Don’t look at his muscles. Eyes not thighs.
“I don’t think so.” Elliot glances over at Derek. “Your driver is signaling you, but I still owe you. At the very least I’ll be buying you a beer for this.”
Derek is in fact now pointing to his watch with a raised eyebrow. I wonder if Tani told them to send me the one with attitude. If so, I approve. “I love beer. My brother haunts a family pub that brews their own in-house, so we can check it out sometime. But now I really am running late.”
His hand drops to my shoulder, squeezing it again in that friendly gesture that I shouldn’t read anything into. “Go on then. I’ll be seeing you around.”
It’s a date.
It’s not a date, dumbass. Do not say it’s a date.
I slip into the backseat and watch Elliot until we turn a corner and he disappears from view. I’m worried there might be something wrong with me.
“Still having breakfast with your brother, sir?”
Don’t judge me for Derek. Like I told Elliot, my attention span is for shit. Honestly, people should thank me for saving them from the road rage I invariably incur. Also, something about carbon footprints.
But mostly I’m a bad driver.
“Sir?” he prompts.
“Joey. How many times do I have to tell you my name, Derek?”
He smiles at me in the mirror. “Since I just met you, I’m afraid I can’t say, sir. But I’m stubbornly attached to my job, so I’m looking forward to finding out.”
Cheeky and quick.
Thanks to Tanisha’s email, I already know the highlights of his resume. Army veteran, happily married and a hard worker. He and his wife are taking care of his widowed sister and her baby on what he earns as a rent-a-driver.
You think I’m going to trust some random temp I haven’t looked into? This man has to drive me everywhere, from private family homes for personal visits to a center full of vulnerable at-risk kids.
You’re not doing personal visits, remember? Not until you remember how to take care of yourself.
“I know we haven’t known each other long, Derek.”
Derek checks his watch again. “Roughly fifteen minutes, sir.”
My smile is more genuine than it was a second ago. “What is time, anyway?”
“A social construct, but Ms. Chahal told me not to broach that subject with you, sir. She said that way led to madness.”
I smirk, shaking my head. I bet she sent him a detailed list of taboo subjects and that was at the top. “We don’t have to tell her everything.”
“No, we don’t, sir.”
Right answer.
“Your job is a little like Russian roulette, as far as passengers go. Evil old women with cats, a group going to prom and throwing up on the seats. A lunatic nanny wrangler with hoarding tendencies and anxiety issues.”
“Mostly businessmen needing to get to and from the airport. Until today, sir.”
“That sounds boring.”
His silence is all the confirmation I need. “Would you consider driving for me full time?”
“Excuse me?”
Hah. He forgot to say sir. And if he’s surprised, Tani won’t be expecting it either.
I’d hate to be too predictable.
“Obviously this is the company’s car, so we’ll need to get you one of our own. You can pick it out this week and I’ll cover all your expenditures, health insurance etcetera. I’ll also double whatever you’re being paid now.”
The car doesn’t swerve, but I see his knuckles go momentarily white on the wheel. I’ve definitely taken him by surprise.
“Are you serious? You just met me.”
“Seventeen minutes ago now. But time is a social construct, Derek, and I have a feeling about you. I’ll let you think about it, but I’m hoping you say yes. I need good people on my team.”
Team. Speaking of…
I narrow my eyes on his profile. “If you know anything about baseball players, there’s a bonus in it for you, whether you take the job or not.”
Narrator: Derek knew everything about baseball players.
Chapter Five
Elliot
I left my lucky charm upstairs.
It’s a Mercury dime from the forties with Liberty’s profile instead of Roosevelt’s that I’ve had since I was Rue’s age. It also has a hole right through the center that makes it worthless to anyone but me. I’ve got it on a small chain and I never go anywhere without knowing it’s in my pocket. I’m not sure why I forgot it this morning, but it’ll bug me for the rest of the day if I leave without it.
Superstitious ballplayer may be a cliché, but I can’t say it doesn’t exist for a reason. We all have our own traditions, lucky charms or strange habits we think will help us win. Some are subtle. Some are stranger than others, and a few are fucking disgusting. But I don’t throw stones. No matter how much skill or natural talent you have on the field, if you don’t get your mind right before a game, nothing else matters. So, if a damaged dime found in a parking lot of the first baseball game your dad took you to helps you focus? You hold on to it.