Jackson chuckles. He actually chuckles, and I bet I know why. I'm cringing. Could I possibly find another form of the word huge? Jesus, I’m using them all.
“Anyway,” I say. “Thank you. We really appreciate it.”
“And what about you? Do you appreciate it, or are you only speaking on behalf of the fund?”
“No, I appreciate it too,” I say. “Very much. Mr. Croft, I really believe in this organization, and judging by the size of your donation, I think you do too.”
“Getting a call from you is enough for me,” he says. “Although, I have to be honest. I’d still like to take you to dinner. I know I made you uncomfortable earlier, so I’d like to take you somewhere to show there are no hard feelings. No strings, no quid pro quo. Just dinner. What do you say?”
That catches me off guard. The money is already with the fund so I know he can’t corner me again with that ludicrous proposal. But Jackson Croft is basically everything I despise in a human. He’s selfish, money-centric, arrogant, and overall not a nice person. Aside from the hundred grand he donated, that is. I’m sure he has an angle to that, anyway.
Still, it is just dinner. Right? What harm could there possibly be in eating food with this guy in a restaurant full of other people?
“Don’t overthink it,” Jackson says. “Just say yes.”
So I hear myself say that one little word.
I say yes.
Even though I know I’ll live to regret it.
Jackson
I knew she’d say yes. I get people to say yes to deals worth millions everyday, so I had no doubt little Miss Emily Brown would say yes to dinner with me.
Still, it gives me a thrill deep inside knowing I’ll have her for the evening. She’s unlike any woman I’ve ever known—and that’s a problem. She may have said yes to dinner, but Emily has proven that she’s not the kind of person who will just cave in to pressure so easily.
She presents a unique challenge. And I do enjoy a challenge.
As I get in the car and turn the ignition, preparing to go and pick Emily Brown up for our impromptu date, I find myself wondering just what makes her so different from me.
Maybe that’s what attracts me to her, but it’s also why I can’t even bother thinking about her as anything more than a tonight-only thing. I can’t get more involved than this. Not since everything I learned with the phone call from my father’s lawyers.
Ironically, Emily is the exact opposite of what I need right now.
I’ll have this one amazing night, one night to get her out of my system because she is not a distraction that I can afford to keep around. Dinner will simply be the scratch to the itch I’ve had for her since she first walked—no, barged through my office doors.
Once I’ve had my time with her, I’ll no doubt be ready and willing to move onto the next thing. I’ve got more than enough options and she’s not my type, in any case…
But right now I do need a short distraction from the family bullshit.
Other than the short time I spent with Emily this morning, every moment has been spent ruminating on the bombshell of a phone call I received just before she arrived.
The call that told me I would no longer simply be inheriting the company that I’ve been groomed to run since before I can even remember. The call that told me I would once again need to prove myself to dear old Dad, even though he’s no longer alive and with us.
No, no, no, Jackson—think again. You must fight, fight, fight. The provision in his will was apparently quite clear on that score.
My brothers and I will compete for the right to lead our company into the future. And the competition takes the form of such a ridiculous requirement…just thinking about it makes my blood boil.
That is my cross to bear, but now, for one night only, I will enjoy the company of a gorgeous smart-ass woman who makes me forget, ever so briefly, that everything I’ve worked for might be falling apart.
Once Emily stormed out of the office (and watching her go…damn, what a sight), I had Sandra pull up her information in order to better understand what I was dealing with.
I know that she’s a grad student working part-time for the Children’s Education Fund. An intelligent do-gooder. Makes me roll my eyes. Just from this one afternoon I can tell she’s a woman who goes after what she wants, and she’d no doubt be great in a real business, but she’s stuck on some charity bullshit.
Well, real business—it’s not for everyone.
Not for the faint of heart, that’s for sure.
I drive to Emily’s neighborhood, just ten minutes from the office and a little on the outskirts of the city. Lots of Boston College and Boston University students live out here in Allston—we have several interns who ride the T in from this area.
I drive down Greylock Road, stopping in front of a blue house. Before I can get out to go to the front door like a proper gentleman, I see her silhouette walking down the driveway from the back of the house.
I’m at a temporary loss for breath. The tight dress she’s wearing skims down her figure like dripping gold—an improvement over the morning’s bargain basement suit but honestly, this woman could make sweats look sexy.
I’m out of the car quickly, headed over to her side so I can open the door for her. The closer I get to her, the faster my heart beats.
“Good evening, Emily,” I say, using one hand to button my suit jacket.
“Hello,” she says, her eyes focused on the car. I lean in to greet her with a kiss on the cheek—a habit—and it seems to startle her. She smiles, though, showing dimples in her cheeks.
“You ready?” I ask.
“This is your car?” she responds, still eyeing it.
“Yes,” I say. “I’m driving it, aren’t I?”
She shakes her head. “Yeah, it’s just...nothing. Let’s go.”
I have no idea what that’s about, but once in the car we head back into the heart of the city. Sandra called ahead to Prime & Tender—Croft International is a silent partner in the Michelin-starred restaurant—and so I know that the restaurant will pull out all the stops for us tonight.
I pull up to the curb on Boylston Street and the valet is there to help Emily out and take my keys. I guide her through the restaurant, lightly touching the small of her back, already wishing I could feel more of her.
This might be a long, torturous night.
I’m greeted by staff as we’re ushered back into the private room. When my hand leaves Emily’s back, I instantly feel the void.
We’re seated, napkins gently dropped in our laps. Emily is looking around the small space with a mix of curiosity and confusion, and I know why. She thought she’d agreed to dinner with me in a room full of strangers, but no way did I intend to spend my one evening with her being ogled at by other people. I want to keep this little treasure to myself for the evening.
“They keep this room for me,” I tell her. “It’s small, but I like it because it’s private.”
“You don’t like people seeing you eat or something?”
“It’s not that. I often have dinners or luncheons with high-level international clients, and I don’t need those meetings ending up in the business section of the Boston Herald. Keeping some things private is essential to my company.”