Despite the Gentleman's Riches: Sweet Billionaire Romance (For Richer or Poorer Book 1) (5 page)

"No, it wasn't
fun
," I growled, refusing to meet the eyes of the treacherous man standing in front of me. Saying hasty goodbyes to my companions, I turned on my heel and strode toward the auditorium doors and the chilly night air that promised to cool my head. I definitely needed to calm down before I did something stupid, like chewing out Clean Power's golden boy (again) in front of a national audience...or begging him to kiss me. You know, crazy stuff like that.

But I'd forgotten about the attending coal miners. With the sheriff's deputy still inside to keep an eye on the crowd, there was nothing to mitigate the menacing stance of the dozen camouflage-clad men just outside the high-school doors. They were all strangers to me—no big surprise there since coal miners often worked long shifts and weren't likely to pass through Food City during my usual hours. But I clearly wasn't a stranger to
them
. My speech, or the debate with Jack a few minutes later, was enough to light a predatory spark in the men's eyes as I strode out the door by myself. My vehicle suddenly seemed unbearably far away, a hike through the parking lot more dangerous than passing through a moonlit jungle on a night when tigers were on the prowl.

"There you are." Despite myself, I welcomed Jack's voice at my back and his hand on my shoulder blade. "I thought you'd promised to let me walk you to your car?" Mr. Fish Sticks flashed the miners a charming grin that had their stolid faces almost smiling back, then he took my hand and pulled me out of the entryway and toward my vehicle.

"I don't need..." I began to mutter irritably, but the truth was, I
did
need his help just then. Better the devil incarnate walk me to my car than a passel of angry miners walk me somewhere else. So I fell into step with Clean Power's golden boy and followed him into the darkness. I just hoped we were walking fast enough that none of the other Cuadic members saw us leave together.

This was the third time that Jack had taken my hand, and the third time that I'd let him despite my best intentions to pull away.
How does
that
impact his gentleman's code of honor?
I couldn't help wondering, the stray thought fluttering through a brain that suddenly seemed dim and full of cobwebs. Rather than rehashing the antagonistic words that we'd shared in front of television cameras moments before, all I could seem to think about now was the way our strides matched up despite Jack's longer legs. Like a gentleman, he must have been reining in his usual walking speed to mirror mine.

The spiderwebs in my brain made it seem like a good idea to engage my companion verbally, but I put in the effort required to maintain a stony silence instead during the short walk back to my car. Fully expecting my escort to leave my side once we reached our destination, I kept my eyes on the ground as I unlocked the door and slipped inside, ready for the night to end.

But despite my lack of appreciation for his presence, Jack made no move to leave.
Probably doesn't believe my rust bucket will start
, I thought, having to guess at my companion's motives since I still didn't trust myself to speak.

Unfortunately, Jack's evident mistrust of my vehicle was well placed. Half the time when I had turned the ignition key over the last few weeks, all I'd heard was a click as the solenoid engaged but the starter failed to rev the engine into life. When the problem first appeared, I'd gone to a mechanic and he'd taught me the simple trick of banging a wrench against the cylindrical starter, which had worked like a charm on previous occasions. And even though it was a bit embarrassing to have to root around under the hood while coworkers or Cuadic members looked on, I was unwilling to fork over a few hundred dollars to replace the part when a simple bit of wrench action was still sufficient to get my car roaring to life.

Which is all a long way of explaining why I knew that there was a 50/50 chance my car would fail me while Jack looked on.
Please start
, I begged my rust bucket now, not wanting to have to fall back on my unusual ignition method on a night that had already been exhausting. But any luck I'd once enjoyed seemed to have fled right about the time Mr. Fish Sticks rolled into town, so I wasn't at all surprised to hear a single click as I turned the key...and then nothing else.

Rats
. I let my forehead fall onto the steering wheel in dismay and closed my eyes for a moment, hoping that this whole situation would go away. Maybe if I clicked my heels together, I'd wake up in my own bed just like Dorothy had in
The Wizard of Oz
? It seemed worth a try if earnest wishing could be enough to remove me from a mortifying situation.

"Need a ride?" Jack asked after what felt like months but was probably no more than a minute, his helpful words muffled by the window glass separating us. The golden boy's tone sounded sympathetic, and I was dismayed to notice that the anger I'd been nursing was giving way to that cold feeling in the pit of my stomach that always preceded tears. That wouldn't do—fury would get me home, while a crying jag would just be mortifying.

