“Corrine’s a cheerleader?”
Mason obviously saw the segment where he talked about that.
“No, he dumped Corrine for the cheerleader.”
He takes a drink of his water. “That is insensitive.”
“I can’t believe it. It pisses me off. Talk about not having any class. How do people even like a guy who breaks up with his girlfriend during a news conference? It’s no wonder his new girlfriend feels so threatened.”
Chapter 3
Corrine
While Jackson’s gone, I ponder his invitation to Cecelia Lancaster’s funeral. I’m honored to get to pay my respects, but I’m also completely surprised that he thought of me long enough to make the offer. I guess maybe he’s more aware of me than I think. Or he was today. That stink bomb made my presence hard to miss.
I sigh. Cecelia’s death is such a loss. She was terrific to work with and fantastic at getting technology billionaires—Jackson included—to contribute to her foundation. Her goal was to make sure every child has access to a computer. Her foundation leveled the playing field for those unable to afford them, and hopefully lessened the poverty divide.
Jackson has been very generous, but then again, he’s worth billions, so why wouldn’t he be? He seems to make smart decisions and doesn’t flaunt his money all over the place with too many flashy toys. He doesn’t buy a ton of expensive gifts for his girlfriends, either. He seems to dump them as soon as the timing would warrant it.
When Jackson returns from his lunch meeting with Mason Sullivan, he has a spring in his step. He asks me to follow him into his office.
“I see it went well,” I tell him as I do.
“Even better than we’d hoped,” he says proudly. “We should celebrate.”
I smile at him. I know he doesn’t mean we as in him and me, but him and the current Barbie.
“I’ll see where I can get you and Valerie a dinner reservation,” I tell him. “Would you want to try French Laundry up in Napa and a night at the Meritage?”
“No! I meant you and me.” He points at me. “We should celebrate over dinner. I owe you for all our success. You completed the patent application and put the funding proposal together so well, they didn’t even need me to pitch to them.”
“Me?” I’m completely taken aback. This is the strangest day ever.
The closest thing to a personal interaction we’ve had before today was when he interviewed me and asked me to tell him something about myself. And all I shared was that I went to college at the University of Texas in Austin, and how working for him would be perfect because I want to save the environment. I arrange his dates, but he and I don’t get personal.
He’s still smiling at me. “Sure. Why not? Without you, I’d have nothing to celebrate. They gave us an extra ten million for a minor percentage increase and a commitment for round two.”
“That’s fantastic.” His enthusiasm is contagious. “But I only make the package look pretty. It’s all your ideas and numbers. Don’t worry about me.” I change the subject. “You received a package, by messenger, from Viviana Prentis. She’s selling you an estate in Maui for a dollar? Must be nice.”
“I think it’s just a beach house I won playing poker. I’ll need to fly out and see it before the next tournament. I may want to keep it or maybe let her win it back.”
When you trade multimillion-dollar pieces of property in a poker tournament, you are in a completely different stratosphere than the rest of the world.
I school my features so I don’t look astounded. “I’ll look for a few days you can work from Maui in the next few weeks. I have the next tournament on the calendar, tentatively set for next month. However, with Cecelia’s death, that will likely change.”
He nods. “I’m in the mood for a good steak. How about you make us a reservation at Morton’s or Ruth’s Chris? Whichever one can seat us at eight.”
“I’ll make sure Valerie is there,” I say as I walk out.
“No. You and me. No Valerie. Definitely not Valerie.”
I’ve learned that if he’s determined, there’s no stopping him. So, I’m better off just letting him have his way. “If this is your way of making sure someone drives me home, I get it. You don’t have to buy me dinner.”
“You know my net worth better than I do. It’s not a financial hardship for me to make sure you’re safe. In fact, look at it as my own self-preservation. If this psycho scares you off, I’ll have to find someone half as good as you are, and that would be near impossible. I’ll let Brian know when we’ll be leaving.”
I hold up my hands in mock surrender. “Okay, I’m not fighting it. It’s not worth the argument.”
***
That evening, when we arrive at Morton’s, they seat us in a prime location. It’s the spot to be seen, which also means we’re interrupted a dozen times.
A creepy man approaches the table. “Jackson, I heard you met with Mason Sullivan today.”
“Ronny, this is Corrine, my assistant. She’s the one you harass each time you call my office.”
He doesn’t do much more than glance at me and give me a half-smile. “I hope you’ll give me the chance to bid on your new venture.”
“I think anything Golden Gate Capital can bring won’t be enough to beat SHN. We’ve worked together before, and they’ve made a significant commitment to maintaining that relationship.”
“I’ll call and set up a time on your schedule next week.” He winks at me and walks away, seeming satisfied.
I shudder with dread. “In your dreams,” I mutter.
“I agree,” Jackson says.
I hope I’m not blushing. “I’m sorry I said that out loud. Give me one drink, and there goes my filter. I’m happy to make the appointment, if you’d like. I just don’t trust that man.”
“No, it’s not necessary. Plus, the dickhead didn’t even acknowledge you.”
I shrug. “That’s not abnormal. I don’t usually put those guys on your calendar unless you specifically ask.”
“I’m good with that. I would think anyone who wants to meet me would know they have to get through you, so they’d spoil you.”
I shake my head. “I don’t need gifts or anything, just respect. If they don’t treat me well, I figure they’ll be a problem later.”
A man with his hair slicked back and looking a little too smooth for my liking approaches the table. “Jackson, I heard about what happened today at your office.”
“What did you hear?” Jackson plays dumb.
“Your secretary couldn’t let her ex, Bobby Sanders, go.” He clicks his tongue like he’s riding a horse.
It’s very odd and incredibly off-putting. I feel myself turn a horrific shade of red.
“Actually…” Jackson looks at me and smiles. “The cheerleader was marking her territory over a man who’s a bigger asshole than you are. If you’ll excuse us, we’re trying to eat our dinner before it gets cold.”