Chapter 2
Two
Jace
I’m just opening the other rideshare app I have on my phone to call for another car—because apparently I have a ride in progress—when a sedan pulls up to the curb, rolls down the window.
A hunch has me looking toward the driver, who asks with a confused expression, “Marie?”
Marie.
Hmm.
I wouldn’t have predicted that name for the brunette with the striking green eyes.
Maybe an Amber or Felicity or Brittany.
Something akin to basic bitch.
But Marie is soft, feminine…and completely doesn’t fit with the ball buster who all but kicked me out of my Lyft two minutes ago.
The car rolls forward a couple of inches and I realize I didn’t answer.
“Marie is my wife,” I lie, moving to the back door and reaching for the handle. I cast a surreptitious glance around, lest I steal a random Marie’s car, but considering the sidewalk is empty, my instincts—and maybe the devil inside me—are telling me that I can take this leap.
I tug open the door, continue lying, “I really need to get around to making my own account, but you know how it is.”
The driver chuckles and pulls away from the curb.
And…I’m committing a crime.
Well, I suppose that Marie committed a crime first.
Yup, the cops are going to love that when I’m popped for a stalking charge. I can see the headlines now?—
Genen-core CEO arrested in San Francisco.
Jace Henderson, CEO and world’s newest billionaire, detained on stalking charges.
Mediocre, middle-aged white dude acts like a creep.
Okay, so the last may be less headline and more reality.
Minus the mediocre part.
And middle-aged.
I’m not even thirty-five.
Did I find a gray hair the other day? Maybe. Was it my first one? No.
Do I have to consume less beer and hit it harder in the gym so my custom suits continue to fit? Yup.
Am I allowing a bunch of useless thoughts to swirl through my head?
Also…yup.
Better to think about nonsense than worry about the dismaying number of errors my executive team has made of late.
Better to think about nonsense than worry about stalking charges pressed by a feisty brunette named Marie.
Better to?—
The car pulls to a stop and I blink, head swiveling, eyebrows pulling together in confusion.
At least until I spot that spicy brown-haired woman getting out of my Lyft.
Marching up to the front doors of my building.
“All good?” the driver asks and I jerk myself out of my surprise—out of the growing realization that what I thought was merely a chance meeting is going to be something far more.
I watch the sleek emerald silk of her dress flirt with her lush ass as she stalks up to the entrance.
Yeah.
Far, far more.
“All good,” I say, unbuckling and sliding out of the back seat. “Thanks, man.”
I pop the door, climb out into the warm late summer evening, and inhale deeply. We’re in a busy part of the city, high rise residential buildings mingling with tech company campuses. There’s an eclectic mix of restaurants and shops and chain stores, along with a wide lake encircled by a walking path. Tonight it’ll be mostly empty, aside from the odd after-date couple taking a stroll. In the morning, though, it’ll be full of parents pushing strollers and people walking dogs and joggers getting their run in before work.
It’s a nice place to grow up.
Far nicer than anywhere I grew up, that’s for damned sure.
Marie and her pretty emerald silk dress, her strappy high-heeled sandals, her shining brown curls have paused by the keypad. Her head is bent, hands searching through her purse.
“Where’s the doorman?” I ask, once I’ve made it so close to her that I can smell the soft floral notes of her perfume.
She jumps a full foot in the air, elbow hitting me in the gut when she spins my way.
I bite back my grunt, peer beyond her into the lobby, seeing the security desk is empty too.
What the fuck?
Making a mental note, I start to reach for my wallet.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Marie snaps, glaring up at me.
I extract my wallet from my pocket, stare down into those gorgeous green eyes of hers.
Not pure green, but there are also threads of gold and brown mixing with the shades of emerald, ivy, and sea foam.
Pretty, pretty eyes…
That are sparking in anger at me.
“What do you mean?” I ask innocently.
“You’re following me,” she grits out. “That’s creepy as hell. I’m not interested. Will never be interested. Now get the fuck out of here.”
“Stop and think for a minute, cookie.” It takes everything in me to not tug at one of those bouncy brown curls and release it, watch it spring back into shape. “You took my car.” I lean down. “A car that brought you to this particular building.”
Her eyes flare.
But I don’t stop, just bend a little closer, the scent of her surrounding me, intoxicating me. “Want to take a stab at deducing the reason why that is?”
Her mouth drops open.
Then closes.
Then opens again.
And I decide to take advantage of the fact that I’ve clearly gotten her discombobulated.
I open my wallet, pull out my keycard, and swipe.
Then get to watch those pretty eyes spark with annoyance all over again when the door unlocks.