“So, Tessa and Quinn. Exes?” I ask to ease my curiosity and change the subject.
Mark laughs. “You’ve lost your flair, Le Pew. Her fiancé died on a mission. Quinn was there and promised he would help. She’s a little reckless, and he’s a lot worried. They butt heads constantly.” The palms of my hands sweat instantly, hearing she likes to take risks and knowing she’s going to be my driver. Not that I need one. If I haven’t driven in five years, it’s only because I live in the city, nothing else.
“I don’t need a driver, you know, I can take an Uber like everyone else.”
“Look, I promise she’s good, and she’ll be careful. She speeds only when she’s racing or when she’s late.” The collar of my T-shirt feels a little tight around my neck, and I pull on it a couple of times to breathe easier.
“You’re okay?” Mark asks.
“Yes,” I stand, “I just need to get some rest and settle in my motel room.” I walk toward the door, unstable on my two feet, and my head throbbing with fear.
“Let me ask Tessa to drive you there.” I shake my head vehemently. By the time I’m outside his office, I feel like my life has unraveled under my feet. Putting my hand on the wall, I hold tight and try to inhale. I exhale slowly and repeat it a few times to calm myself.
Sometimes I forget Elaine didn’t die in a car accident like I told our entourage. Sometimes I believe my own lie.
Sometimes I just lose track of reality.
Closing my eyes, I do the only thing that can calm me. I imagine myself holding my son, smelling his head, kissing his tiny fingers. It calms me down, slightly.
It will be better once I FaceTime with Naomi later.
Slowly retaking control over my mind, I open my eyes to see Jackson, Mark, Tessa, and Quinn all looking at me with worry in their eyes. I blink, bury everything deep inside me, and cough.
“I might have caught something on the plane,” I try to explain, but it sounds wrong even to my own ears.
“Right,” Mark says, slapping my shoulder. “Go rest, and we’ll talk tomorrow. Tessa, drive safe.” Blue-hair looks at me as if she was trying to see into the depths of my soul. I shut everything out like I’ve done a million times and give her nothing to see. She shakes her head, sadness written all over her face.
“Let’s go,” she says, believing I would follow her. I can’t. I can’t have my life in the hands of someone who likes to speed. I can’t have her risk everything I worked so hard for. I shake my finger no and open my hand in front of her.
“I’m driving. Give me your keys!” I snap. She hesitates a second, certainly measuring the room for any argument she has in this discussion.
The answer is none.
I prefer driving than being driven by someone who might break the rules. I prefer to be in charge and be able to do something if need be. She might feel there is no way to change my mind because she drops the keys in my palm and walks past, to show me the way. I hold my breath, so as not to smell her. I close my eyes, so as not to look at her ass. I wince to prevent some unwanted images from coming to mind. I hear Quinn and Jackson saying goodbye and Mark laughing. “I told you they would get along just fine.”
I lift my middle fingers as a farewell gesture and get in the elevator with Tessa.
“If I lose the job that finally allows me to work as something other than a receptionist here because of your issues, Green-eyes, I’ll kick your ass,” Tessa says before slumping against the wall of the lift.
“And if my son loses his father because of your reckless driving, I know a few people who will kick yours, Blue-hair.”
She rolls her eyes.
I roll mine right back.
But behind our attitudes, we both smile. Maybe Mark is right after all, we’ll get along just fine, as long as I don’t smell her, look at her or touch her.
Only, at the idea of it, my dick twitches.
I close my eyes and focus on solving a mathematical problem. I mumble the same one I have repeated since I had my first erection at school in front of the class.
“If a farmer wants to plow a farm field on time, he must plow 120 hectares a day. For technical reasons, he plowed only 85 hectares a day. Hence, he had to plow 2 more days than he planned, and he still has 40 hectares left. What is the area of the farm field, and how many days did the farmer plan to work initially?” The answer is not the goal of the exercise. Controlling my erection is.
“Let x be the number of days in the initial plan. Therefore, the whole field is 120⋅x hectares. The farmer had to work for x+2 days, and he plowed 85(x+2) hectares, leaving 40 hectares unplowed. So, we have the equation:
120x=85(x+2)+ 40
35x=210
which gives x=6
So the farmer planned to have the work done in 6 days, and the area of the farm field is 120⋅6= 720, therefore 720 hectares.” Tessa says.
Our eyes meet.
She smiles.
I grunt.
She shrugs.
Her flowery scent takes over my senses.
And I fail to get my erection down.
Chapter Six
TESSA
Oliver is gawking at me, and I’m not sure why.
The tension in the cab of the elevator is palpable.
Maybe he didn’t like the fact that I answered his math problem so fast?
But really this is middle school level. I had the impression he was smart, but maybe he isn’t. And why was he reciting a math problem in the elevator? I look at him while he closes his eyes and breathes heavily.
He’s pissed.
Well, welcome to the club. I’m pissed he wants to drive.
He doesn’t trust me and he doesn’t even know me. He’s put off with me for an unknown reason, and of course, my fucked-up brain would love to prove him wrong. But there is something else. Something I can’t totally pinpoint but is at the forefront of my mind. He opens his eyes quickly, and I fall into his gaze.
Even his glasses can’t protect me against the pull I feel when I look at him.
“You like math?” he groans between his teeth.
The way he says it is sensual, and I almost feel something waking up.
Almost. I kill it right away.
“I do,” I nod. As I’ve dealt with this kind of reaction all my life, I don’t really care anymore. Lots of men are afraid of smart women. If I hid my brain when I was younger—mostly because I was worried not to be appreciated for who I was— I’ve stopped after passing the peak of my thirties.
After a few years of being an engineer in the car industry and hearing more than enough crude jokes, derogatory comments, competition snippets, and flirting attempts closer to harassment than romance, than I've ever heard over the years, I stopped holding back. The best response was to show them they were dumber than I was, and their ideas were crap. Telling them, I would go to HR and file a complaint was also an excellent way to keep the assholes away. Explaining they could be the same kind of assholes harassing their daughters, worked on the smart ones. For the others, I had a SEAL as a boyfriend. One look at King, and they shat their pants and let me be.
I hated having to call him for help, but sometimes I had no other solution.
I needed the insect repellant to be stronger than my words, and his muscles worked every time.