You're not that girl
, I reminded myself. I didn't need anyone to rescue me when I was quite capable of saving myself, so I just shook my head, pushed back my emotions, and rooted through the glove box until a hefty wrench fell into my hands. Popping the hood release lever, I got out and headed around to the front of the car.

"Hey, I was just trying to help!" Jack said, his hands raised in surrender as he stepped back in mock terror, pretending that I was going to brain him with the big piece of metal in my hands.
Hmmm, not a bad idea.
Despite my best intentions, the corners of my mouth quirked up into a sad excuse for a smile at the thought, and Jack took my softening expression as an inducement to continue talking. "Left the headlights on?" he asked.

"Starter," I replied curtly, feeling around in the dark for the hood support arm that would prevent the sheet metal from banging down on my head. The starter was on the far side of a vast expanse of greasy engine parts, and I knew getting my car going was going to involve staining the formal clothes I'd donned in order to make a good impression at the hearing. Which was a shame since I'd be needing this same blouse for job interviews tomorrow...assuming I didn't completely lower my standards and come crawling back to Jack to become his sister's companion.

Whack
. I might have banged the starter a bit harder than usual this time around, taking out my aggressions about the man beside me and this whole messed-up night on an inanimate object. But better a dent than assault charges, right?

Still silent, I headed back into the car to try the key again. Sometimes it took two blows to get the starter engaged, something about lost teeth inside, or gears, or something. I didn't really know why the wrench trick worked, actually; I'd just been glad when the mechanic had explained a workaround that wouldn't break the bank.

But he'd also warned me that the starter wouldn't keep going forever. And I'd known, every time I eked another day out of my rust bucket, that the part was bound to fail me at the worst possible moment. Three more trips around to the hood with my wrench while Jack stood nearby in silence and I knew—the worst possible moment was now.

***

"Want a ride?" Jack repeated, his cocky smile back in place. Then, without waiting for an answer, he hailed one of the coal miners, who had finished lingering by the entrance to the high school and was getting into the pickup truck a few vehicles down from our unfolding drama. "Hey! Do you think you could pull this lady's car home?"

Immediately, I was both furious and terrified. Why did Jack think
my
rust bucket was
his
problem to solve? And hadn't he noticed the way the miners had threatened me as I left the hearing? "I don't want him to know where I live," I hissed, quietly enough that I didn't think the words would carry to the miner three cars down. Or at least I hoped they wouldn't.

For a moment, I saw a hint of the real Jack appear, the corner of his personality that I'd glimpsed during his brotherly banter with Lena now peeking back through the golden boy's usual charismatic facade. "Ah," Jack said quietly by way of reply, then he raised his voice again to address the miner who was walking our way. "Never mind. We figured out what the problem was. But thanks for coming out tonight." Mr. Fish Sticks' movie-star grin seemed to cut through the darkness like a spotlight, and the miner gave a friendly wave before turning away.

I slumped back against the side of my car in relief now that the danger was averted. I still had to figure out how to get myself and my car home, but at least I wouldn't be lying awake for hours wondering whether angry coal miners would be dropping by to burn a cross in my front lawn.

When I'd stood up to speak against the power plant tonight, I hadn't realized that I would so totally alienate myself from my neighbors, and while I couldn't find it in myself to really regret my actions, the look in the miners' eyes as I left the school warned me that I needed to start being more careful. No longer could I consider our little town so safe that I didn't have to lock my doors. From this day forward, I definitely didn't want strangers to know where I lived.

"So what's the plan?" Jack asked more quietly, the intensity of his gaze turned in my direction once again. I expected his movie-star facade to make me all trembly again, but I was tired enough by now that Jack's eyes failed to affect me. Or perhaps I was just beginning to build up an immunity to his facile charm.

"I'll see if any of my friends can offer me a ride," I said firmly, as if walking back into the high school wasn't the last thing I wanted to do. "And I'll figure out what to do with my car in the morning." Just thinking about the expense and hassle of hiring a tow truck exhausted me, but that's what I had to put up with to enjoy the freedom of car ownership. And it was impossible to live in a rural setting like ours without a car, so I'd make whatever sacrifices were required to get my rust bucket up and running again.

