Sugar on the Edge

Page 14

  Here’s your Perrier, Mr. Cooke, with a slice of lime.

  Can we run out and get you some lunch, Mr. Cooke?

  Is it warm enough in here for you, Mr. Cooke?

  Can I strip you na**d and ride you hard, Mr. Cooke?

  Okay, that last one didn’t happen, but the receptionist that sits behind her black, lacquered desk and gushed over him for ten minutes before asking for an autograph most certainly was asking that in her mind. I could see it in her eyes.

  To give him credit, Gavin takes it all in stride, waving most of them away with an impatient hand. He gave the autograph to the bleached-blonde receptionist, but barely spared her a glance and assured everyone he didn’t need anything but his car.

  I watch as Gavin goes through the paperwork, signing and initialing wherever the salesman points his finger. I can’t fathom what it’s like to have that much money, yet he never acts entitled or better than everyone else. Sure, his house is huge, but he told me on the drive up here that he would prefer something small like the little two-bedroom flat he had in London, but that he didn’t want anyone near him. He didn’t tell me why he felt the need to buy a brand new Maserati Quattroporte, especially when he never goes anywhere, but I didn’t think to question him on that.

  Besides, he worked most of the way up here as he said he would—laptop propped on his lap—and I listened to my music through my ear buds so as not to disturb him. There really wasn’t any opportunity to do much talking.

  Gavin had sent me a text Wednesday night, telling me what time to be at his house. When I showed up this morning, he met me out on his front porch and barely grunted a hello, but he did order me out of my car, insisting we’d take his rental to Raleigh so we could leave it there.

  I wanted to ask him so badly about the noise I heard in his office on Tuesday. It was a massive crash, and I’m guessing it was his desk. Those things don’t just topple over on their own, so I have to assume he upended it. When I went to check on him, he was clearly upset… I could hear it in the tone of his voice, before he snarled at me to leave him alone.

  His tone scared me… vicious and pain filled all at the same time. I hesitated for just a moment, feeling like I should push the door open and see what I could do to help, then I remembered that Gavin Cooke is nothing more than my employer. A darkly compelling and extremely sexy employer… but nothing more.

  “You ready to go?” Gavin says to me as he stands from the salesman’s desk. He looks so amazing, wearing a pair of charcoal-gray slacks and a long-sleeved, lightweight black sweater. The temperature was supremely brisk this morning, and we both dressed accordingly. I chose to wear a light, wool skirt in brown-and-red plaid with brown tights, paired with a pair of brown Mary Janes and a cream sweater. Living on the sunny beaches of North Carolina, I tend to dress in shorts and tank tops for a good chunk of the year, but when I feel the nip of cold weather, I’m all over the appropriate fashions… wool, tights, boots, and trendy scarves. I only get to experience it for a few months a year.

  I follow Gavin outside, the salesman hot on his heels. “Are you sure you don’t want me to take you out on a drive first, to show you all the features?”

  Shaking his head, Gavin heads to the passenger side of the shiny black car, that I have to admit, is one of the most beautiful vehicles I’ve ever seen with its gently curved, sleek lines and polished chrome accents. He opens the door and motions me inside. “No thanks. I think I can figure it out. ”

  “But I need to show you how to transition between automatic and manual,” the salesman practically whines as I slide onto the butter-soft, white leather seat. I’m sure he’s never had someone buy a car completely untested before.

  I don’t hear Gavin’s response because he closes the door once my legs are securely in and walks around the front of the car with the salesman trailing behind. When he opens the driver’s door, I hear him say, “Here are the keys to my rental. Someone will be by to pick it up later today. ”

  He tosses the keys to the salesman, who fumbles them briefly, looking utterly put out at not being able to show off the car.

  Gavin slides into the driver’s seat, and he looks so natural doing it. “Thanks for your help,” he tells the salesman, who looks completely flummoxed, and shuts the door in his face. Starting the car, he revs the engine hard, causing the salesman to jump backward a step.

  I cover my mouth with my hand so as not to laugh, and Gavin shoots me a sideways grin. Putting his seatbelt on, he says, “Ready to see what this puppy can do?”

  “I can see it already put a dent in your wallet,” I quip as I pull my seatbelt on.

  He puts the car in reverse, backs it away from the salesman, who gives us a small wave, with a smile now on his face as I’m sure he’s calculating the commission he just made. “It’s just money,” Gavin says.

  “Says the person who has it oozing out of his pores,” I say with a snort.

  Putting the car in drive, Gavin pulls away from the sales lot and out on to Capital Boulevard. “You sound like you begrudge me my newly earned wealth. ”

  “Not at all. I think if I had as much money as you, I’d buy this car too. And one for each of my friends. ”

  Gavin gives a short laugh but it’s genuine, and I realize I don’t think I’ve heard such an easy sound come from him before. It’s nice.

  “So, tell me about your friends,” he says casually as we make our way south down Capital back to the beltline. “I’ve already deduced you’re friends with that bartender at Last Call. Not lovers, by the way. ”

  “Not lovers,” I agree. “That’s Brody, and he’s not a bartender. He was just filling in that night. He actually runs The Haven with his fiancée, Alyssa. ”

  “You have a lot of respect for them,” he deduces from the tone of my voice.

