Page 10 of Final Verdict
“242 West 53rd St.”
“Thank you.” He taps his digital dashboard, typing in the letters, while I lean forward and fiddle with the buttons on the console.
I stab one that’s lit up in bright blue, then another that’s lit up in red.
“What the hell are you doing?” He grabs my wrist, and his touch sets every nerve in my body on fire.
“I was, uh—” My breath hitches as his hand lingers against my skin, as he squeezes my wrist a bit tighter. “I was just trying to turn on the heated seats. My legs are cold.”
He glances down at my exposed thighs—sending another heated signal to my nerves—but then he lets go of my hand.
“It’s the red button on the far right,” he says.
“Thank you.” I press it, and within seconds, long wisps of air are blowing against my skin, and for a moment I wonder what this man’s mouth would feel like against my skin instead.
We’re still miles away from lower Manhattan, so I start to think of something else to say to him, but nothing comes to mind.
I figure if he can make an argument out of olives and pickles, he can probably make an argument out of anything.
Bzzzz! Bzzzz! Bzzzz!
My phone suddenly vibrates in my purse, probably reminding me to pay a past-due bill. Pulling it out, I glance at the screen and my stomach drops.
Dad.
I silence it, waiting for it to go to voicemail.
It doesn’t.
Bzzzz! Bzzzzz! Bzzzz!
Shit. Shit. SHIT.
“Um…” I look over at Jameson. “Would you mind pulling over and stepping out to let me take this call privately?”
He shoots me a blank stare.
“Is that a yes or a no?” I ask. “I can’t really read your expression under this lighting.”
“I hope the address you gave me belongs to a psych ward.” He rolls his eyes. “I think you might need some serious mental help if you honestly think I would leave you alone in my car.”
I don’t have time to respond to that, and I can’t afford to avoid my father’s calls for the third day in a row.
Letting out a breath, I count to three before answering.
“Hey, Dad!” I feign a smile. “How are you tonight?”
“I’m pissed as fuck.” His voice is terse. “My only daughter hasn’t returned any of my goddamn calls this week, and she knows I don’t appreciate silence.”
“I know, and I’m so sorry, Dad.” I swallow. “I’ve been really busy.”
“Busy doingwhat?”
“Handling a lot of open projects and research.”
“I see.” He’s clenching his jaw and turning red; I can tell. “Why haven’t I received a weekly email update aboutyour progress in Harvard’s business program this month? You haven’t mentioned anything about those classes in a while.”
“Well, because it’s been pretty overwhelming and hard…” I pause. “One of my partners and I are actually heading back to Massachusetts right now. We had to do a lot of field research in New York City this week.”