"But you've got an appointment at 9 a.m.," Jack countered. "And
my
car's right here." He waved his hand behind us, and I realized that Jack's spaceship of a car had indeed materialized into the neighboring spot during the course of the public hearing. Mr. Fish Sticks must have found a ride into town and then moved his vehicle from its curbside parking spot before coming inside to make me look like an idiot, and I couldn't help thinking that the resultant proximity of our two vehicles wasn't an accident. Had Clean Power's lackey planned this whole parking-lot charade?

Not the part where my car wouldn't start
, I decided, taking in the real concern lurking under Jack's usual facade. Why get his hands dirty when a rust bucket like mine probably had a pretty good chance of developing ignition problems all on its own? Chances are, Jack had just wanted an excuse to walk me to my car so he could make sure I was going to show up on his doorstep in the morning.

The real question was—did I trust Jack with the knowledge of where I lived? I cringed at the thought of the immaculate gentleman beside me walking through my tiny trailer, turning up his nose at the stain on the ceiling tiles where the roof used to leak, then noticing the gap where windows no longer quite fit into their frames. I wasn't even sure that that Jack would be able to make it through the doorway without ducking his head due to the combination of my companion's tall stature and my trailer's low ceilings.

But shame about my accommodations was beside the point—I definitely wasn't going to invite Jack inside. And, the truth was, even though I found Mr. Fish Sticks infuriating, I
did
trust him to keep any knowledge of my home address off the Clean Power battlefield. Because I was beginning to realize that, as much as I hated the fact that Jack took the health of our community so lightly, Cuadic's tussle with the electric company was just a game to the company's star employee. The coal miners and I would have to live with the consequences for the rest of our lives, so we took our opposing views seriously, but Jack would be long gone before the real effects of his "clean-power center" could be felt.

And why does that realization make me so depressed?
I wondered, before pulling my tired mind back on track. "I don't know if I have a 9 a.m. appointment or not," I said finally. "But, okay, I'd appreciate a ride home."

"Buckle your seat belt," I bit out between clenched teeth moments later. Jack's car was so low to the ground that I felt like I needed to lift my feet off the floorboards to prevent them from being rubbed raw on the pavement, and the golden boy managed to drive far too fast despite the narrow roads and sharp curves between the school and my home. I'd always assumed that people piloting fancy cars were more likely to get into accidents due to the seductive appeal of high speeds, and now that supposition was being far too roundly confirmed.

Jack glanced over at me with a raised eyebrow. "I thought we were going to talk about my job offer...."

"And keep your eyes on the
road
," I continued, not feeling bad about interrupting my companion since he appeared to know nothing about defensive driving. Didn't Jack realize that sixteen percent of fatal car accidents were the result of distracted drivers? I probably would've been safer braving the annoyed coal miners than accepting a lift from my current driver. I closed my eyes and tried to imagine I was safe at home in my own garden rather than tearing down country roads at dangerously high speeds.

Abruptly, Jack slammed on the brakes and the car slowed to a crawl. "You're really nervous, aren't you?" my companion asked, his eyes now firmly forward and all bantering absent from his tone. "Hey, I didn't mean to scare you. I thought you'd enjoy the ride—most girls like fast cars."

"Most
girls
are stupid and unlikely to live a long and fulfilling life," I countered, not wanting to go off on a tangent and point out the sexism inherent in Jack's remark when I had so many other bones to pick with my companion. But now that the car wasn't careening around curves at a rate that made my life flash before my eyes, I knew that Jack was right about one thing at least—we needed to talk about my job. "I can't be there at 9 a.m., you know," I told him. "It takes hours to have a car towed, and even then I won't have a set of wheels to get to your place until the repairs are done. Which is beside the point anyway, because I don't feel comfortable working for you any longer."

"But you need a job," Jack countered. "And you like Lena."

"'Like' might not be exactly the right word..." I replied, watching Jack's jaw clench in the dim glow of the dashboard lights. Hmm, maybe Mr. Fish Sticks
did
have an Achilles' heel after all. "But no, you're right. If you weren't planning on sucking every tiny morsel of life out of our community, I
would
gladly accept your exorbitant salary to see if I could get Lena back on track."

"Exorbitant, eh?" Jack replied with a little laugh, seemingly unfazed by my diatribe. If anything, he appeared to enjoy the argument now that I wasn't dissing his sister. "You sure do throw around a lot of four-syllable words for a poor country girl. Sure
you're
not a Harvard-educated industry shill? Maybe our competition hired you to drive up Clean Power's operating expenses."

