Mister Know It All by Amélie S. Duncan

FORD

Starry-eyed wonder

“Have you visited the city before?” I asked, turning the music down. I also turned on the heater to warm up the car’s chill and the coolness between Jasmine and me. We were almost to Midtown, and she hadn’t said a word.

“No,” she huffed, folding her arms and staring out the window.

Shit. I put my foot in it and said what I really thought instead of being polite. At work, brutal honesty is an asset. I’m an asshole there—and I love it. But it didn’t transition well with most women.

Why couldn’t I say that I could only tolerate patchouli’s earthy musk for a short time at a health food store? Because Jasmine loved it or hadn’t tried something better? She reminded me of myself. I’d thought flannels and cords year-round was a good look until I modeled ten years ago. The ruthless eyes of the fashion industry woke me up to style. Not that I didn’t appreciate Jasmine’s nerdy-earthy vibe. Although her style blocked everything that I’d like to see. Her face was pretty from what I could see around her large, black frames. She had the don’t care messy bun, oversized blazer, and ankle-length pilgrim skirt.

Of course, Jasmine wasn’t here to impress me.

I wasn’t number one on Graham’s list. Nor was I someone he’d call for help unless in a pinch. I’d only agreed because Graham mentioned expanding the art technical engineering division in a recent quarterly review. We were related, but he didn’t do me any favors. If I played my cards right, I could take over as art and design director from Margot when she retired. Besides that, Jasmine’s attitude amused more than irritated. I liked how she bragged about Krav Maga and the starry-eyed wonder she had when looking out at the city.

“That was a record for me. How to lose a girl in ten minutes,” I joked, breaking the silence.

She cracked a bright smile for a few seconds before she returned to pouty lips. “You never won me.”

“You’re talking instead of short answers. I won the cold shoulder standoff.”

“I bet you don’t get those often,” she said and covered her mouth with her hand to stop another compliment from escaping.

“I don’t, at least not at first. I didn’t mean to insult you personally, just the scent. I think much better scents exist for pretty women.”

Her dazzling smile returned. “You don’t have to lay on the compliments to get me to talk to you again. You were honest even though I didn’t ask for your opinion. Truce?”

“Truce,” I agreed. “Since I have some time, how about a quick look at Times Square?”

She bounced in her seat. “Oh, yes!”

“Boston isn’t far from New York City. Why haven’t you come down here before?”

“I’ve been to New York City once with my parents and a couple of times for college conferences. But this is my first time as an adult outside of a lecture hall visit. I’m also from the West Coast wing of Soraya’s family. My parents are alpaca farmers in Washington State.”

I laughed. “Seriously?”

She laughed too. “Yep. They traded in their careers in academia in San Francisco to raise alpacas. I left for the opposite coast and Radcliffe then to Boston College’s sociology master’s program.”

So she is smart and pretty.

“Do you miss the West Coast?”

“No. Not really. It’s not . . . my home anymore if that makes sense.”

“It does.”

We drove around for a while, and I pointed out the Empire State Building, Macy’s, and Bryant Park before finding a parking lot.

When we reached the neon billboards and crowds, Jasmine spun around in a circle, swinging her arms playfully, and I couldn’t look away.

“Do you have a hat?” she asked.

I frowned but then saw a vendor selling hats on a table nearby and bought one. “Here you go.”

“Great! I always wanted to do this.” She threw the hat in the air and screamed, “I have arrived!”

The hat landed. But it was immediately kicked into the gutter by a frowning woman who looked directly at me but kept talking on her phone.

“Hey! You kicked my hat,” Jasmine called out.

The woman rushed off, and we went over to the soggy, sad cap already covered in grime.

“Sorry.” Jasmine reached to pick it up, and I blocked her path.

“I’ll get it.” I dumped it in a trash bin.

“You didn’t need to throw it away. I could’ve cleaned it,” Jasmine said, her brows pulled together.

“I’ll get you another hat. I don’t want a mess in the car.”

“You’re a bit uptight, but I’ll pay you for the hat.”

“No, I don’t want money.”

She reached in her purse anyway and stuffed money in my coat pocket, then moved out of reach.

I removed the crumpled bill from my jacket and sighed. “It was nothing. If you want a hat, we’ll find you something much better.”

“No, but I am planning to go shopping later. I just thought this is a great moment. I believe life is made up of many significant moments. These moments turn into memories. If you want to keep it in your consciousness, you must commemorate them.”

“By throwing a hat?” I said.

She adjusted her glasses. “Yeah, well, I guess the moment linked to the memory will not include the hat ruined in less than a minute. I’m off to the worst start for the summer of me.”

“What do you mean by ‘the summer of me’?” I asked.

She grinned. “I’m planning to make this the most selfish summer ever. I’m sucking the marrow and living life to the fullest.”

My phone hummed with a call from Graham, and I answered.

“How are things going?” It was Soraya.

“Marrow sucking. We’re in Times Square.”

“Sounds like Jasmine. Anyway, there is a severe thunderstorm that’s grounding flights. We can’t return tonight. Can Jasmine stay at your place for the night? A hotel seems so impersonal. I know I’m overprotective, but I don’t want her roaming New York City until she has a few subway lessons. We both have the spare keys here. Graham still hasn’t hired his permanent assistant, my best friend has clients booked through the night. I don’t want to leave Jaz in a tattoo parlor. You could break in—”

“No. It’s fine. Do you want to break the news to Jasmine?”

“Why? Did something happen?”

I looked over at Jasmine talking to the naked cowboy—a man in a cowboy hat and briefs singing and strumming a guitar. “No.”

“She’ll turn Soraya down if she asks her,” Graham’s voice came on the line. “Jaz is a harmless bookworm. You can just give her a book and leave her alone for the rest of the evening. I’ll owe you.”

