I check my phone and find text notifications from John and from my brother.
JOHNNY
We’re seven minutes away. I told Monty about our date. He approves.
NATHAN
John just told me about your date. What the actual fuck is happening?
But I do approve.
But seriously. WTAF?
JOHNNY
We’re two minutes away.
We are now out front. Are you ready?
I grab my handbag and overnight bag—which already happened to contain several condoms in its inner pocket from the last time it was utilized—and go down to the front door without replying to Johnny’s last text. I’m expecting him to be waiting for me in the car, but he stands two feet from me and turns to see me in the doorway.
By the look on his face, I may not have toned down the sexy enough. He is even more handsome than he was yesterday, in a simple but expensive black T-shirt, charcoal blazer, and dark jeans that probably cost more than the entire factory my dress was manufactured in. He’s wearing his slutty little glasses, and goddammit, how is it possible that his eyes look even bluer now than they did yesterday?
He leans in to kiss me on the cheek, lingers to inhale and to whisper, “You look good,” and then signals to the driver that he doesn’t need to get out to open the car door for us. John opens the back door and waits for me to step inside. I don’t recognizethis make of car, but it’s black and sleek and classy, and the tires scare me a little.
“Hi, I’m Olivia,” I say to the driver. He is middle-aged, large, possibly Hawaiian, very friendly looking, but serious. Like, nobody would mess with him, but I also sort of want him to give me a deep-tissue massage.
“Good evening, ma’am.” He tips his little chauffeur hat. “I’m Richard.”
“Nice to meet you, Richard!”
John buckles up after sliding in after me. The back seat is wide, and there’s more than a foot between us. I find myself a little disappointed about that. John presents me with a glass bottle of flat mineral water.
“Why, thank you,” I say. “What kind of car is this?”
“Lucid Air.”
“Ahh… What?”
“It’s a Lucid Air Dream Edition. Electric,” he says. “One of my few indulgences, but it’s good for the environment. I don’t own a private jet either.”
“Does this not fly? How disappointing.” There’s a huge moonroof overhead, and it does feel like we’re in a small plane.
“I’ll probably invest in a flying car next,” he muses. He does not appear to be joking.
I don’t even have the urge to make fun of him, because I find that strangely arousing. And I findthatextremely disturbing. So, I recross my legs and tug the skirt of my dress up the slightest bit. The nude Mary Janes make my legs look even longer, and it’s very satisfying to watch John’s Adam’s apple bob up and down. His jaw clenches as he stares at them. His gaze travels slowly from my shoes up to my knees. Almost as if he’s imagining what he could do with my legs and filing it away in his erotic mind palace. Which, I’m sure, is what he calls his spank bank.
And then he pulls out his phone and proceeds to read a message, as though my legs and I aren’t even here.
Richard pulls away from the curb, and we’re off to an upscale Zagat-rated New American restaurant in SoMa. John tells me that we’ll be dining with Phil Stanley, an investor from Houston. Phil has portfolio companies that could partner with John’s, so they’re discussing synergies. His new wife, Teresa, works in marketing.
Chamber music is playing from the car speakers at a low volume, but I still lower my voice to say, “So you have a full-time driver? Do you not like to drive?”
“I do, very much. Especially this car. But I also like to multitask, and after getting pulled over twice for using my phone while driving, I realized it was unsafe. So, I always use Richard when I know I’m going to be distracted.” He very pointedly looks over at me. “Like tonight.”
He means by me.
That is such a low-key sexy thing to say.