Unlike Jack, I couldn't resist rising to the bait. "
Some
of us have no money invested in this battle and are just trying to do what's right for the largest number of people," I ground out.
And for the trees and fishes
, I added silently, but didn't want to sound like the Señora by appending those words to my statement. "Plus, for your information, I went to community college. Where did
you
go to school?"

"Yale, then Harvard Law," Jack answered after a pause, sounding a bit chastened after all. The interior of the car grew silent as I imagined being able to jaunt off to two different states for a post-secondary education. I was pretty sure that Yale's library was larger than the grocery store where I used to work, and envisioning each of those shelves brimming with knowledge instead of junk food got my heart racing in a more pleasant manner than the speeding spaceship car had. Heck, Yale probably boasted a dozen libraries, each of which likely allowed students to be surrounded by so many books that the youngsters would feel like dragons curled atop their hoards. "Must be nice," I murmured.

"Which is where Lena could go if she turned her head around," Jack wheedled, any pity he felt for me long since forgotten. Mr. Fish Sticks sure did know just where to apply the thumb screws....

"No car. Jerk of a boss," I reminded my companion, not willing to soften my stance despite the vicarious glow I felt upon imagining Lena walking through a college campus with nothing to do but learn. I'd craved, but never enjoyed, that kind of freedom, and it hurt my soul to imagine Jack's little sister throwing away such an opportunity for the sake of teenage rebellion. If she continued to be kicked out of high schools and didn't make it to college, I suspected the girl would regret it. I definitely would have.

"The car isn't a problem," Jack countered, still intent on working his way through my defenses. It was probably obvious from my thoughtful silence that my wannabe-boss had won the Lena-college argument, and he seemed confident he could dismiss my other concerns as well. "Give me the key and I'll have your vehicle repaired and delivered to your door by morning."

Despite myself, I laughed. Mr. Fish Sticks clearly hadn't spent much time in small towns, and on this issue I felt confident he was wrong. "You
do
realize how far we are out in the middle of nowhere, right?" I asked him. "Even our gas stations close up on Sundays; there's no way you can get anyone to come out and fix my car in the middle of the night. And I can't afford a new starter anyway—my mechanic was just going to buff the rotors or something. Once I finally saved up the cash to get the work done, that is." I muttered the last words under my breath, embarrassed that I lacked the funds to keep my car running properly.

Jack opened his mouth and I could almost see his charismatic side preparing to say something outrageously provocative, perhaps offering to buff
my
rotors. But my companion seemed to change his mind at the last minute, closing his mouth and continuing to crawl down the road at five miles per hour. At this rate, it would take us all night to reach my trailer, but I was afraid to ask Jack to speed up for fear of what I'd get as a result.

And, if I were being really honest, the car's creeping pace was a boon because I wasn't quite ready for the evening to end. Since I was planning on rejecting Jack's job offer, we might never spend another minute together beyond the inevitable standoffs over Clean Power's proposed plant. And, as much as I hated to admit it, I'd miss bantering with Jack once he was safely out of my life.

So we traveled about a quarter of a mile veeeery slooooowly with no complaint from me as Jack formulated his reply. "Consider the car repair a sign-on bonus," he said at last. Then, more cockily: "Key?" As if the arrogant jerk expected me to just slip the car key off my chain and hand it over to a complete stranger who definitely didn't have my best interests at heart.

Okay, yes, he probably
did
expect that. But some hopes are meant to be dashed, so I just ignored my companion and turned my head to look out the window instead.

To my surprise, Jack didn't up the arrogance quotient when no key was forthcoming. Instead, he sighed and pulled the car over so he could turn around to face me without fear of crashing. The engine was virtually soundless and the winding highway was deserted at this late hour, so I could almost imagine that we were two teenagers parked by the side of the road for a make-out session. The aroma of Jack's shampoo was barely noticeable over the scent of leather and money (yes, I really thought I could smell dollar bills), and my treacherous body begged me to lean in and see if he would kiss me.
Naw, it's never smart to stick your finger in an electric socket
, I thought, taking a firm grip on my seatbelt to remind myself about the inherent dangers of my situation.

Jack seemed to be deep in thought also, his face almost too shadowed for me to make out his expression, but what I did see appeared a little sad, which definitely didn't help me remember his bastard tendencies. So when my car-mate said: "Still worried about that jerk of a boss?", all I did was nod a simple confirmation. I couldn't quite force myself to throw the words in my companion's face once again, but I
was
still worried about having my arrogant, charismatic companion as an employer.

