On His List (Entangled Flirts) (3 page)

While he was inside, she checked her email on her phone. Ugh. Big mistake. Their power bill was due, and her student loan had inhaled most of her last paycheck. Maybe she’d get enough tips tomorrow at work to cover it. If she got phenomenal tips, she could maybe replace their DVD player for the hundredth time. They had to get a different apartment. They should practically give out punch cards to thieves for breaking in. With their fifth stolen DVD player, they’d get the toaster too.

No one ever stole their toaster.

This building was boring and after just one lap, she waited beside the door, shifting from foot to foot and humming “I’m Too Sexy” under her breath. It was the shoes. They always gave her ego a boost.

She suspected, maybe even hoped, he wouldn’t be gone as long as he probably had written on his list. This place, another pharmaceutical company like the last one, was around the same size. So, it probably would be around half an hour.

He strode out after only fifteen minutes, and her heart skipped a beat when he turned to look for her. In some ways, his speedy visits weren’t a good thing—even if it meant he seemed eager to be with her. They’d be done with his visits by two in the afternoon at the rate he was going and with her revised route schedule. Denny had said it would take all day. She didn’t bring up the time, and neither did he. Though, he did scowl at his watch and shake his head in bemusement.

Once again, he walked beside her and opened her car door.

When she sat down in the car, Remy realized she hadn’t checked out the next destination. Crap. Normally, she wasn’t shy, but she was really starting to like him. This wasn’t good. She pulled the paper out and unfolded it as if it was nothing—even though she could feel him watching her. A quick glance later, she was putting it back in.

Yeah, she was feeling self-conscious suddenly. Self-conscious about that flirting earlier, and a little worried she was feeling like doing more than flirting. He was here for the day, and she was just driving him around. A little harmless flirting was one thing, but he’d be gone back to Miami in no time. The last thing she wanted was a broken heart.

“What did you mean when you said ‘unrandom random’?” he asked as she started the car. “There isn’t such a thing.”

No. Probably not in his ordered world, but it made sense in hers.

“I probably shouldn’t tell you this, but your visits here aren’t a surprise.”

“Yes, they are. They’re unscheduled.”

“How can they be unscheduled when you’ve got them all scheduled to pieces? I’ve got the schedule in my bra to prove it.”

“Well, outside of myself and my assistant, it’s not known.”

Okay. She definitely shouldn’t say anything. Whoever his assistant was might be in a world of trouble when Owen found out they were tipping off everyone. They probably assumed they were doing him a favor since he wanted everything as he wanted it.

“They know,” he said. “These companies know, don’t they?”

She swallowed. The air in the sedan felt thick and heavy with all the silence she, for once, wasn’t filling.
Crap. Crap. Crap.
She shrugged and concentrated on driving.

“Pull over, Remy,” he said. “Please.”

Chapter Four

Remy winced and swore under her breath. She shouldn’t have told him they knew about the visits.

She parked at a strip mall and waited for him to say something, but instead, he got out of the car with his cell phone.
Oh hell.
His assistant was
hating
her right now. Her window was up so she couldn’t hear the conversation, but he didn’t appear to be mad as he walked and spoke on the phone. As he paced, he unbuttoned the sleeves on his shirt and rolled them up, exposing toned arms. Really toned.

Wait, were they not going to the other two places? No, they wouldn’t be. He wouldn’t start “dressing down” if they were.

Oh crap. Oh crap.
Now those two other places might get in trouble for knowing. Plus, he’d probably just ask her to take him to his hotel, four hours earlier than planned.

She chewed on her lower lip. What if he didn’t pay Denny for the whole day? That would be a nightmare. Their landlord would evict the hell out of them.

Forget the fact that she
wanted
to be with him for another four hours, she had to finish this job.
She had to
. And it
was
a job. She was the driver. He was the passenger. He’d paid for a driver for the day. He’d paid for her. And if that didn’t dump a bucket of ice on her raging lust for his hot, hot, pacing-back-and-forth-while-talking body, then nothing would.

She slapped a hand against her forehead.
Rein it in, Remy. Rein it in
.

A knock on her window startled her, and she turned to see him smiling and motioning for her to roll it down.

“I need my schedule,” he said. He looked so naughty as he glanced at her camisole, sending tingles chasing all across her skin. He certainly wasn’t hiding his attraction anymore. This was not the same man she’d met at the airport.

She considered telling him he knew where to find the paper, but then she shook off the temporary insanity, pulled it out, her whole body blushing, and handed it to him. He took it, and his fingers brushed hers—sending spikes of electricity clear down to her toes. Not. Good. Too good.
So not good.

She left the window down, so she heard him say, “No, I’ll just catch them on another trip. As they weren’t aware I was coming, I’m sure they won’t care.”

He glanced her way and winked.

She smiled and sat back. Oh good, he wasn’t angry. There was that at least. Still, she’d be dropping him off next and that would be that. Even outside of the money thing, she didn’t want to. Hell, what a mess.

You’re just the driver, Remy. You’re just his driver.

