If It Drives (Market Garden, #7)(26)

What the hell am I getting myself into?

Squaring his shoulders and clearing his throat, he glanced at his own reflection in the rearview. One week. Which meant he could use today to get used to being the man James paid him to be again. Get used to being the consummate professional he’d been for the last year and a half. And then throw that professionalism out the window all over again sometime between now and the weekend, when he’d try out his sea legs, as Nick had called them, and see if he really had what it took to, quote, top the f*ck out of James, unquote. Nick certainly did have a way with words.

Cal grabbed his cap off the seat and stepped out of the car. He pulled on the cap, fussed with it for a moment, and then stood beside the door to wait for James to come outside.

The front door opened, and Cal held his breath. James was walking quickly today, briefcase tucked under his arm and folders full of papers in his hands. He was reading as he walked, brow furrowed and lips taut, looking every inch the kind of man who took shit from nobody and sure as f*ck wouldn’t . . . how had Nick worded it? Kiss your boot and thank you for the privilege?

Cal gulped. He was thankful for James’s distraction; if his nerves were showing as badly as he thought they were, he didn’t want to have to explain them.

“Good morning, sir.” He opened the door and stood aside.

“Morning, Callum,” James muttered. “To Threadneedle Street, please.” He didn’t even look up before he slid into the car.

Cal threw him a scowl. No eye contact? Not even a glance or a smile? Now that warranted a bright red handprint on his arse if anything did.

That thought made him chuckle, and he shut the door before James could notice. Not that he would. Whatever he was working on obviously had his full attention.

Cal went back to the driver’s seat. He pulled down the driveway and headed into the city. All the while, he wondered how Nick would have responded to James barely saying a word. Probably with that bright red handprint. And wouldn’t that be part of the challenge? To keep those two things separate. He couldn’t spring that Dom thing on James when he was working in the back of the car.

Or could he?

Cal glanced back at James leafing through his paperwork with a fiercely concentrated expression on his face.

The money he’s making while you drive him to work more than pays for your service or the car.

Did you interrupt a finance guy while he was making money? Or was that like some kind of abstract cock-blocking?

You’re in charge. Nick again. You’re the boss. That’s what he needs.

“I was thinking.” Cal kept most of his attention on the street, but glanced back again.

Not much of a response from James. “Hmm-mh?”

Relax. Pretend to be completely chilled. You have nothing to lose. He does the losing.

I can always lose my job, Cal thought, but psyched himself up. Relax. Breathe a couple times.

“I like seeing you on your knees,” he said as calmly as if he were commenting on the colour of James’s tie.

“You . . .” James looked up, and Cal met his wide eyes briefly in the rearview. “Beg your pardon?”

First unbalance. Then strike. With your guy, it’s like war. Don’t let him regain his footing.

“I’d like that. You begging, sir.” Cal suppressed a grin. The bored tone was working. Hell yes.

James cleared his throat. “What did you say?”

“You heard me.”

He glanced in the mirror, and James blinked a couple of times. Refocusing on the road, Cal struggled to keep a straight face, schooling his expression to one of complete indifference the way Nick had so effortlessly done.

Papers rustled quietly. Then leather creaked. When he glanced in the rearview again, James had moved to the seat closest to the privacy screen.

“What’s going on?” he whispered as if someone might overhear them.

“What’s going on is I enjoyed seeing you on your knees. I enjoyed hearing you beg.” Cal’s eyes flicked towards James’s in the rearview. “And I’d like to see and hear those things again.”

“Oh. I . . .” James’s cheeks were a little flushed. His brow was furrowed again, but it wasn’t so he could concentrate on his financial documents or whatever. Cal suspected those papers were still on the other seat, and long forgotten. James cleared his throat. “Uh, what brought that up? Right now, I mean?”

“Does that matter?”

The creaking leather told him James was fidgeting on the seat. “I suppose not.”

Cal let the silence linger for a good minute or so. Then, as he casually turned the long car around a tight corner, said, “We’re going to be early for your meeting. By about twenty minutes.”

“Oh. Good. Good.” James exhaled, apparently relieved to be back on professional ground.

“So we’re going to make a small detour.”

“We . . . what?” He leaned closer to the open privacy window. “Callum, these games are fine and good, but I have to be at that meeting on time. This is important. I can’t be late.”

“You won’t be late.” Cal paused. “Provided you do as you’re told.”

James’s breath caught. “Do as . . . as I’m . . .”

“I know you can hear me.” Cal could barely keep from grinning. “The more you make me repeat myself, the more time we’re wasting.”