Matched

This time, Isaac managed to quell it, his ironclad emotional control slipping back into place. He could do this. He could play a game of poker with her, enjoy their time together no matter how they spent it and then issue a kind but definitive farewell come morning. That was absolutely within his emotional wheelhouse.

Impulsive or not, Isaac wanted—needed—to see where this might go. Rachel’s spontaneity was a challenge. She kept him on his toes, forced him to engage in the conversation and be wholly present.

It was an odd thing to be that present in a personal conversation. He honestly couldn’t remember the last time he had.

The door opened and his driver stood, twisting to face Isaac. “Sir? The woman in the back seat...” He hesitated, fidgeting with his tie.

“Yes?”

“She asked me to relay a message.”

“Then relay it.”

“I don’t want to lose my job.”

Isaac’s mouth twitched, though whether he hovered on the border of irritation or humor he couldn’t say. “Just tell me what she said. Verbatim,” he added.

“She said to tell you to either get your ass in the car or take her home where she could play solitaire.”

Laughter nearly choked him, and he couldn’t stop it from breaking free, a sharp sound that was entirely unfamiliar. Realizing his driver’s eyes were nearly bugging out at the fact Isaac was laughing, he tamped down the outburst, cleared his throat and said, “I’m getting in. Run the divider up, pull into traffic and drive.”

“Destination, sir?”

“I’ll let you know.” The man moved to reenter the driver’s seat, but Isaac stopped him. “Oh, and David?”

“Sir?”

“As far as anyone—anyone else is concerned, I left the bar alone. I don’t care if it’s family, friend, coworker or corporate rival, you didn’t see me with anyone tonight.”

“Yes, sir.”

Letting himself into the car, he settled into the plush leather seats and breathed a short sigh. There was familiarity, even comfort, in the known, and this car was known. It was his. Something he had arranged so that each and every component suited his preferences.

As directed, the driver raised the partition between the front and back of the car before pulling away from the curb.

Rachel glanced out the window. “I assume we’re going to get cards.”

“If you prefer.”

She looked at him, expression open, not an ounce of pretension or any sign of an agenda visible. “Where would you normally go to get cards?”

“Wherever you prefer.” Light from a smartphone screen lit up the interior, and Rachel started rapidly tapping on the screen. “No need to Google directions. Tell me where you want to go and David will get us there.”

“I’m not Googling directions. I’m texting my emergency contact to let her know where I am, where I’ll be and when I’ll be back.”

“Seeing as I’m with you and don’t know that information, maybe I should give you my cell and you could text me, too.”

She glanced at him then back to her screen, smiling. “Smart-ass.”

“Seriously, Rachel. Where to? David can drive the city for hours, but a destination would be nice.”

Fingers pausing over the screen, she worried her lower lip with her teeth.

Isaac leaned forward and hit the intercom button. “The boat, please, David.”

“Boat?”

“It’s as good a place as any for me to school you in seven-card stud.”

She laughed, that true laugh of hers that was low and sultry and a type of foreplay all its own. “Where’s the boat?”

“On the harbor.”

“That’s a given, Isaac. I need the name.”

“The Marina.”

Her tapping resumed, but she paused to read a response and then shot him a sharp look. “The Marina?”

“The one and only.”

“Are we going to the clubhouse or do you have a boat?”

“Boat.”

“Slip number?”

He relayed the number and added, from memory, the manager’s name and number as well as his driver’s name and number, watching as she sent all the information to this mysterious emergency contact.

Rachel continued to clutch her phone even when she’d finished typing. She was clearly a good deal more nervous than he’d believed.

Sighing, he reached over and touched her forearm lightly before withdrawing. “Would you prefer I take you home?”

“No.” But she didn’t look at him.

Doubt began to weasel in, its insidious voice filling his mind with all the things that could go wrong, until he finally asked, “What are we doing here, Rachel?”

She swiveled around to face him, then. “My friend made me aware of who you are, Mr. Miller.”

“Isaac, please. And just what did she tell you?”

“That you’re the CEO of Quantum Ventures. That you’re—you’re...” She looked away, worrying her bottom lip.

His breath faltered, an unwilling captive trapped in his chest. He waited. Then he waited some more. When she didn’t continue, wouldn’t look at him, he forced himself to control his breathing. Every inhale and exhale felt forced. Possible attributes this stranger had saddled him with raced through his mind, each one hitting him with surprising, almost crippling force. Admittedly, his own imagination was likely far crueler than the simple truth. Without making a conscious decision, Isaac suddenly found himself filling in the possible blanks out loud, though in a low voice.

“I assume, based on your reaction, that your friend decried me as evil. Or am I perhaps corrupt? Has she found my name on some government watch list? Did she tell you I’m cold? Callous?” All truths—things he’d been called or labels that had been attributed to him at one time or another—that he didn’t want her to have heard. Surprised at his outburst, the shock of it caught him just below the diaphragm and made him suck in a short, sharp breath. Forcing himself to slow down, to regain control of himself and his runaway mouth, he offered a more lighthearted response. “I can confirm for you I’m neither evil nor corrupt, but the watch-list thing? Odds are pretty good she’s right.”

“Cold and callous?” she asked, her voice oddly soft.