Now #2
I press the clutch and twist the key, but all it does is struggle for several seconds before I give up. Crap, crap, crap. Today is not the day.
Frustrated, I take my phone out of my bag and dial the one person who can help me right now. At the third tone, Nathan picks up with a, “Hey, honey. Is everything okay?”
“No,” I whimper. “My car won’t start, and I’m going to be late for a meeting with my biggest clients. Can you pick me up on your way to work?”
“Oh, I’m so sorry. I came in early. I’m already there.”
My head dramatically falls back on the headrest. Just my luck …
“I guess I could leave and come get you,” he offers, probably sensing my distress. “I’m sure my boss won’t mind.”
“No, don’t worry, I’ll find a way. But thank you so much for suggesting that. You really are the best fiancé a girl could ask for.”
“I’m trying my hardest.”
“And that’s why I’m marrying you.”
“Can’t wait for that.”
“Me neither. Okay, I have to try to call someone else to pick me up. Have a good day at work, honey.”
“You too, honey. I love you.”
“I love you.”
As soon as we hang up, I look into my contacts to call Cynthia, my boss, but also my closest friend. She picks up quickly, and I say, “Hey, can you come get me on your way to work?”
“Sorry, I’m pulling into my parking spot just now.”
“Already?”
“Yes, I had to drive Yasmine to work.”
“Crap.”
“What’s going on?”
“My car won’t start. Nathan can’t pick me up either. And I have that meeting with the Carters.”
“Oh … Listen, I know the project. We’ve talked about it a lot. I can hold them off until you find a way to get here.”
“That would be great, thank you.”
“Of course, Vivi. Let me know if you can’t make it.”
“I’ll walk there if I have to. See you soon.”
“See you soon, girl.”
After a look through my entire contact list, I decide I should take a peek under the hood and see if I can find anything weird.
I’m not a mechanic, but I picked up on a few things during my years with a car-obsessed man.
With a grunt, I exit my uncooperative car after popping the hood.
I open it, set the latch in place, and bend over, doing my best not to dirty my blouse.
That’s when I hear the low, deep humming of a sports car pulling up in front of my driveway. The hairs on my arms and the back of my neck rise before the unknown driver even asks, “Do you need a hand?”
I nearly slam my head on the hood as I straighten up, then move to the side.
“What the heck are you doing here?!” I practically shout at Jackson, who’s sitting in a bold orange Lamborghini.
“I was in the neighborhood, thought I’d say hi.”
I offer him a deadpan glare, doubting his intentions. As someone who lives in Europe most of the time, I doubt he was indeed in the neighborhood.
The moment he turns the ignition off, I shake my head and return to my car issues. I still haven’t found what could be wrong by the time he reaches me. He says nothing, looking down at the engine with his hands in his pockets.
“How did you get my address?” I ask.
“It was on the divorce papers.”
Ah … “Did you sign them? If you’re here to deliver them by hand, your lawyers could have mailed them to mine, you know.”
“I haven’t signed them yet.”
“Why?”
“I haven’t met your fiancé.”
I turn to him, wondering if he’s being serious or not. “You don’t need to meet him. All you need to do is sign the papers so I can marry Nathan.”
“Nathan … That’s an interesting name.”
I know he’s trying to rile me up, so I do my best to stay calm as I reply, “How so? It’s literally such an average name.”
He raises his hands in feigned surrender. “You said it, not me.”
I can’t help but sigh at the insinuation. “Right, because ‘Jackson’ is such a unique and incredible name.”
“It sounded incredible enough when you screamed it. Remember those fun times we used to have?”
I hate that his words work on me the way they do. But I sense myself growing warm as images of sweaty, naked limbs flash before my eyes. To distract myself and not give him the pleasure of witnessing my dismay, I return my attention to the car.
He sounds serious as he says, “I can’t imagine you screaming ‘Nathan.’”
“I don’t.”
“And that’s precisely what I thought.”
“I mean, don’t try to imagine what my fiancé and I sound like in bed!”
“That’s not what you said, though.”
I slam my hand on the edge of the car, frustrated by his immature behavior. This man makes more money in a month than most people will earn in their entire lives. Why does he have to act like a child?
“Why are you here, Jackson?”
“I’m just here for a chat. I don’t know why you’re being so aggressive.”
“I’m aggressive because we both know this is more than a chat.
And because I’m late for work, and you could probably fix my car in half a second, but I don’t want to have to ask you to fix it because you will demand something in return.
And I don’t have the mental strength for your games right now, Jackson. ”
His attention travels to the engine. “Yeah, I could probably fix it. Especially since what you’re missing are these.”
I watch, flabbergasted, as he pulls his hand out of his pocket, and within it, three spark plugs. “Are those mine?!”
“Yes. Stopped by earlier, took them out. Thought we’d get some time to chat if I drove you to work.”
“Jackson, what the hell!”
“Careful there. That’s a bad word.”
“I don’t care. Put those back!”
“That would definitely make you late. How about this: you let me drive you to work in my very fast car, which will ensure you’re not late. Then I will come back and fix your car for you, free of charge.”
“You’re the one who broke it!”
“Broke is a very strong word, princess.”
“Don’t call me that.”
“Alright, Evangeline. What do you want to do?”
“Strangle you.”
“Kinky, I love it. Out here or …?”
It’s like no matter what I say, he always bounces back and regains the upper hand.
I close my eyes and take a long, deep breath. This bickering, it’s … new. We used to have arguments, but back-and-forths like these were never a part of our routine. Is this because we’re technically an old couple? We’ve been married for over ten years. I guess that’ll do it.
When I open my eyes again, I feel recharged enough to make the right decision and not lose my job or pass for an inconsiderate imbecile in front of my clients.
I walk to the passenger seat of my car, gather my things from it, and turn to Jackson. “If I’m late because of your bullcrap, I will strangle you, Jax. And not in a way you will enjoy.”
His victorious grin almost makes me regret giving in. But I can do ten minutes in his car. Ten minutes of perfect silence. At least on my part. He wants to chat? I think not.
His tall legs allow him to arrive at the Lamborghini faster than me, and he opens the scissor door on the passenger side. I reluctantly get in and wait for him to get on the other side.
There’s a paper bag in the small space between us, which he picks up once he’s in. “Are donuts still your favorite form of breakfast?” he asks, extending the bag toward me.
The fact that he remembers such a small detail makes my heart beat a little faster. “I already ate.”
“Too bad. Oh, well, I’ll eat both.”
“Couldn’t you have rented something a little more … discreet?” I wonder, looking around at the luxurious interior.
“I drive a car that’s worth fifteen million dollars for a living.”
“And?”
“This isn’t even three hundred thousand. It’s a huge downgrade for me.”
It takes everything not to roll my eyes.
“Are you even allowed to drive this? Isn’t it stated in your contract that you can’t drive a rival team’s car?”
“Well, Altron doesn’t make cars, so they cut me some slack. Plus, Lamborghini doesn’t have a team.”