Jennie
"Where are you taking me?" I asked, yawning in the passenger seat as I pulled the tie from my hair. The excitement of more than a dozen pre-teen girls coupled with scientific achievement had left me with an adrenaline crash.
I needed coffee before I could even think about facing my Sunday evening to-do list. A CEO's job was never done. Some people could build their empires and then hand over the reins and take to the golf course. I was not one of those people.
Lisa had won the brief but entertaining wrestling match for the keys to the Porsche. I hadn't put up much of a fight. I hated to admit it, but I was still not firing on all cylinders. Still tired, it was the price paid for what I'd earned. The work didn't do itself.
"Dinner," she said, picking up my hand and bringing it to her lips.
Salsa, wildly romantic, played from the stereo's speakers.
This moment, with the sun sinking in the spring sky, with the Miami breeze ruffling my very daring haircut, with the debonair Lisa Manoban driving the convertible I'd earned, was perfection.
"Dinner sounds wonderful." I sighed.
"It will be. My stepfather is grilling."
It took a few seconds for the words to sink in.
"No. Absolutely not," I insisted, sitting up straighter. I chose that moment to realize today was the first time I'd ever ridden in the passenger seat.
"I've met your family," she pointed out.
"That was business. That wasn't a cozy family dinner!"
"There's nothing cozy about this. I have a brother and two sisters, my stepsiblings, and somewhere in the neighborhood of thirty nieces and nephews," she said conversationally.
"Lisa, you can't introduce me to your family." I was horrified.
"Why not?"
Why not? There were a few dozen reasons why not. I was her client, not her girlfriend. Secondly, to the public, I was the rich bitch who skated on drug charges. And to round out the perfect trifecta of why I shouldn't be meeting her parents: We. Just. Had. Sex.
Sex. Not conversations about where this was going or what the expected outcomes were. We'd had glorious, glorious sex, and now I was supposed to shake hands with her mother? I probably still smelled vaguely like her naked daughter.
"I mean, why are you doing this?" I tried to squash the nerves that were suddenly electrifying my intestines. Oh, God, did I have my emergency Imodium stash in this bag?
"I think you'll find my family more relaxing than some of your regular social situations," she said. She was too polite to mention the fact that my family was like a reality TV reunion special where someone invariably got punched in the mouth.
"I'm not in 'meet new people' form," I argued.
"This isn't for a photo op or anything other than a good meal and interesting company," she promised.
I scrubbed my hands over my face wishing I'd put forth more than the minimum of effort on my makeup this morning. Of course, this morning I'd only been thinking about brunch and the lab. Not meeting Lisa Manoban's parents.
She was putting me in an impossible position. If things went badly, I didn't have an easy exit strategy. I didn't have Alison. Hell, I didn't even have the keys to my own car.
"Jennie," she said.
"What?"
"Relax and trust me. I like you, and I think you'll like them. There are no requirements. If you're not comfortable, give me the signal, and I'll drive you home. No questions asked."
She had gotten into my vagina less than twenty-four hours earlier, and somehow that had granted her an all-access pass to my innermost thoughts?
"Trust me," she urged. She reached into her pocket and produced a small packet. She held it out to me.
"What's this?" I asked, taking it. I flipped it over in my hand. It was a single dose of Imodium.
"Just in case," she said.
"How did you…"
"Do you really want to talk about it?" Lisa asked, her eyes on the road.
"God, no!" I was humiliated. Humbled. And something else.
"You can trust me, Jennie Kim, formidable boss, beautiful billionaire, and real live human being."
It wasn't flowers or a love note but diarrheal medicine that made my heart do a slow, inevitable flip-flop in my chest.
God help me. God help us both.
I cleared my throat, surprised at the emotion clogging it. "I'll give it fifteen minutes. What's our signal?"
"It should be something subtle like, 'Lisa, I need your throbbing cock in my womb right now,'" she said, smoothly shifting gears and accelerating around a graffitied school bus that was riding the rumble strips in the bike lane. "My family will understand."
I rolled my eyes so hard it was audible. "Your ego knows no bounds."
"Confidence, love. Not ego," she corrected.
"How about a work emergency?" I suggested.
"Hmm, slightly less believable, but I suppose I could sell it. At least with the less sophisticated Manobans."
"You're ridiculous."
"Darling, I'm driving the woman who redefined lovemaking for me in the sexiest car in the world after you revealed a scientific advancement that could change cardiac health forever. That's ridiculous. You're extraordinary. I'm just very, very ordinary."
Possessed by Nayeon's spirit, I stroked my hand up her thigh to her crotch. "Darling, there's nothing ordinary about you," I purred.
Distracted, she coasted onto the rumble strips on the shoulder of the highway before recovering quickly.
The Manoban house was a beige Floridian stucco with a requisite palm in the front yard. There were cars parked on the street and nearly a half-dozen men, beers in hand, sitting in lawn chairs on the scrap of grass between the curb and sidewalk.
"A welcoming committee," I observed.
"The male members of the family. I may have sent them a picture of your car," Lisa confessed.
"For once you weren't overselling, Lisa," a man in a pink flamingo button-down called out over the rev of the engine. He had broad shoulders and an unlit cigar clamped between his teeth. He wore a ball cap backward.
