The Boss Project by Vi Keeland

A few seconds later, the song ended and the emcee announced it was time for dessert. Even though I’d just embarrassed myself and wanted to hide, I also felt a pang of disappointment when Merrick let me go.

Back at the table, we both got pulled into conversations with different people, and a little while later, when others started to say their goodbyes, Merrick leaned over to me.

“I’m ready to get out of here when you are,” he said.

“Oh, it’s okay. I’m all the way uptown, and you’re all the way downtown. I can call an Uber.”

“It’s not a problem. I’ll drop you.”

I decided not to argue.

Outside, Merrick’s usual black Town Car pulled up. He waved off the driver who had started to get out and opened the back door for me himself. I’d arrived in a stretch limo with Will, yet the big boss was in a regular-size sedan.

“Your employee’s car on the way here was flashier,” I teased, scooting over to make room for Merrick.

He pulled the door closed after getting in. “Is that a surprise, based on what you know about Will?”

“I guess not.”

“I think the cars most people choose match their personality. Will is definitely a stretch limo. Probably one with a sunroof and hot tub, too.”

I laughed. “Well, he does like attention, and he has a big personality.” A funny thought hit me. “Oh my God, your grandmother’s car—Kitty drives that souped-up red Dodge Charger convertible. I’ve always thought it was an odd car for an older woman, but now that I think about it, you’re right. It matches her personality to a T.”

“When she bought it, it didn’t come standard as a convertible. She had a body shop make it into one just for her. Before that, she drove a Ford Mustang. Always had a car with some muscle, and in a bright color.” Merrick shrugged. “Suits her.”

“Oh crap.” I covered my mouth with a laugh. “The car I had before I sold it to move to New York was a Prius.”

Merrick smiled. “Economical and practical. Fits the woman who barters things, I’d say. Wouldn’t you?”

“I guess… But a Prius is so ugly and unsexy.”

Merrick’s eyes flickered to my legs before lifting to linger on my mouth for a heartbeat too long. He swallowed. “It suits the personality. Not the appearance.”

I felt my skin blush and was thankful for the darkness. “Do you own a car, other than this Town Car you always seem to be driven in?”

“I do.”

“What kind?” I shook my head. “No, wait—let me guess.”

“This should be interesting…”

I tapped my finger to my lips. “Hmmm… Let’s see… I feel like it would be something expensive, but not flashy like a Ferrari or a Lamborghini. That’s more Will’s style.”

“First big bonus he earned, he bought a cherry red Ferrari.”

I laughed. “Of course he did. But that’s not you. I suppose a car like this would suit you—a simple Mercedes or a BMW or something in a luxury class. But I don’t feel like that’s it for some reason. Am I wrong?”

He shook his head. “You’re warm...”

I smiled. “I prefer to be called hot, but I’ll take it. Anyway, I think your car wouldn’t be just for driving around town. You use this Town Car for that. So whatever you drive probably has some meaning.” I paused. “Oh, I know! It’s a classic car.”

“Keep going…”

I rubbed my hands together. “I don’t know that much about cars, so I’m not sure I can tell you the make and model. But I can see you in one of those cars in old movies, the ones people take out for a Sunday drive in California. You know, the woman wears big sunglasses and a pretty scarf around her neck and looks like a celebrity. Maybe it’s a convertible. Probably a dark color with a saddle brown leather interior.”

Merrick shifted to one side and dug his cell from his pocket. He punched some keys and turned the phone to me. “Something like this?”

I pointed to his cell. “Exactly like that. What kind of a car is that?”

“A 1957 Jaguar convertible.”

“Okay. That’s what kind of car I can see you in.”

He shook his head. “That’s an actual picture of my car. I keep it in a garage not too far from the office.”

My eyes widened. “No way.”

He went to his photo app and swiped through a bunch of pictures before turning his cell to me again. The picture was black and white, but it looked like the same type of car. Two men stood proudly in front of it with their arms folded.

“That’s my grandfather and his buddy.”

I took the phone from his hand. “Is that Kitty’s Redmond?”

“It is. I guess she’s mentioned him?”

“Only in every other sentence.”

“My grandfather bought the car for my grandmother as a wedding gift. It was used and a little beat up, but she loved it. He passed away pretty young, and she didn’t have a garage. Back then they used actual steel in cars, so it got rusted over the years. A guy knocked on her door one day thirty years ago and offered her more than it was worth, so she sold it. Coincidentally, that was where she got the money she put down on the first women’s shelter she opened. She claims a few weeks earlier, she’d decided that was what she wanted to do with the next chapter of her life, so she wrote about her plans in a journal—even though she had no idea how she could afford it.” Merrick shook his head. “The woman is as no-bullshit as they come, but she believes she ‘manifested’ that guy knocking on her door to make it happen.”