Chapter Five
Hayden
Sweet goodness. What have I been blessed by the Almighty with?
The answer? My very own Japanese hunk.
I’m sitting in Darcy’s fancy black Cadillac.
Ren is in the front passenger seat, and Darcy is sitting adjacent to me in the back with only the small middle seat in the space between us.
He insisted Ren take the front seat and climbed in the back with me.
Of course, I put up a fuss, questioning why I couldn’t sit up front and keep Lionel, one of Darcy’s personal drivers, company while both the men sat in the back.
Darcy’s reasoning: Ren is our guest and should be allotted the front seat.
Honestly, I want that dreamboat sitting next to me in the backseat instead of the stiff-necked, insufferable, too-tall-for-his-own-good Darcy.
“So, Ren.” I lean forward, placing my hands on top of the shoulder portion of his seat to steady myself. That chonmage of his has my nerves unraveling. “Are you from the States or Japan? Your English is impeccable. There’s not even a trace of a Japanese accent.”
Ren turns his head in my direction so that he’s eyeing me out of one corner. “I am the son of the Japanese ambassador to the United States. I was born and raised here, though I have been on a mission to understand and engage in my roots more.”
Suddenly, I feel small in this car of powerful men.
At least there’s always Lionel the Driver.
“Oh, Mr. Sato is your father. I believe I met him at last year’s Ambassador Ball.
” I try to sound chill and nuanced, but my heart is racing and my skin is perspiring.
This man looks too good for his own good.
I can see the resemblance now—bushy (but neat) eyebrows, pointed nose, long neck, and lips that are ridiculously full.
I remember thinking the same of Mr. Sato.
Regardless of when I meet someone or how many times I meet them, I have a knack for recalling their faces and remembering names. It’s quite helpful in my line of work.
Ren chuckles. “He has an affinity for those kinds of things. Me? Not so much.”
“Why not?”
“I have more of a…” he hums, “private taste.” Ren winks and curls his lips into a smirk.
I’m a loaded spring set loose at his insinuated remark. Mercy, that man could get anything he wanted with that wink and smirk of his.
Releasing my grip on his seat, I fall back with a thump against my own seat.
Darcy watches me from an angle, but I’m too focused on trying to discreetly fan myself to pay his scowl much attention.
Ren turns back to the front, but he lowers his visor and situates the mirror where I can see him, and I’m ninety-nine percent sure he can see me, if the intense smolder is any indication.
This is the kind of sexy stare men give while they do the latest dancing trend on social media.
I never thought one would be directed at me outside of a screen.
Darcy harrumphs, ruining the moment. Come on, dude. I was in the process of melting into a puddle.
“When was the last time you had private time with another woman?” Darcy asks as he crosses his arms over his chest.
Ren doesn’t take his eyes off me as he replies. “A gentleman does not kiss and tell.”
“You don’t kiss at all. Well, unless we count that one time in tenth grade—”
“I’m appalled you would bring that up.” Ren abruptly turns and faces Darcy, who is… smiling?
I didn’t know he knew how to do that unless he was in front of a camera or crowd.
The smile is genuine, not forced.
It’s kind of breathtaking.
And that’s a thought I will banish to the depths of Sheol for the rest of eternity.
“Quit pretending to be the flirt you most certainly are not. You forget how to speak in front of most women you like,” Darcy says. His smug expression grows. I turn to look at Ren, whose sexy stare has turned into a sexy grimace.
“It’s not pretending if it’s working,” Ren mumbles. Then louder and with a transfixed smile, “Right, Hayden?” He shifts brown eyes back to me.
Right! However, if he can speak and flirt with me like it’s nobody’s business, then I’m assuming he isn’t interested. What a bummer. We would’ve had beautiful babies.
“Um, I guess,” I dumbly reply while fiddling with a loose curl dangling in front of my face. I focus on deep breaths to cool my heated face and slow down my disappointed heart.
“Stop flirting with my campaign manager.” Darcy’s voice is dark, making him sound like Batman.
“Why? It’s not like she’s your woman.”
I throw my hand over my mouth as if that would contain the roar of laughter bubbling inside me.
Spoiler alert: it doesn’t.
Ren tilts his head to the side in amusement while Darcy narrows his eyes at me, his mouth agape.
