Driven By Fate(22)

“No. Well, yes.” Her chin went up. “But there’s the mortgage I share with my uncle. And I’m saving the rest for…”

“For what?” he prompted when she didn’t continue.

She rolled the driver’s side window down, a breeze carrying her crushed-berries scent in his direction. “My business. I’m starting a business.”

He waited, but she stayed silent. “Why do you find it hard to talk about?”

“Do you have to call me on everything? I was getting there.” She sent him an exasperated look. “It’s a private cab company. For women.” Porter saw the exact moment she forgot to be self-conscious and allowed excitement to trickle in. “When a woman goes out at night in this city, she has two options for getting home. The train or a cab. Cabs are safer, but not always. You are essentially putting your safety in the hands of a stranger. There’s always a threat of assault or being taken somewhere against your will. I want to take away that fear and…at the same time, I want to make it easier for women to drive cabs. Be safe doing it. To make a living this way, like I do.

“Women drivers and women passengers. That’s the plan.” She plucked her cell phone out of the cup holder and shook it. “There will be an app. You can find my drivers in your area and request their car with a few taps on your screen. Door to door service. They wait until you’re safely inside your home before leaving.”

If he’d been in awe of her before, that admiration had just tripled. Brilliant. This young woman was f*cking brilliant. If she hadn’t walked into his room at Serve, he would never have known she existed. Everyone should know about her. Everyone. When her confident expression wavered, he realized he’d been marveling over her in silence for too long. “Francesca, that’s quite good.”

“Quite good?” She shook her head. “I guess coming from you that’s high praise.”

Porter wanted to kick himself. “I meant to say…” He waited until she looked back over. “It’s a remarkable idea. I think it has the potential to change the world. At the bare minimum, this city.”

Her cheeks reddened. “You really go from one extreme to another, monocle man.”

They pulled up in front of the building where his meeting would take place, but Porter had no desire to leave the cab. “I’ll only be half an hour. Keep the meter running.”

She winked at him. “Planning on it.”

Porter tried not to rush through his meeting with a mid-nineteenth century instrument collector in the market for a Marquetry Grand Piano. Fortunately, Porter was able to deliver the news that he’d already procured the item from a French museum curator in dire need of funding. Easy. Compared to his old job, dealing rare antiques was a walk in the park. That’s why he’d chosen it. Low risk. Low commitment.

He returned to the cab half an hour later, to find Francesca leaning on the hood, reading the New York Post. “Hey, how did it go?”

“Exactly how it was supposed to go.”

She gave a low whistle. “Someone call the fun police to arrest this man.”

If she only knew what he’d been doing at her age—fighting in a war, existing from one battlefield to the next. Still, he felt the need to prove he wasn’t as boring as she thought. “All right. If your job is so much better, show me.”

She did a little drum roll on the cab’s roof. “Now we’re talking.”

It only took Porter three stops to discern a pattern, even as he made phone calls and attended to the paperwork he’d brought with him. After sharing her business model, he wasn’t surprised that Francesca tended to seek out passengers that required slightly more time and attention. An elderly man with a walker. Couples with kids. Women by themselves. He could see in the rearview the way she put them at ease with a warm smile, asking them which route they preferred. If she felt any self-consciousness at having him watch her work, she hid it well.

Porter wondered how she’d react if she knew how he struggled not to pull the car over and maneuver her out of those skin-tight jeans. Every time her ass shifted on the seat, his fingers itched to clutch that flesh. Smack it, lick it, soothe it. An hour into her shift, they were between fares, the cab empty in back. She removed her hoodie at a stop light, causing her shirt to inch up and reveal the tanned skin of her belly. Good god, it wasn’t even half past one. Nowhere near five o’clock.

“This wasn’t my best idea.”

Porter didn’t realize he’d said the words out loud until Francesca frowned at him. “If you’ll recall, I was against it.” She adjusted her hands on the steering wheel. “Anyway, I didn’t think it was all that bad. You seemed like you might even be enjoying yourself.”

“The day’s alternative was to enjoy your body, Francesca. This job of yours is interesting, but it doesn’t compare. You should be getting it for the third time by now.” He leaned close to tongue the side of her neck. “Fair warning. The third time is usually the roughest.”

Her breath shook. “You wouldn’t be enjoying my body yet, my lord. It’s not five o’clock.”

“What did I say about reminding me of the five o’clock rule?”

The lack of trepidation in her expression told Porter she’d known exactly what she was doing by bringing it up. Still, her tone taunted. “You can’t do anything about it right now, can you?”