Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 75474 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 377(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75474 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 377(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
“Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?” he says. Dark shades cover his eyes so I can’t get a proper read on the amount of BS he’s feeding me.
“You look,” Can’t say nervous. Grim wouldn’t approve. “…restless.”
He exhales. A moment of silence ensues. “It’s business.”
“Tell me more,” I say, turning in my seat to watch him. He hardly ever talks about his work––not that I would understand most of it––but I also get the feeling he wishes he could unload sometimes.
He pushes his sunglasses to the top of his head and throws me a lopsided smile, a brief flash of rare lightness.
I am dead. That smile was a shiv straight to the heart. I am officially dead.
He’s been smiling more lately, but it’s still startling to witness. It’s like a spotlight is turned on, illuminating him from within, transforming his entire face.
“Someone who wants to buy me out. He’ll be there.”
“And that’s a bad thing?”
“I’m not sure,” he says, expression contemplative. “I thought I wanted to sell.”
“Sell what?”
“My stake in a technology I helped develop.”
This piques my curiosity. “What kind of technology?”
“It’s AI, artificial intelligence that tracks spending of government and or private institutions. Think of it as every dollar would essentially have a tracking device. Sanjay and I developed it for emerging countries battling waste and fraud, but the applications are limitless.”
This is making me hot––hearing him speak with passion. I’ve never seen him more animated…other than when he’s spending time with Maisie. That show is enough to get a girl pregnant by immaculate conception.
“Is this the Winstar thing that jerk Woodson was talking about?” Jordan nods, his jaw tensing at the mere mention of the guy who was booted from the club. Turns out it wasn’t the first time Woodson overstepped. “And now you don’t want to sell anymore?”
He shrugs, his gaze returning to the traffic ahead. “I’m not sure.”
Jordan is the most self-assured person I have ever met. There’s no waffle in the guy. And for him to be this conflicted about something says a lot.
“So don’t do anything until you are.”
A slow smile grows on his face and somewhere deep, deep in my chest that dangerously warm feeling is back. It’s been happening a lot lately––this strange kick start to my heart I’ve never felt before.
The phone rings. Madam President flashes on the Audi’s touchscreen and he answers.
“You’re on speaker so keep your voice down.” No greeting, straight to business. The West family way.
“How’s my lovely girl?” Joan asks in a near whisper.
“Sleeping.”
“Good. Everyone’s here already. Are you close?”
“Yes.”
I glance at the navigator map––we’re nowhere near close. I shoot Jordan a look that he ignores.
“Bill Leventhal is here. I need his endorsement so please make nice when you see him.”
This woman loves to issue orders.
“Whatever you say, mother.” Looking at me, he shakes his head, and I have to bite down on my lip not to giggle.
Joan exhales. “I don’t ask much of you––”
“The baby’s waking up,” he interrupts. “We’ll see you soon.”
And just like that, he ends the call. I don’t know if I should be impressed, or horrified at the way he treats her.
“Your mother’s a real peach.”
“She’s been in politics for two decades. She’s been called worse.”
“Does it bother you at all? That she tries to manage you?”
“No, because I don’t let her. I only let her think she’s managing me.”
“That sounds a lot like manipulation.” It gives me a bad feeling. I’ve always been a forthright person. Anything else smacks of game playing and dishonesty.
“The quickest route to a desired outcome isn’t always a straight line,” he says, turning to meet my eyes.
“I like straight lines,” I murmur back.
“Why?”
He looks genuinely interested. Like the answer is important to him. The feeling is back, the one in the middle of my chest. It’s just geography, I tell myself. If the feeling was in your arm, you wouldn’t care. Hopefully my heart will listen.
“I can see clearly where I’m headed.”
When someone says dress casual, I think…casual, for freaking sake. You know––jeans, maybe a nice shirt or blouse. I don’t think dresses and hats out of a day at Ascot. This place looks like a movie set.
Big problem, I’m underdressed. The saving grace is that so is Jordan. Then again, rich people get away with murder while the rest of us can’t get away with anything.
We arrive just in time to see the polo match start. Maisie is now wide awake and ready to rumble, full of energy needing to be contained and talking nonstop.
“Horsey! Horsey!”
Which really sounds like, “Hosey! Hosey!” Hosies everywhere and so is the smell of horseshit.
After Jordan helps me strap her into the stroller, I try as best I can to smooth out the wrinkles in the sleeveless light blue shirt I borrowed from Veronica to go with my skinny jeans, but it’s hopeless. I look like I wrestled a bear in this shirt and lost.