A moment later, he dropped into the car. Owen held up the folded list between two fingers. “Want this back?”

She shook her head. She should have said something offhand here. Geez. Why was she being so gutless? Because she was his driver and had a whole lot of bills to pay, and he didn’t even know there was a bench with his name on it for his generous donation. They were worlds apart.

“Good. I’ll keep it as a souvenir.” He tucked the folded-up directions into his shirt pocket. “Wait a moment.” He got out of the car and came around to slide into the passenger seat.

Okay, she was really feeling gutless now. It was hard to feel like his driver when he was right beside her. There wasn’t that imaginary “Home, Jeeves” window between them if he was sitting beside her.

“So, what should we do with the rest of the day?” he asked.

“I can take you to your hotel,” she offered. That’s what a driver would say, and she was pretty proud that she got it out without any sobby sound in her voice. Her mind and heart were having a shouting match. Keep him—he’s hot. Ugh, he can afford a freaking driver for an entire day, and that driver is you. Still, keep him. Her heart was always more vocal than her head. It often got the last word in too.

“No, I can go there later,” he said.

She puffed out a silent breath of relief. She shouldn’t be relieved. At all.
Bad Remy.

“I always fly in and out of places without doing anything. What do people do around here?”

“For fun?”

His mouth twitched in a suppressed grin. “I was thinking more along the lines of torture. What do the locals truly hate to do? We should do that.”

Laughing, she shoved his shoulder. Her fingers tingled from the contact again. He was like jarred lightning to her senses. She folded her arms primly so she wouldn’t be tempted to touch him just for the rush it gave her.

“I’ve always wanted to go see Alcatraz,” he said.

Somehow, that didn’t surprise her. Even if it was
formerly
a prison, it seemed like a place he’d get excited about. A place where people were punished for not following the rules—Owen would love that.

“I can take you there.”

“We can go there.” He emphasized the “we.” Leaning back to reach into his laptop bag on the backseat, he pulled out a legal pad. “We can even make a new list.” Spotting the red pen in her purse, he grabbed it and put “Alcatraz” up at the top. His handwriting was tight and cramped and seemed odd in the scarlet ink. “What else?”

“Fisherman’s Wharf?” she suggested.

“Good. Now we have two things. It’s not really a list if you only have two things. Ideally, we’ll want at least four items or more. Ten would be best.”

“You know, your spontaneity is really one of your more impulsive qualities.”

“Ahhh,” he said. “Grow personality.” He wrote that for the third item on the list.

“I like your personality just fine,” she said, and then blushed. Okay, she really should think before she started saying stuff like that.

“Do you?” He glanced up at her as she focused on the steering wheel. “Take Remy out for dinner.” Owen added it to the list. Seeing her name, written in his tight cramped handwriting, revved up her hormones.

“You don’t have to,” she said.
Just his driver.
Geez. She didn’t have this much of a problem remaining detached with her male massage clients, and she was actually rubbing her hands all over them. The visual of her doing that to Owen made her mouth go dry.
Okay, no, Remy. He’ll be gone in less than a day. He doesn’t live here.
She didn’t have casual flings.

“It’s the least I can do for someone who saved me hours’ worth of driving and seeing all the same things I saw last time.”

Oh. It was a “thank you.” That shouldn’t depress her, but it did. “I should get back and make sure there isn’t anything I can do for Denny. Sometimes, massaging his shoulders helps.” She was mumbling.
Mumbling!

“I’ve paid the company for a driver until five p.m. with the option to negotiate for after hours.”

Damn. Still, that certainly dampened her emotions effectively. She was his driver.
Repeat that, Remy. Over and over until the little wiggling feeling in your stomach goes away. His driver.

“You’re right. So, whatever you’d like, Mr. Savoy,” she said.

“Mr. Savoy? We’re back to that, huh?”

She didn’t meet his eyes, but he sounded part amused and part annoyed. Swallowing, she traced the symbol on the center of the steering wheel.

“I wasn’t suggesting that this was all about my paying for your services, Remy,” he said. “I was just acknowledging that Denny wouldn’t expect you home until later. If you’d like to call him to make sure he’s feeling better…”

Oh. That was nice of him. Crap. Why did he have to be nice?

“Give me a sec,” she said. “I’ll text him. Phone calls when he has a migraine sometimes make him hurl.” She pulled out her phone.

How you feeling?

The car was feeling so much smaller than when she’d got in it the first time this morning. This morning, it had felt huge, so much bigger than her tiny little economy hatchback. Now, it felt tight and warm and, wow, Owen smelled good. Her fantasy of dragging him into some tall pines and ripping his warm cottony clothing off his body returned. She wanted to press her face against his neck and inhale deeply. She felt her cheeks heat up. Great. Just great. She was like a teenager on her way to prom. She glanced down at her phone.

Come on, Denny.

Better. Call.

She dialed and put the phone up to her ear, but the better part of her attention was focused on the man beside her.

“Hello?” Denny answered.

“Hey, you’re better?”

“Yeah, a little dizzy from the meds, but I can stand up.” There was a pause and then a deep breath. “How did it go?”