  “A ton. Alyssa is like a saint. She started The Haven a few years back and was working her fingers to the bone to keep it going. Brody has been working with her full time for a few months now. ”

  “What did he do before that?” Gavin asks inquisitively.

  “He was in prison,” I say softly, wondering if whenever I think of Brody being locked away for something he didn’t do will ever not cause me pain.

  “You’re kidding,” Gavin says with disbelief.

  “No. Drunk driving accident and someone died. ”

  “That’s awful,” he says in commiseration. “How long was he away for?”

  “Five long years. ”

  We’re silent for a few moments, and I have no clue if Gavin wants to ask me more about Brody or not. It’s a morbid story, which would hold fascination for even the most disinterested person, but he instead asks, “What about your other friends? The group of girls you were with the other night. ”

  “You know Casey already, but Alyssa was there, and the other woman is Gabby. Her fiancé, Hunter, is Brody’s twin brother and he also owns Last Call. ”

  “Twin brothers, both engaged to girls that are close friends,” Gavin ruminates. “Will there be a double wedding?”

  “No clue,” I say with a grin. “But it was a double engagement. The boys pulled it off and proposed at the same time. ”

  “Quite the tight little circle you have there,” he muses.

  “Not really. I mean… they’ve all known each other for years. I’m new to the group and not as close to them. Well, I am to Brody, but we tend to work a lot together at The Haven. ”

  “And Alyssa doesn’t get jealous,” Gavin teases.

  I snort. “If you knew Alyssa… and if you knew the relationship she and Brody have together, you’d never ask that. ”

  “So, Brody is like your best friend?”

  “No. I don’t have one of those, but he’s probably my closest. ”

  “The one that knows all your secrets?” Gavin asks as he turns to me for a brief glance.

  “He knows one,” I tell him mysteriously.

  “Hm
mm,” Gavin says as he strokes a finger over his chin. “Are you going to share with me?”

  “Maybe one day… but not today,” I tell him firmly.

  We reach the 440 beltline and I point to Gavin to take the second exit that will have us heading back east. Traffic is light, and he smoothly transitions onto the highway. I watch as he flicks the gearshift. As he speeds up, he uses his fingers to pull at a paddle behind the steering wheel.

  “What are you doing?” I ask with interest, because the engine revs louder with each pull on the paddle.

  “I’m in manual mode now. These paddles are gear shifters,” he says as the car leaps forward when he shifts again.

  I can feel the vibration of the engine through the creamy, leather seats and hear it scream in abandon as the car surges forward. He moves us into the far left lane and we fly past the other traffic that seems to be standing still.

  “Why use the paddles to shift if the car does it automatically for you?” I ask as I watch him shift up and then down again when he slows to a more reasonable speed.

  He turns his head to look at me, rolling his eyes in the process. “You’re a woman. What could you possibly understand about a V8 Ferrari-built engine that goes zero to sixty in five seconds flat?”

  Laughing, I tell him, “Considering that just sounded like gibberish to me, clearly I don’t understand a thing. ”

  “Exactly,” he says as he exits onto US 264, a four-lane highway that’s practically deserted. “But I have an idea. ”

  Gavin starts to slow the car and pulls off onto the right shoulder. When he puts it in park, he undoes his seatbelt. “Get out. ”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Get out. You’re going to drive so you can feel what real power is like underneath you. ”

  “No way,” I protest.

  “Chicken,” he counters.

  I glare at him.

  “Anti-heroine,” he says with a sly grin.

  “Fine,” I grumble, throwing off my seatbelt.

  Gavin and I switch places. After I get the seat adjusted and my seatbelt back on, he points out some of the basic features.

  “What about the paddles?”

  “I’ll let you try those later. Right now, we’ll just leave it in automatic. ”

  After I put the car in drive and check my side mirror to see that no traffic is coming up on me, I gingerly push on the gas pedal and the engine screams as it leaps forward. I immediately hit the breaks in surprise, which causes the car to slam to a stop, throwing Gavin forward, his hands slapping hard on the dashboard.

  “Holy shit,” I exclaim.

  Gavin busts out laughing and pats me on the leg. “The accelerator is very responsive. Give it a gentler push. ”

  I try again, softer this time, and the engine hums for me as the car creeps forward. I put on my blinker and slowly merge onto the highway, gradually accelerating up to the speed limit.

  My hands grip the steering wheel with white knuckles as I realize all of a sudden that I’m driving a $140,000 vehicle.

  Then they start to sweat.

  “Relax,” Gavin croons at me. “You’re doing fine. ”

  “I don’t want to wreck your car. It would take me a lifetime to pay it off,” I mutter.

  “That’s what insurance is for,” he says casually. Then he demands, “Go faster. ”

  I push a little more firmly on the accelerator and the Maserati leaps under my request, the engine growling sexily at me. I can’t help the smile that comes to my face.

  “Nice, right?” Gavin says.

  “Oh, yeah,” I agree, and my smile goes wider.

  “You’re f**king sexy as hell,” Gavin says so softly that I almost doubt I heard him right.

  I turn to spare him a glance… and his eyes are pinned on me, the gray irises darkened, even with the noon sun sparkling bright. I swallow hard, because it’s the same look he gave me the other night, when I told him to touch me between my legs.