Butt-dialing the Billionaire by Annika Martin

Author:Annika Martin [Martin, Annika]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Annika Martin

Thirty

Jada

* * *

“Did you see that? Did you?”

“Yes.” Jack pulls out into traffic, shifting deftly.

I want more. I care about Jack’s opinion, and I want him on my side.

“Right?” I urge. “Can you tell me that there’s any possible chance that he’s not trying to destroy the company? What boss actively tries to prevent a capable and motivated employee from working?”

He drives with his usual expertise, flowing in and out of the traffic like it’s water, all serene concentration. “He’s a very bad boss,” Jack says. “He shouldn’t be in that position.”

“Thank you!” I say, gratified. “He literally is trying to destroy morale. Shutting the system off like that. This stupid training. He doesn’t care. And of course he exempted you so that we could do this errand. He knows I think you’re a shitty worker.”

“Karma’s a bitch,” Jack says, switching lanes.

“Not helpful.”

“We’ll get this done so you can get back, how about that?”

“Is that an offer? Without extorting sexual favors?”

The glance he gives me is dark and real and sends shivers into my core. “We could add it in.”

“Just drive.” I look down at my phone, trying to keep my head. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about our game since it started. “Literally shuts down the intranet. He wants us to fail, but you’d think he’d at least be more stealthy about it.”

Maybe Jack senses how upset I am, I don’t know, but he asks me questions about Wonderbag, and also the history of sequins, which happen to be two of my favorite subjects, and gets us to the first stop—a massive warehouse outside of Newark—in no time.

I linger around, playing supervisor while he unloads the stuff, and then I hover around to watch him do the paperwork.

There’s a potential problem with a few backordered items that the customer is getting angry about. I’m about to step in, but Jack handles it like a pro—he’s firm, but with just the right degree of humor, providing the perfect amount of assurance—enough to calm him, but not so much that a promise might be construed.

We go on the rest of the deliveries which Jack has reordered for efficiency.

“You’re good at this,” I say.

“I’m good at a lot of things.”

“Screw off,” I say, laughing, as if he’s being ridic. As if I’m not thinking about how he said there’s no machine he can’t push beyond the specs. He meant it sexy, of course.

He catches me looking at him. “What?”

“Is this how you made it to LaGuardia so quickly? Extreme concentration?”

“You don’t want to know how I made it to LaGuardia.”

“Dave thinks you probably got several tickets.”

“A gentleman never tells.”

“Skills include driving and finding a jerky reply to any sentence,” I say.

He shrugs happily.

“Have you had any other jobs besides driving?”

“Nope. Just driving,” he says.

“Always in a delivery capacity? Have you done Uber? Taxi?”

“Nope,” he says. “Now what? Back to the office?”

“You’re all done?” I ask.

“I’m just an overachiever.”

“Bert’ll just give us other bullshit to do,” I say. “Busywork. Can we go pick up some food? I don’t care.

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