Chapter 9
OLIVIA
After trying on no fewer than eleven outfit variations, I have opted for a green cotton wrap dress that falls just below my knees and nude Mary Jane stacked heels.
My hair is up in a messy bun. It is tasteful but not overtly sexy.
I can’t help it if my neck is so enticing.
I definitely can’t help it that I smell so good after applying multiple layers of my signature blend of scents—body wash, body lotion, and perfume.
I sure hope Mrs. Investor Guy doesn’t feel intimidated by my toned-down yet awe-inspiring beauty.
But when Johnny gets a glimpse of what’s going on underneath this dress, the poor guy won’t know what hit him.
I’ve already set all of my YouTube videos back to public and posted a Short announcing my glorious return.
Hopefully, that will wake up the algorithms. Hopefully, word about a hot billionaire getting Louisa to approve my vlogs will reach Kennedy in Paris.
She can souffle moi, or however you say blow me in French.
I check my phone and find text notifications from John and from my brother.
JOHNNY
We’re seven minutes away. I told Monty about our date. He approves.
NATHAN
John just told me about your date. What the actual fuck is happening?
But I do approve.
But seriously. WTAF?
JOHNNY
We’re two minutes away.
We are now out front. Are you ready?
I grab my handbag and overnight bag—which already happened to contain several condoms in its inner pocket from the last time it was utilized—and go down to the front door without replying to Johnny’s last text.
I’m expecting him to be waiting for me in the car, but he stands two feet from me and turns to see me in the doorway.
By the look on his face, I may not have toned down the sexy enough.
He is even more handsome than he was yesterday, in a simple but expensive black T-shirt, charcoal blazer, and dark jeans that probably cost more than the entire factory my dress was manufactured in.
He’s wearing his slutty little glasses, and goddammit, how is it possible that his eyes look even bluer now than they did yesterday?
He leans in to kiss me on the cheek, lingers to inhale and to whisper, “You look good,” and then signals to the driver that he doesn’t need to get out to open the car door for us.
John opens the back door and waits for me to step inside.
I don’t recognize this make of car, but it’s black and sleek and classy, and the tires scare me a little.
“Hi, I’m Olivia,” I say to the driver. He is middle-aged, large, possibly Hawaiian, very friendly looking, but serious. Like, nobody would mess with him, but I also sort of want him to give me a deep-tissue massage.
“Good evening, ma’am.” He tips his little chauffeur hat. “I’m Richard.”
“Nice to meet you, Richard!”
John buckles up after sliding in after me. The back seat is wide, and there’s more than a foot between us. I find myself a little disappointed about that. John presents me with a glass bottle of flat mineral water.
“Why, thank you,” I say. “What kind of car is this?”
“Lucid Air.”
“Ahh… What?”
“It’s a Lucid Air Dream Edition. Electric,” he says. “One of my few indulgences, but it’s good for the environment. I don’t own a private jet either.”
“Does this not fly? How disappointing.” There’s a huge moonroof overhead, and it does feel like we’re in a small plane.
“I’ll probably invest in a flying car next,” he muses. He does not appear to be joking.
I don’t even have the urge to make fun of him, because I find that strangely arousing.
And I find that extremely disturbing. So, I recross my legs and tug the skirt of my dress up the slightest bit.
The nude Mary Janes make my legs look even longer, and it’s very satisfying to watch John’s Adam’s apple bob up and down.
His jaw clenches as he stares at them. His gaze travels slowly from my shoes up to my knees.
Almost as if he’s imagining what he could do with my legs and filing it away in his erotic mind palace.
Which, I’m sure, is what he calls his spank bank.
And then he pulls out his phone and proceeds to read a message, as though my legs and I aren’t even here.
Richard pulls away from the curb, and we’re off to an upscale Zagat-rated New American restaurant in SoMa.
John tells me that we’ll be dining with Phil Stanley, an investor from Houston.
Phil has portfolio companies that could partner with John’s, so they’re discussing synergies.
His new wife, Teresa, works in marketing.
Chamber music is playing from the car speakers at a low volume, but I still lower my voice to say, “So you have a full-time driver? Do you not like to drive?”
“I do, very much. Especially this car. But I also like to multitask, and after getting pulled over twice for using my phone while driving, I realized it was unsafe. So, I always use Richard when I know I’m going to be distracted.” He very pointedly looks over at me. “Like tonight.”
