Lamborghinis and Private Jets
1707 Words
Needless to say, I don’t get much sleep that night.
I haven’t called or texted Kieran yet. I’m not sure what I would say if I did. I’m not even sure what he wants from me. He’s asked me several questions about my love life, but he’s also asked about my personal life and even my mother. He’s made no attempt to kiss me, or really even to date me. Granted, I told him I had a sort-of boyfriend whom he now understands I’m only with for my ailing mother, but… still.
I’m working my shift at the Daily Dose the next morning when I receive a text from a number I don’t recognize: Can I tell you a secret?
I stare down at the text for several seconds, confused. It can’t be him, can it?
I plunge my hands into my purse and sift through the contents until I find the business card. Sure enough, the number matches.
How did you get my number? I text him back.
That’s the secret.
He's even sexy via text message. It's very annoying.
I smile politely at the customer in front of me as I take her order. I rush over to the espresso machine and impatiently make their cappuccino before returning to my phone. Okay, then yes, you can tell me a secret.
It was very easy for me to track down your number.
I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. Billionaires can probably track down a lot more than phone numbers.
I get another couple of customers, so I’m forced to set my phone down. When I pick it up again ten minutes later, there's another message: Let me take you out tonight.
Well, I guess that answers the “what does he want?” question. I stare down at his text in awe, re-reading it several times before gathering up the nerve to compose a reply. I can’t go out with Kieran Sharpe. I just can’t.
Thank you, but no. I have plans with Connor tonight.
Fuck Connor. You’ll have more fun with me.
I don’t doubt that for an instant. And yet, He’d find out. He knows everybody in Oakland.
“Then I’ll take you out of Oakland.”
My jaw drops yet again as the increasingly familiar, ridiculously sexy figure of Kieran Sharpe strolls confidently into Daily Dose.
He’s wearing a suit again. He looks immaculate, as always. I glance down at my stupid Misfits tee, then lift a hand to the mess of hair I piled onto my head, and groan. “You really have a way of stumbling in on me when I’m looking like a total wreck, you know.”
He grins, leaning casually against the counter as he looks me up and down. “Hardly. And if you’re referring to the way you looked on your run yesterday, I assure you you’re quite mistaken.”
I’m already turning red again. “You think sweat and frizzy hair agree with me?”
He leans forward. “And sports bras.”
Oh, sweet Jesus. I think I might pass out again.
“What can I get you?” I ask, tearing my eyes away from him. My voice is several octaves higher than usual.
“A date for tonight.”
“I can’t, Kieran.” I try to make my voice sound firm, but it comes out completely wishy-washy instead. “You don’t understand the situation.”
“We can go anywhere we want. He’ll never know. Just tell him you aren’t feeling well.”
I’m torn between finding his stubbornness hot and annoying. “You’re starting to remind me a little too much of Lexi. Are you going to order something, or not?”
My words must get to him, because he reluctantly orders—Americano with an extra shot of espresso; an order as bold as he is—and then takes a seat at one of the tables a safe distance away from me.
When I bring him his coffee, I expect him to re-ignite the conversation. He doesn’t, though. He just politely thanks me and then turns his attention back toward his phone.
And then he stays—for hours.
He doesn’t even order another coffee. He just sits at his little table, scrolling absently on his phone, and glancing up at me every so often. Waiting.
Waiting for my shift to end.
“I’m still not going on a date with you,” I inform him as I step over to his table once I’m clocked out.
“We don’t have to call it a date.” He rises to his feet. He looks very smug for someone who’s been rejected quite a few times today. “We can call it whatever you want, as long as you get in the car with me.”
I follow him toward the door, and then follow his gaze to the car in question. It’s a f*****g Lamborghini. Of course, it is.
“Windows are tinted,” he tells me cheerfully. “No one would see you.”
I glance around, not entirely convinced. The Daily Dose isn’t far from one of Connor’s restaurants. Oakland might not be a small town, but word still travels fast.
“Have you ever ridden in a Lamborghini before?” he asks me.
I shoot him a sarcastic look. “What do you think?”
He grins. “Come on. Just one ride. You say the word, I’ll turn the car around and take you wherever you want to go.”
I’m tired of saying no. I’m only human, and he’s the sexiest f*****g guy on the planet, and I don’t know what his fixation with me is, but I’m tired of fighting it.
I’m not agreeing to sleep with the guy, am I? I’m not even agreeing to kiss him. I’m just agreeing to go on an innocent little drive with him.
So I do.
“Tell me about Heidi,” he says as soon as he puts the car in drive.
I groan inwardly again. Way to kill the mood. “What do you want to know, Kieran? She’s wonderful. She’s the best mom in the world. She’s dying of breast cancer.”
“How far along is it?”
“Stage 4—metastatic. It’s spread to her chest wall and liver. She’s already had a mastectomy and is in the midst of yet another round of chemo-radiation.”
He sucks in his breath sharply. “Jesus. That sounds brutal.”
“You were the one who wanted to talk about it.”
He chuckles. “I don’t like not knowing things, I admit. I like to know everything there is to know about a person before…”
Before what? What the hell was he about to say?
“What about your dad?” he asks me before I get the chance to demand that he finish his sentence.
“You really love the hard questions, don’t you? What about your dad?”
“Dead.”
He says it so effortlessly that it almost gives me the creeps. How could he care so little about the fact that his dad is dead? Did it happen a long time ago?
“Mine, too,” I manage. My voice, of course, is filled with much more emotion.
“How?”
“Kieran, I really don’t want to get into this with someone I barely know.”
He glances sideways at me. His eyes aren’t on mine; they’re on a spot a bit farther south. My burns. “Does it have to do with those burns?”
He really doesn’t know when to quit, does he? “Are you trying to get me to demand that you take me home?”
“Right. Sorry.” He peels his eyes away from mine and refocuses his attention onto the road. He seems to have a destination in mind. “The guitar guy. Brady, you said his name was?”
“Good memory. What about him?”
“He didn’t go to school with us, did he?”
“No—he’s from one of the nicer districts. Comes from a bit of money. Not your kind of money, mind you.”
“Well, very few people have my kind of money.”
Is he getting cockier, or is it just me?
“Have you two ever dated?” he asks me.
“Uhh…” Dated wouldn’t exactly be the right word for it. “Not exactly.”
He glances at me again. “You’ve had romantic involvement, then?”
“I guess you could say that.”
“Why didn’t it work out?”
I cross my arms. I’m really growing weary of the third-degree. “Because I wasn’t interested. Would you like me to grill you about your relationships?”
“Definitely not. And as luck would have it, you can’t, because we’re here.”
I glance out of the windshield, which I’ve been paying very little attention to over the course of this car ride.
Is it just me, or are we on a tarmac?
Why the hell is there a private jet parked fifty feet ahead of us?
“You like hiking, right?” he asks me. “You strike me as someone who likes hiking. If we leave now, we’ll make it to the Grand Canyon by four, I can have you back by dark… that is, if you want to come back.”
My mouth has gone and fallen open yet again.
He has a private jet?
He wants to take me on his private jet?
“Kieran,” I say. My lips feel dry. I feel faint again. “I want to go home.”
“Really?” he asks, scanning me carefully. “Was I wrong about the hiking?”
Of course, he wasn’t wrong about the hiking. I love hiking. I love the environment. Which is why the last thing I’m going to do is get on a f*****g private jet that will immediately increase my carbon footprint by about ten thousand percent.
It’s not just that, though. It’s simply too much. Way too much.
“I want to go home,” I repeat. “Now.”
- Writer