Graham spoke my language. I glanced over at Jasmine, swaying to the music. Cute. I don’t think it’s fair to just prop her away with a book.

“Fine. I’ll keep Jasmine safe,” I said. A beep indicated a call was on the other line.

“Thanks for this.” Graham hung up.

I checked the other line. It was Minuet, my ex-best friend’s sister. Great timing. As usual. “Hello.”

“We didn’t see you at the wake. Our dad’s will is going into litigation.” Andre Roche, Minuet’s brother, was a lazy, entitled asshole who believed he was due the world without lifting a finger. And somehow, he believed I cared about how the release of his dad’s estate affected him. We were done.

“I’m no longer involved. You need to contact the estate lawyer or hire an accountant to handle the work for you.”

“Andre can’t afford one, and you know it. You’re acting childish. All you need to do is sign the property over to him. If not, he could lose everything—”

“That’s not my concern anymore—”

“After fifteen years of friendship, he makes one mistake, and you can’t help him? You’re horrible. It’s no wonder you’re alone—”

I hung up the phone before the rest of Minuet’s vitriol came toward me. I didn’t owe Andre anything. Not anymore.

“Ford?” I heard Jasmine call, and when I looked over, I realized her face had morphed into concern.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

I smiled and put my phone away. It was typical that Minuet was more focused on what was owed them than the loss caused by her father’s death. Enough. “Are you done dancing?”

“For now. I saw that guy on television before. He’s famous,” she gushed.

“You may see more personalities. By the way, Soraya and Graham can’t make it back tonight, so you’re with me.”

She shook her head. “I’ll go to a hotel.”

“You could, but anywhere decent is costly. If you pay less, it’s a gamble, trust me.”

She frowned. “I’ve been camping. I can rough it.”

“Roughing it in New York City means mold and a dirty bathroom.”

I might have exaggerated, but it was better to encourage a choice she didn’t have. Even Soraya wasn’t keen on leaving her on her own. It was probably overkill, but bottom line, she was stuck with me.

She chewed on her bottom lip. “I’m allergic to mold.”

“Then your choice is five hundred bucks or my place.”

Her brows pulled together, and she placed her hands on her hips. “Don’t take me for a fool. I don’t believe you. Soraya thinks I’m sheltered or something crazy like that. I don’t need a chaperone.”

“One night,” I said. “Gadgets and a clean bed.”

She pursed her lips. “Fine. I’ll stay . . . I like gadgets.”

“Then it’s settled. Where to next?” I asked.

“More shops and maybe look at the Broadway theaters, please?” She drawled out “please” in a sweet tone that would have made me feel like a dick if I’d told her no.

I had a marketing and team meeting this afternoon. While I rarely ever change my schedule, I took out my phone and sent a text message to my assistant, Jennifer.

Ford: I’m not returning to the office today. Please change my meetings to conference calls this afternoon. I need you to sit in on the marketing meeting and send me a report afterward.

She called before I had a chance to finish my list.

“Are you feeling okay? I can make a doctor’s appointment for you—”

“I’m fine. I’ll talk to you later.” I ended the call.

“You sound busy. I understand that. Honestly, you can leave me here.”

“It’s fine. I’ll work later. Let me get my camera, so you can commemorate without throwing things at people.” I winked at her.

She smiled. “You take photos?”

“Yes.” She followed me the ten-block hike back to the parking lot where we left the car, pointing out buildings that caught her interest. I then collected my Nikon Z50 out of a locked custom case in the back.

“Can you take one of me?”

Jasmine took off her glasses and batted her long lashes. And everything stopped.

Just as I thought. Behind those ugly frames was a beauty. Parts of her face were conventional, evenness in eyes, nose, and jawline, then came what I called a front-runner—the facial features that made my adrenaline surge and my hands desperate for my camera. She had high cheekbones, and her cat-like eyes were large and striking with hues of green and gold. They enthralled and mesmerized. Not to leave out her lips, they were a perfect rosebud pout that made me want to suck on them. Her face was a photographer’s dream. She peered around Times Square all dreamy, and a rush of excitement filled my chest. She was naturally emotive. Something all ad execs would die for. She held my interest. I needed to see what else she’d do.

Photography was a side gig that was developing into a second career. I’d had a few successful gallery shows. I wasn’t that big yet, but I had positive critical reviews and several key art patrons following. I’d also been having a creative block, but I felt the rush of desire growing.

I snapped picture after picture of her face. And each one made me eager to take the next.

“Ford, come on, you took so many.” She blushed and laughed.

“A few more,” I told her, hating to stop.

The wind had picked up, so I pulled out a scarf I kept in the car and wrapped it around my neck.

“You should bundle up.”

Jasmine dug in her bag and pulled out a silk scarf that caught the wind. We both reached to retrieve it, causing our hands to brush against each other. Her hands were delicate and trembled in mine.

“Are you cold?” I asked and watched her as I rubbed them, pretending to warm them up. God, she has soft hands. What other parts of her would be soft?

She ran her tongue over her sultry lips, and my gaze went as hard as my dick.

I inhaled sharply to calm my pulse and to still my impulse to run my finger over her mouth before I pushed in and made her suck on it.

My eyes moved over her flushed cheeks. Pretty . . . fuck. What the hell am I doing?

Cecile. I couldn’t go back on my word for her.

I agreed to give her space and time, and I don’t go back on my promises. Never had. Never would. What I needed to do was cut this sightseeing trip short and remain focused.

Thank fuck, Jasmine draped her scarf around her slender neck and took an exaggerated step back and laughed. “Let’s go.”

Yes, let’s go. The sooner she was out of my hair, the better.