The Ceo Son

13

When she heard the knock at her door, Britt hurriedly scrubbed the tanner off her hands and grabbed the little-beaded purse that held her phone, credit card, and a condom. The sight of Jack in her doorway sent her heart slamming against her ribs. She smiled.

“Ready to go?” he asked. She nodded.

“You look gorgeous. You do, but...”

“What?”

“Did you forget to put on pants or a skirt?” he laughed.

“No, this is it.”

“How am I supposed to act like a gentleman with you dressed like that?”

“I’m completely covered. Look, there are even sleeves!” she teased.

“And about six miles of bare legs,” he breathed out. “I may need to lie down.”

“Fine. You do that. I’m going to eat. I’m starving.”

“Okay, I’ll try to pull myself together but really, you make things difficult for a man.”

“That’s my plan,” she sang out as she grabbed her keys.

She felt looser, more relaxed already. It made her wonder if it had been him, the ease and excitement of being with Jack, instead of the margaritas that led her astray the first night. His hand was warm on the small of her back as he guided her to the car. She slid into the passenger seat, enveloped in soft leather upholstery. She leaned forward and started punching buttons curiously until she found the heated seat control.

“Mmm,” she said.

“Yeah, you must be freezing in that dress.”

“So what will you do with me if I’m cold?” she asked, shocked that she’d said it, and a little amused.

“I’m sure I can think of something to warm you up,” he said smoothly.

In no time, they pulled into an underground parking structure, and Jack scanned a security fob to access the elevator. U

p they went, and she was giddy with excitement.

“Where are we going?” she asked.

“To dinner, like I said. No lobster, I promise.”

“Am I overdressed? Is this like a secret McDonald’s or something?”

“No, although as far as overdressed goes, you’re barely overdressed for a swimming pool in that little number. Did I mention that your legs are driving me crazy?”

The doors slid open, and they stepped out onto sandblasted floors, a posh décor of pale wood and soft blue tones giving a seaside vibe. The tables were draped in a softly shimmering aqua silk and accented with white shells and driftwood, a cluster of low white candles in the center of each. The walls were entirely of glass to showcase the waterfront view.

“What is this place? Besides perfect, I mean.”

“The Ocean Club. I’m glad you like it.”

“I love it,” she breathed.

A waitress led them to a table by the window and decanted chilled sparkling water into goblets garnished with lime. Britt took a sip, and it was cool and fizzy, bright with the flavor of lime. The menu was sumptuous with a variety of dishes, but Britt couldn’t concentrate, distracted as she was by the romantic atmosphere. She found herself gazing at Jack unabashedly.

“Do you see anything you like?” he asked indicating the menu.

“Yes,” she said absently, looking only at him. Then she giggled nervously and mumbled something about chicken.

After they had ordered, he asked her what she thought of the place.

“It’s gorgeous. Like, I’d work here just to get to look at it. You had to fob in. I’m guessing it’s a club for rich boys...”

“Not quite. I’m one of the investors, and I designed the logo and most of their website. To join, you have to pay an exorbitant membership fee, half of which goes directly to a charity that provides clean water access in rural Africa. It was our finest moment on the concept...exclusive waterfront club, clean water for all,” he said with a smile.

“That’s amazing,” she said, sipping her water.

“I’m proud of it. There’s not much else I’ve done that I’m this proud of. I know it’s arrogant, but I wanted to bring you here because it’s sort of my own.”

“Show off,” she said playfully.

“Yes. I’m trying to win your approval. Is it working?”

“That depends on how the chicken is.”

“You ordered a steak.”

“Then you don’t have a chance because I won’t know how the chicken is...how can I know if I approve or not?” she said sternly before laughing.

“I can tell them to change your order.”

“No way. I hate chicken.”

“Who hates chicken? I thought women lived on salad and skinless chicken.”

“Not this one. I eat food,” she said. “Speaking of which, is there no bread in this place? Is it low carb or something?”

“Bread is by request. Would you like some?”

“Yes. Please,” she said.

He signaled the waitress who appeared with delicate slices of seed bread. Britt ate one and started on a second.

“It’s an issue of operating costs. The bread thing is. With so many Paleo dieters and gluten-free eaters, it makes sense to make it by request only. Why make all that bread when no one wants it?”

“Uh, so I can eat it,” she said, smiling. “Those anti-gluten people don’t know what they’re missing.”

“To think you’re trapped in accounting when you’re a natural at generating slogans. You may find yourself reassigned to marketing, young lady,” he joked.