He means by me.
That is such a low-key sexy thing to say.
Wow.
Was I wrong about Johnny all along?
I’m starting to question everything until he breaks our gaze to stare down at his phone again.
Yeah, I was definitely right about him.
But I’ll get his attention eventually. “I saw your TED Talk on YouTube. It was interesting.”
“I’m glad you enjoyed it.”
“You referred to me in it.”
He looks over at me, grinning. “I did. I’m glad you caught that.”
“Well, it was pretty obvious to me. Has my brother seen it?”
“He has. He also got the reference.”
“Interesting that he didn’t mention anything about it to me.”
“He’s a busy guy.”
“Sure. I’m curious. What, specifically, would you say is your weakness at this point in your life?”
Without hesitation, he says, “You are, Olivia.” There’s no sarcasm. Is there? It’s not a cheesy line. He’s not being flirtatious. He wasn’t even caught off guard. He’s just being honest. He looks vulnerable for a split second before he turns his attention back to his phone.
I have no idea how to take that. Especially because he’s so engrossed in the email that he’s typing out on his phone that it’s almost as if the exchange didn’t occur at all.
I don’t know… Maybe my expectations are too high.
Maybe if I ask a question, I should be satisfied with the fact that he gave me an immediate, honest answer, instead of being insulted because he’d rather look at his phone than stare at me…
Oh, but I can’t… He needs to learn how to treat a lady on a date. He thinks he knows everything, but he doesn’t know how to behave socially, and this is my chance to finally teach him. “Really? Because it seems to me that your phone addiction is your weakness.”
“I’m not addicted to my phone; I’m finishing up an email to a colleague in Boston who needs an answer tonight. You know what your weakness is?”
Steeling myself, I reply, “I have a feeling you’re going to tell me.”
He blinks slowly, staring at my mouth. “You have no idea how important you are.”
I make a face and laugh because I haven’t processed what he’s said yet. When I have processed it, I am still not sure if I should feel offended or not. “Is that another way of telling me I’m living a life of mediocrity?”
“No. I’m telling you that you’re important. To me. Even while I’m typing an email on my phone.”
Sheesh. When you put it that way.
My heart is racing. I lean toward him and lower my voice. “Well, if not knowing I’m important is my weakness, then how do you recommend I leverage it?”
“Just keep doing what you’re doing. It’s working for you.”
My mouth feels dry all of a sudden. My hands are trembling. What the fuck is happening? This doesn’t happen to me. Johnny B. Nerdballs definitely does not do this to me.
I struggle with the cap on the water bottle. It won’t budge. John holds out his hand, offering to open it for me. I jerk it away from him just as the cap opens, and water spills out onto my dress and my bare legs.
“Shit.”
“I got it, I got it.” John immediately slips his phone into the pocket of his blazer and reaches for a box of tissues.
He dabs at the wet spot on the lower part of my dress and then lifts the hem and uses a few more tissues to wipe my bare legs, from below my knees up to my thighs.
I am so glad I found the time to shave and lotion up after work.
I hold my breath as I stare down at him.
He isn’t at all uncomfortable wiping my damp bare skin.
Until he is. His eyes flick up to meet mine.
He lets the wet ball of tissues drop to the floor.
The tips of his fingers and his knuckles deliberately graze the smooth skin of my lower limbs as he slowly reaches up between my legs for the hem of my dress and pulls it back down to cover my knees.
His hand hovers there. He seems to be deciding if he should travel farther.
My body would welcome it, and he would soon find that there is another part of me that is also getting soaked.
I dare him, with my eyes, to take it further. I am now, after all, a woman who knows how important she is. And I know how important it is to me that he relieves me of the dull, throbbing pain at my center. I am, in short, an important woman who is really, extremely horny.
John doesn’t lose eye contact with me until he picks up the discarded tissues and places them into the built-in waste receptacle and then pulls his phone back out of his pocket.
“You can use the hand dryer in the ladies’ room when we get there” is all he says until we reach the restaurant.
I let out my breath as quietly as possible, hoping he doesn’t realize just how frustrated I am. Perhaps I shouldn’t have mentioned that little issue of not having sex with him. Surely he isn’t going to restrain himself because of that. Surely he isn’t a gentleman.
Oh, shit. Is he?