown, his black tux. A sleek Aston Martin parked nearby.
And every single girl—from six years old to sixty—is looking at me with envy.
CHAPTER EIGHT - JESSE
I look around and chuckle under my breath.
“What?” Emma says. “What’s funny?”
She’s kind of uptight. And mean. Which only makes me chuckle again.
“What?” she repeats, kinda flustered.
I place my hand on her arm and pull her closer, then lean in and whisper, “I think every fucking dude here is staring at me.
Even those Little League dudes know what’s up.”
“Wait,” she says. And she does this shudder thing. You know, like when you get a chill up your neck and you bunch up your shoulders to make it go away? “What’s up?” she says. “What do you mean by that?”
I just shake my head at her. So uptight. But a little less mean.
“Vanilla butterscotch and half-and-half cherry!” the teenager taking orders says from behind the screened-in counter.
I step forward, take the two cones, then nod my head to Emma. “Grab us some napkins, will ya?”
For some reason she sucks in a deep breath. This makes her breasts rise and fall underneath her strapless bodice.
We are so overdressed. And it’s a little warm tonight so the first thing I do when we arrive at the only empty picnic table out front is to hand her both cones so I can take off my suit coat.
Emma just stares at the ice cream cones in her hand, like she’s never seen one before.
“You don’t have to wait for me,” I say, slipping my coat off and then taking off my bow tie. I stuff that in the pocket so I don’t lose it, then decide the cufflinks need to go too. Because I want to roll my sleeves up.
Emma looks at me, then the cones, then back at me.
She licks her cone, her tongue darting out to swipe the hard sugar shell off the swirly top.
Damn, that was sexy.
In fact, she’s sexy. Very fucking hot, this one. And she’s so familiar. That feeling that I know her comes back to me.
“Have we ever met before?” I ask, taking my cone back now that my sleeves are rolled up.
“What do you mean?”
“Did we… go to school together or something?”
“Why do you say that?”
“I’m not saying we did. I’m just asking. Because you look so familiar.”
“Hmm,” she hums, but doesn’t answer me. Just takes another lick of her cone.
“Oh, here,” I say, placing my coat on the picnic table bench. “You can sit on my coat so you don’t get your dress dirty.”
She makes a face at me.
“What? What’d I do now?”
“Why are you being so… so freaking nice?”