Jack drummed his fingers on the steering wheel for a minute, staring out the window at the full moon beginning to rise over the trees in front of us. "What exactly are you afraid of?" he asked eventually, then took his words back immediately. "Never mind," he continued quickly. "Probably better not to go there. How about this?" The golden boy leaned toward me, and for a minute I thought he really
was
going to kiss me, and I was crazily glad. But Jack was just moving close enough to make out my countenance in the dark. "I'll pay you in cash every day so you can quit without notice, and you won't ever see me again unless you want to. Is that
enough
?"

His final word was harsh, as if Jack had been rejected more times than he cared to count and was ready for me to toss him out of my life as well. Which made no sense since the combination of Mr. Fish Sticks' powerful job, his charm, and his financial status should have meant that the man in front of me was untouchable. He definitely seemed that way to me. Still, the impulse that always forced me to pick up stray kittens (and then to find them new homes since I couldn't afford to feed more than one pet at a time) had me reaching across the center console to touch Jack's hand.

It was much less than a caress, my fingers barely brushing the tiny hairs that rose a millimeter above his skin, but Jack jerked away as if I'd hit him.
Interesting
, I thought, then winced as the back of my companion's head banged against the side window in his efforts to escape my touch. Despite his stifled curses, though, I got the impression that Jack was relieved by the pain since it took his attention away from the first honest reaction he'd let slip since we met. Perhaps there was more to my companion than the smooth playboy businessman he liked to appear.

My initial urge was to apologize for surprising him, but I somehow knew that saying I was sorry would make the situation worse instead of better. So I capitulated. Well, sort of. "Okay," I agreed. "I'll think about it. If the repaired car is sitting in front of my house at eight tomorrow morning, I
might
show up on your doorstep an hour later to make Lena smile."

***

Of course, in the midst of all that drama, I forgot to hand Jack my car key, and my companion forgot to ask for it.
So that decides it
, I thought to myself as I gave Florabelle one last scratch, gently set her on the perch in her cage, and covered the cockatiel's home with a blanket so she wouldn't catch a chill or wake me at first light.
Tow truck then job hunting tomorrow.
I wasn't sure if I was disappointed or glad to escape a situation that was surely a tempting but dangerous trap.

Either way, with the decision made, I fell asleep easily and rested more soundly than I had in weeks. Even before losing the Food City job, accumulated stress had been keeping me awake most nights as I worried about my increasingly pushy landlord, about how I'd manage to keep my rust bucket of a car running, and about whether I'd be able to afford enough heat to maintain my tropical pet's health next winter. A prime worrier, I'd even managed to lose sleep obsessing over the caterpillars on my broccoli plants and over whether Ms. Cooper was angry that I refused to use her given name.

So why could I now I rest peacefully when all of those problems still existed? (Well, except for the broccoli plants—I'd eaten the last head out of my garden two nights before.) The obvious answer was the handsome man whose face featured in my dreams up until the instant that Florabelle woke me with the frantic flapping of wings from her own night terrors.

"Shh, it's okay," I soothed, ripping the cover off my pet's cage and inserting a finger for the cockatiel to step onto. A few times a month, Florabelle would rouse me like this, upside down on her perch with her feet firmly clutching the support branch and her wings beating crazily against the ground. Perhaps the trauma of her wayfaring childhood had made my cockatiel a little cracked? No matter—I still loved her.

"How about a bath?" I cooed, pouring a few inches of water into a bowl and nuking it to my pet's favorite temperature—just warm enough that I couldn't feel the liquid at all when I touched it to my skin. Usually, I loved watching Florabelle's ablutions, giggled over the way she dunked herself and then preened back into fluffy dryness under the desk lamp. But today I felt restless and I went outside after preparing her bath, leaving my bird to her own devices.

The sun was barely up, but my yard was light enough to allow me to walk easily through the dewy grass. I had thought it would be a simple matter to find something to do in the garden until the hour was advanced enough for me to call a tow truck, but for once, my vegetable plot seemed to be well tended and even my apple tree didn't require any attention. I'd strung out a water hose the previous morning to wash away aphids sucking juices from the tree's smallest twigs, and close examination now proved that the minuscule insects and their ant herders were still absent. The lone fruit on its spur was green and shiny, nearly as big around as a golf ball, and there was no way to speed its ripening except to watch and wait.