As I’m stuffing my laptop and one of Jack’s binders of company data into my bag, I see him standing next to my desk, watching me. Without a word, he takes the binder out of my bag and puts it back on the file cabinet where it sat until he gave it to me for homework. “You don’t need that,” he says.
“I figured I might have some free time and I can read through it again.”
He looks surprised. “Again? You read through it once already?”
“You told me to,” I remind him, wary. Is this a trick? “I have all the sector growth numbers from the past ten years in my head, but I want to look at last year’s expenses again for any irregularities that could be hiding write-offs for severance cases like Megan’s.”
“You have all the sector growth numbers in your head? From the past ten years?”
“Yes.” I worry that I should have memorized more.
He shakes his head. “I shouldn’t have made you read all those documents. They’re not gonna help you this weekend. I’ll let you know what you need to know.”
“So why did you tell me to read them?”
He hesitates, then closes his eyes for a second before answering. “I was pissed off that I was going to have to work with you on the story, and I wanted to make you suffer. I know that makes me…”
“A dick.” I can’t help it. I have to call it like I see it.
“Exactly. So… sorry.”
I look at him, trying to decide if he’s really sorry. Finally, I shrug. “It was interesting to read through everything. I feel more prepared now.”
“Okay…” he says, in a tone that says he’s planning on saying more. He opens his mouth, then closes it in a hard line. His blue eyes bore into mine and I feel a flutter in my stomach under his gaze.
“Is this going to be a problem, us working on this? Having to deal with each other?” I ask. It’s hard to talk when he’s looking at me like he wants to rip into my brain.
“No. It’s going to be great.” He sounds like he’s trying hard to convince himself. “So…” He looks at the clock on the wall. Now it’s five after four. “We should get going. I can drive.”
“You mean, drive us both?” I can feel my face heating up, the way it does. I wish it would behave itself and stop outing my embarrassment. I can’t handle two hours in the car with this man.
“Wow, sound less enthusiastic?”
“I just mean, don’t you have to, like, listen to annual reports on audiobook or something?”
He smirks. “I can still do that with you in the car. C’mon, let’s get out of here.”
I follow him out of the office and down the elevator to where his car is parked in its usual spot. “Hang on, lemme grab my bag out of my trunk,” I say, heading toward my Honda.
He backs the car out and drives to where mine is parked—so I don’t have to lug my bag across the parking garage—and hops out to make room in his trunk next to his own bag. I heave my large duffel out of the car and catch his dumbfounded look. “You planning on moving in up there?” I notice that everything he has is packed into a carryon-sized leather weekender which is stashed in a corner of the trunk.
“I like to have options.” My duffel weighs close to fifty pounds thanks to all the shoe choices, and it barely fits in the trunk while still allowing it to close. Hefting it into the trunk causes Jack’s shirt to come a little untucked and it forces a lock of hair to fall into his eyes. He straightens up and pulls himself together before going over to open the passenger door for me.
“I might’ve pulled a muscle there,” he said. “I wasn’t expecting to have to do weight training this afternoon.”
“Guess you need to get in better shape.”
The last thing I see before he closes my door is a grin that tells me he’s not done giving me a hard time. I can’t say I mind.
An hour later, we’re driving on Pacific Coast Highway alongside one of the most stunning ocean views I’ve ever seen. In the past year and a half, I’ve never left work early enough to get down to the ocean in time for sunset. On most weekends, the drive seems far and I feel lazy. But right now, the sun is high enough in the sky that its shiny yellow rays paint the ocean with streaks of light which I can’t help but stare at through sunglasses I almost never get to wear on weekdays.
It would be easy to mistake this for a weekend getaway with a phenomenally hot guy who seems to enjoy pushing the speed limit and God knows what else. I have to reel myself in every few minutes and remind myself I’m here for work.
“I never get down to the ocean. It’s gorgeous,” I say, unable to take my gaze away from the view.
“Yeah, hazards of the job. I’m not much of a beach-goer myself.”
I decide this is my opportunity to learn a little more about this high-strung, successful man who can do no wrong at the paper. “Has reporting always come easy to you?”
“What do you mean? It’s not easy.”
“I mean, you’re always on the ball; you always have sources and CEOs wrapped around your finger.”
“Yeah, that’s a ton of work. I’m on it twenty-four/seven.”
“That’s what it seems like. You’re very devoted.” I notice his shoulders tense and his face pull into a frown. I’m not sure if I’ve offended him by agreeing with what he just said. “Sorry, was that the wrong thing to say?”
He shakes his head. “No, it’s not you. That’s just been a bit of a… sore spot in the past.”
“How so?” I’m not getting it and he brought it up, so I’m gonna keep digging.
He looks at me and I can see from his pained expression and the way he’s white-knuckling the steering wheel that he regrets opening the door to the conversation. I hold up my hands. “No, it’s cool. We don’t have to talk about this.”
He sighs, eyes focused on the road. “It’s okay. I guess… so here’s the deal. A few years ago, I was engaged. And now I’m not.”
I absorb this information while I wait to see if he’s planning to elaborate. He’s looking straight ahead at the road and still holding the wheel in a death grip. While I wait, I think about the idea of Jack with a fiancé. “Was she a reporter?” I imagine the two of them breaking important news together and celebrating by framing their bylines side-by-side.
“Realtor.”
“What?”
“She was a real estate agent. She sold houses.”
“Okay,” I say. “Did she die?” The way he’s talking about her in the past tense makes me wonder. I can feel my forehead crinkling at the sad idea.
Then I hear him chuckle. “No, she didn’t die. She’s married to someone else and is probably very happy.” He lets out a sigh, but before I can ask any more dumb questions, he continues. “We had a year to plan the wedding and I didn’t think that much about it. But apparently, I was too absorbed in my job.”
I’m not sure I’m getting the issue. “Too absorbed to plan the wedding?”
“That was the fight initially. But that’s not what it was about. She thought I put my job first, before her.”