“What’s so unbelievably funny that you can’t control yourself?” Darcy asks, utterly offended.
I shift my finger between us, indicating that the idea of an “us” is terrifyingly hilarious as I continue to boisterously laugh. Me? Darcy’s woman? Not in a million years. Not if we were the last two people on this Earth.
Darcy gives his signature scowl, and Ren situates himself correctly in his seat. He flips the visor up.
My manic laughter ceases when Darcy unbuckles his seatbelt and slides closer to me, his tall, built frame fully occupying the center seat plus some.
“There are thousands of women who would jump at the opportunity to be my woman. I’ve rejected all the women you’ve brought to me, not the other way around.”
With every passing word, I shrink. I don’t know if it’s the all-black suit he’s sporting, the way his eyes match the suit, his husky Batman voice, or his suffocating closeness, but I have the overwhelming desire to apologize for my seemingly offensive laughter.
But enough of that.
I’m not a woman who cowers from speaking the truth.
With every ounce of confidence I can muster, I reply, “You have no idea how hard it has been trying to find a woman willing to even try to go on a single date with you. Much less getting the women to the stage of letting them know you want her permanently as a wife.”
He leans back against the seat, tilting his head toward the sky with a frustrated grunt. His hands run through his dirty blond waves that have been gelled and styled for the night.
“You’re probably scaring them all away,” Darcy mutters, though he in no way tried to conceal the statement.
I hear Ren whisper from the front. “Oh, boy.”
Then I see red.
Grabbing his tie, I jerk his face down so that he is eye-level with me.
“Don’t you for one second try to blame me for your lack of social propriety, your unrealistic expectations of women, and your Grinch-like demeanor.
” I jab him in the chest with a finger from my free hand.
“I don’t care if you are petitioning to be king of the world.
That doesn’t give you permission to bully me and blame me for your own faults.
I am here to do one job: get you elected to America’s highest office. That’s it.”
As we pass under a street light, the world slows to a halt.
His sapphire eyes, now illuminated by the light shining through the sunroof and windows, widen. His lips, shiny as if he recently applied lip balm, narrow while his jaw clenches and unclenches. What’s the cliche references in all the dark romance books? He looks like a vengeful angel…
And I realize I just insulted a billionaire man running to be the president of the United States. More importantly, I insulted my boss.
With that awakening, all motion resumes and Darcy’s expressions are plunged back into the darkness of the night. My senses slap me in the face.
I let go of his tie and return my hands to my lap.
Ren whistles from the front and then turns to face us. “It’s about time someone other than me called him out on his prideful complex.” He throws a cheeky grin at Darcy and holds a hand up in the air toward me, which I assume is for a high-five.
Keeping my hands firmly in my lap, I give my head a little shake to let Ren know that a high-five is not going to happen. He slowly lets his hand drop and turns around again.
The moment Ren is no longer visibly peeking over the shoulder of the seat, I cringe. Whatever apology that’s going to tumble out of my mouth in about three seconds better be the world’s greatest.
“Mr. Marshall, I—”
He holds a finger up, his face turned away from me. I desperately need to fix this.
“Sir, I—”
“Just let me think for a moment.” His voice is a growl, and I know I took things too far. The overwhelming desire to win him back over to my good side takes over, and so I do the only thing I can right now. I lean back in my seat and shut up for once.
His fingers fly to his temples and he lightly shakes his head.
What’s going on up there? I’ve wondered recently if the way his long fingers find his temples and massage while he practices deep breathing is him trying not get overstimulated and snap.
I bite my tongue to resist the temptation to apologize again.
Instead, I ask the Lord to fix this situation because I can only screw it up more, it seems. Why did I have to let the anger out? The ugly out?
That’s why your Mama left you. You’re rotten inside and out.
The words of Director Hoggs are seared into my memories, and they like to make appearances every now and then.
I take deep breaths and remind myself that I am cherished, loved, and adored by the Creator of this universe.
He gave me breath in my lungs. He thought I was worth having on Earth.
His opinion is the only one that matters.
Feeling centered again, I effectively get a short apology out to the brooding man next to me without him interrupting, but all he murmurs in response is, “She’s it. I should have known all along.”