Driven By Fate(21)

“Don’t change the subject.”

Damn. She was back to kind of liking him. “Okay, I’ll take the gift. It better be good.”

Porter used her hand to give his arousal one final stroke, before releasing her. A soft curse left her mouth as he returned to his side of the cab. She swore his lips twitched as he retrieved his briefcase from the dashboard and reached inside.

Frankie would never have expected what he pulled out. A miniature, old-fashioned yellow cab made of metal, only slightly bigger than Porter’s hand. It looked like something from fifty years ago, but it was in pristine condition. Fare rates were hand painted on the side in straight, perfect lettering. Just looking at it brought a wave of nostalgia crushing over her, pride in the tradition her family upheld, a tradition she was a part of. All brought on by one little toy.

“I bought it at an auction some time back. I wasn’t sure why.” He seemed to be avoiding eye contact as he handed the car to her and closed his briefcase. “Now it’s yours.”

Who was this confusing man? One second he was treating her like a wayward employee and the next? He proved he’d been thinking about her…and he certainly hadn’t been far from her mind, either. “Thank you, Porter. I really love it.” She set it carefully on the seat beside her. “I can’t wait to show it off to the guys.”

“You simply had to go and say that, didn’t you?”

…

Watching Francesca drive was fascinating, which provided Porter with a problem. He couldn’t very well stare at her, but she made it exceedingly difficult. She drove as if executing a choreographed ballet. He’d never even been to a ballet, so the comparison was a strange one, yet he had no other way to describe her grace. She obviously loved driving the damn yellow contraption, despite her profession’s dangers and impracticalities.

Porter pretended not to notice when she reached down and ran her thumb over the antique yellow cab’s fender. If he disliked her job so much, why had he given her something that represented it?

Because you knew it would make her happy.

It had occurred to him last night that a good way to make a woman like him might be a present, but Francesca didn’t seem the candy and roses type. He’d spent the better part of an hour in the building’s basement, opening boxes in his storage space until he’d found the car. Then he’d declared it rubbish and put it back in the box and gone upstairs. Ten minutes after that, he’d gone back down and retrieved it. Honestly, she was a detriment to his mental health.

This marked the first time in decades that he’d attempted to please someone outside of the bedroom. He’d never actually taken the chance to make another person happy, having grown up a lone wolf, fending for himself, adapting to social situations and learning as he went, since no one else would teach him. He knew f*ck-all about needing someone. More than that, he’d never been needed by anyone else. His purposeful failures as a child—school rejections, missed assignment deadlines, eschewing sports—had been designed to keep his family at a distance, where they couldn’t hurt him after the first deep cut. Now, however, knowing he could find himself arse over elbow at any time was troubling, to say the least.

They were nearing the address he’d given her and they had yet to speak a word. Francesca still appeared a little thrown off by his gift. Join the bloody club. Still, he’d created this last minute appointment so he’d have an excuse to be around her, so he should take advantage. Knowing how precious little work he managed to get done with Francesca in the office, he’d spent the morning on the phone with his security firm partner in London, going over the particulars of their most recent cases, discussing protection strategy for a rising name in politics they’d been tapped to guard around the clock. After hanging up, he’d sat at his desk, trying to put his finger on the lack of accomplishment he’d felt. Putting a plan in place used to inspire a sense of rightness, of satisfaction. How long had it been since he felt that?

More and more lately, he’d found himself turning to his hobby. Or it had started as a hobby, anyway, and progressed to a daily activity. Writing. He’d begun…writing a sodding book, of all things, the plot inspired by his profession in the security field. Any day now, he’d stop scribbling down ideas and ruminating over character arcs while standing beneath the shower spray. Ridiculous, it was.

“I’d like to know more about Columbia,” he said, knowing her voice would distract him, craving that distraction. “What is your area of study, exactly?”

She didn’t take her eyes off the road. “Business Management for now. This time next year, I should have my bachelor’s and I can move on to the business school.” Her tone changed. “Hopefully by then I can pay for it myself.”

Porter didn’t like the reminder that someone else, especially Oliver Preston, was paying for her schooling, but he would keep it to himself. For now. “That’s important to you, is it?”

“It’s the most important thing,” she murmured.

This wasn’t the first time she’d expressed the need to pay her own way. Hell, just this morning she’d made an issue of it. He thought back to the night in Serve when she wouldn’t even allow him to pay for a soda. Just how deep did this independent streak run? “You make enough driving this cab to pay for business school?”