Page 13 of First in Line

“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.”