“I think the gluten mafia needs to get a sense of humor about themselves, yes. And if you want my line for your advertising, go ahead. Let’s launch your restaurant into the stratosphere on the strength of a pro-gluten stance.”

“You’re quick,” he observed. “I like that. I think I’ve been with the wrong crowd up until now.”

“Would that be your investor crowd, your musician crowd or your graphic design crowd?”

“All of the above. See, my dad has said all along I can’t commit. I’ve got to have too many irons in the fire and all that.”

“ADHD much?”

“Actually yeah. I have it. But it’s not an excuse, at least not a legitimate one. I mean, I finish things, I just like to have a lot of tabs open in my browser, you know?”

“Not really, but I’m boring. I also feel shitty for making fun of ADHD just now. I’m sorry about that.”

“Don’t be. It’s a misconception that we can’t concentrate on anything. It’s actually more like I have hyper-focus on one thing and then shift to the next thing and then the next thing.”

“Novelty-addict?”

“Not really. I just get bored really easily, and I see something that would be so much more worthwhile or exciting or whatever,” he said.

“So, you’re my first dinner companion who talked about a diagnosis,” she said. “Anything else you’d like to share?”

“No, that should do it. We’ve covered my mental health and your love of gluten. I think we’ve bonded,” he grinned.

“Gosh, you’re cute,” she blurted out.

“Thanks.”

“I didn’t mean to say that out loud. Really didn’t mean to,” she groaned.

“Why? You should feel free to compliment me anytime you like.”

“I’ll try to restrain myself.”

“You’re way too restrained as it is. It’s not a bad thing to say what you’re thinking. For example, I really think your dress is supposed to be a top. As in you’re meant to wear pants or something with it. It’s too distracting. I’m surprised we haven’t been asked to leave.”

“Should I ask for an extra napkin to cover my unsightly nakedness? I have legs. Most people do. If they frighten you, don’t look.”

“They do. They scare the hell out of me, Britt. I’m afraid I’m going to reach under the table like this, that I won’t be able to help myself.”

Jack’s hand grazed her bare thigh, the silk of the tablecloth brushing her leg as he moved it aside. She bit down on her lip harder than she meant to.

“Are you slut-shaming my dress?”

“No. I don’t think your dress is necessarily asking for it. I just think it isn’t making an effort not to attract attention.”

“I could see if I can score an apron and a bonnet to satisfy your Amish sensibilities.”

“It would take more than an apron to cover everything you’ve left exposed.”

“That’s a bit puritanical coming from a man who was naked in my living room recently.”

“You say that like I asked to come in and use your phone and then dropped my pants without invitation.”

“Okay, so maybe you were invited,” she laughed.

“So it’s okay to joke about it now? When did we shift from pretending it never happened?”

“When I agreed to take my dirty little secret out for dinner. Without pants on.”

“I thought I was taking you to dinner.”

“I should buy. I think it’s only fair since I traumatized you with the sight of my bare legs.”

“I wouldn’t say traumatized so much as...”

The waitress appeared with their food and the business of serving and eating began. After a few bites of steak with a chimichurri sauce, Britt paused.

“So much as what?”

“What?” he asked blankly.

“You wouldn’t say traumatized by my legs so much as....what?”

“Taken,” he finished swiftly.

Britt felt warm and like she wanted to swoon out loud. Taken. As in, I was quite taken with you. As in, taken by surprise. As in, taken on the couch, on the bed, in the kitchen. She blushed for a minute before composing herself.

“Taken,” she repeated slowly.

Jack nodded.

“That’s a good word.”

“Good isn’t good enough. I can do better,” he said, and she flashed

on the moment he’d said that to her before, naked and gorgeous and all tangled up in her legs.

“You already have,” she said. “If you don’t mind my asking, why did you ask me to go out with you tonight? I mean, it’s obvious that you could have anyone you want.”

“I told you already; I hoped I’d get another shot with you. I like you. If I can get anyone I want, that’s good news,” Jack said.

“I’m starting to think I have no social skills,” she sighed. “I can’t flirt. I can’t be...fun. I’m the most stereotypical awkward nerd there is.”

“No. That dress keeps you from being stereotypical. If you want to be seen as an awkward nerd, you’ll have to wear pants at all times,” he said.

“Thank goodness I forgot my pants. It’s saved me from mediocrity,” she deadpanned.

“I want to show you something. Are you finished?”

“Yeah, I’m finished but I’m pretty sure I’ve already seen what you’ve got,” she said.

“You haven’t seen this. Okay, if you have seen this, just pretend it’s new to you.”

“I’m being a fake virgin now?”

“In a sense, yes,” he said.