Remy swallowed. Having Owen up there beside her felt so different, so intimate. “He barely noticed.”

Denny laughed. “I’ll bet. Though he is weirdly focused.”

Remy glanced at Owen. Hopefully he hadn’t heard that.

“The landlord stopped by,” Denny muttered.

That’s what she needed. That little reminder that this wasn’t just a fun date. That if they didn’t get paid for today things would be very, very bad for them. “Oh?”

“Yeah, he said he’ll change the locks on Friday if we don’t have the money.”

She growled under her breath. Sure, the landlord
would
say
that
to Denny. He’d told
her
they could make
other
arrangements—arrangements which she’d sooner die than make. “Did he look pinched? Like he was wearing a size seven Victoria’s Secret thong?” Their rotund landlord would have nearly been cut in half if he’d tried them on, but he was like that. He’d probably enjoy the pain at the very least.

Owen coughed into his fist and stared out the window.

Denny sputtered into the phone. “Please tell me he isn’t in the car with you.”

Oh. Right. There was a sinking sensation in her stomach just before her cheeks flamed pink. “Yeah, like I’d mention something like that with him in the car.” It almost sounded convincing.

“Do you need me to take over?” Denny asked.

Remy glanced over at Owen, her insides at war. She wanted to stay with him, but that would get her deeper into whatever this was. “Do I need you to take over?” she repeated.

Owen shook his head. He flipped to a new page on the legal pad and scribbled,
I’d rather have you
, in long, slashed print. The double entendre of the word “have” didn’t do anything for her roiling insides, or her heart—which had picked up its pace.

“No, I think I’m good,” she said into the phone.

“You’re not touching his stuff, right? I told you how particular he is about that. He won’t even let me handle his bag.”

“I’m not!” Her protest must have reeked of “guilty” because Denny sighed.

“Remy, promise me.”

“I promise.”

“Say it.”

She groaned. “I promise I won’t touch his stuff.” She cleared her throat. “Unless he asks me to.”

Owen had turned back to the window, but she could see his shoulders shaking. Great, he was laughing.

After muttering a “bye” to Denny, she hung up and tossed the phone away.

Owen turned back to her, a smile still stretching his lips. It impaled her heart. She was in way too deep with this guy. His smile was a double rainbow, the best song on repeat, and a shooting star all rolled into one. “You’re not to touch my stuff?”

“No, I’m not to touch your stuff.” She cleared her throat and wriggled in her seat. “So, Alcatraz?”

“I haven’t finished the list.” He flipped back to the previous page and tapped the pen on it.

She snatched the list, wadded it into a ball, and tossed it out the window. When she turned back, the pad still displayed the words
I’d rather have you
. She grabbed the pad and flung it in the backseat. Yeah. That was better—and not at all neurotic.

The horrified look was back. “Not only did you throw out our list, but you also littered.”

Starting the car, she said, “See, that’s an even better reason to make a getaway. Oakland takes a hard stance on litterers.”

Owen buckled in and glanced around at the seedy strip mall with more boarded-up stores than open ones. “Really?”

Yeah, they were in a crappy part of town. They were near her apartment in fact. His list had joined a pile of crap to the side of the car. “Nah. I saw a guy shot over stealing the last Ho Ho at the 7-Eleven last week,” she said.

“Really?”

She laughed. “Don’t you have crime in Miami?”

“You know that’s where I’m from?”

“Denny told me which flight I was meeting.” She could tell what he was doing, though. He was trying to figure out how interested she was in him. If she was remembering the little details about him, that said something. And she was, but where he lived was sort of a gimme. The scent of his cologne, the exact shade of his eyes, that small scar under his left ear were more telling things she’d remember, but she wasn’t about to volunteer that.

“Oh. Yeah. We do. I tend to get wrapped up in my own projects a lot. I don’t follow that part of the news. Mostly I just read the business sections.”

“Have you always been rich?”

“No, I developed a computer program in college and sold it for several million, and a good friend’s father talked me into becoming an investor in a few companies. I’ve just gone from there.”

Remy fought a smile. He was both nerdy
and
wealthy. She’d never dated a guy who was either. Not that this was a date.

He glanced her way. “I’m not
that
wealthy. It’s mostly tied up in investments.”

“Uh-huh. Did you fly first class here?” she asked.

“Yes, but I used airline miles.”

He probably had a list somewhere for airline miles he earned from each trip. “So, did I get your assistant in trouble?” she asked.

“Michael? No. I’ll talk with him about this when I get back, but I can see what he was trying to do.”

His assistant was a man. Interesting. “What was he trying to do?”

“I like things to be smooth and predictable.” Huge understatement. He glanced at her and added, “Normally, anyway.”

Well, she might have to shake up his world then.

She kept him talking the whole way. It was difficult, like prying gum out of her running shoes. She stopped asking him questions that could be answered with yes or no, because he was literal about answering just what she asked. In fact, when she’d asked him about his flight, he’d told her it was six hours and fifteen minutes.