"He's talking about you," Lisa teased me.
I stuffed the diarrhea meds in my bag and hoped for the best.
We got out, and my car was descended upon by a mob of admirers as the testosterone-filled side of Lisa's family admired it. Introductions were made between questions about horsepower and original features.
Michael, the stepfather, was pink flamingo and cigar guy. Then came brother Will, stepbrother Alberto—or Berto—and brothers-in-law Pete and Carmine. All had a loudly voiced opinion about my car and a shameless desire to drive it. Lisa handed the keys back to me.
"Not on your life, gents," she teased. "Do not let them con you into a ride," she whispered to me.
"Your girl's got good taste in horses, eh?" Pete said, chewing on a piece of gum like it was his last meal.
"She hasn't decided if she's my girl yet," Lisa said, slipping her arm around my waist and guiding me toward the house. "I'm hoping you'll help convince her."
"Run away," Will fake-coughed into his hand. His grin was a carbon copy of Lisa's, his accent more U.S. than U.K.
"Good luck in there, Jen," Michael called after us. "Remember, don't let them smell your fear."
"She deals with a board of directors on a daily basis. I'm sure she can handle the female side of the family," Lisa said dryly.
"You hit your head or something recently, L?" Carmine asked with a wink in my direction.
My board of directors had nothing on the ladies of the Manoban-Perez clan. Lisa's sister Tanya—part-time model and full-time mom of three—bounced a sobbing two-year-old on her hip and asked me what my favorite nonprofit organizations were. Liz, with the edgy pixie cut and leather bands up both wrists, gave my haircut an approving nod and asked exactly what my relationship with her sister was. Verita, the bubbly stepsister, pressed a glass of wine into my hand and suggested that I join them on the patio so we could all be more comfortable for the interrogation.
Lisa's mother, Daniella, was warm and welcoming. Along with that welcome came a very subtle vibe that said we could be friends as long as I didn't screw with her family. She was beautiful. Her mink-colored hair was cut in a frothy, chin-length bob. She wore black and white checked shorts and a sleeveless white top. Her feet were bare, but her face was expertly made up.
"I promise I won't abandon you," Lisa whispered in my ear as she guided me outside. The kids, ranging in age from teenagers to floaty-wearing preschoolers, were in and out of the pool in what looked like a chaotic amateur diving contest. Dogs, three of them in varying sizes, dashed around the fenced-in backyard, taking turns jumping into the pool and then violently shaking dry to the delight of the kids.
The menfolk had finished drooling over my car and were gathering around the grill, throwing raw meat and fresh beers around.
"I'll be fine," I assured her, though my intestines gave a low rumble of protest. "Go play with your friends." I ruffled her hair, earning her grin, and her sisters "oohed."
"Be nice," she warned them, giving them each a peck on the cheek before crossing the concrete to the Man Zone.
Salsa music played on the wireless speakers, and someone put a plate of fresh cut vegetables and hummus in front of me. Vaguely British and Spanish accents gave the conversations more color and energy.
"So, Jennie," Daniella said, picking up her glass of Chardonnay.
I'd learned long ago that the first question a person asked me was usually a spot-on indicator of their character and their expectations of me.
"Tell me what my daughter is doing for you?" she said, arching a perfect eyebrow.
There was a lot to unpack there. The implied possessiveness of "my daughter." The open-endedness of the question and its myriad of possible answers.
Well, there was the scandal spinning. The tucking into bed. The regular meals. The haircut. And then, of course, there were the orgasms. Oh, and she made me laugh.
"My company hired her firm, and we've been spending time together," I said evasively.
The women sat like statues, sphinxes waiting me out.
I smiled benignly and sipped my wine.
Silence reigned for a full minute.
"She's not cracking," Tanya stage-whispered out the side of her mouth.
"Stare harder," Verita whispered back.
"She's good," Liz observed. "Scary good."
Daniella gave a regal nod and lifted her glass in my direction. "I trust my daughter's judgment. Dating or not, you're welcome here."
"You wouldn't want to meet my mother and walk her through that hands-off approach to her children's relationships, would you?" I asked.
Somewhere into my second glass of wine, I realized my intestines had given up their empty threats. Now, it was my stomach growling as the smell of grilling hamburgers wafted over the patio.
Lisa wandered over while her mother was admiring my haircut.
"Like my handiwork, Mom?" she asked.
"Always," Daniella said, turning her cheek up to her husband, Michael, as he delivered a kiss and a platter of freshly grilled burgers.
"How has this haircut not broken the internet yet?" Liz asked, handing off a toddler to her husband.
"I haven't been anywhere but brunch and the lab," I admitted.
"Lisa, give me your phone," Tanya said, holding out her hand.
She obliged.
"Over by the hedgerow," Tanya pointed decisively. "You too, sister dearest."
"Why me?" Lisa asked.
"A platonic pose. Something that doesn't confirm or deny your little 'are they, aren't they' fun," she decided.
Liz and Verita, with Tanya's directorial commands, arranged us against the wall of greenery, drinks in hand.
"Is this how all your family cookouts go?" I asked as Verita fluffed my hair.
"With a hairdresser, a cop, a model, and forty-seven kids and dogs, you'd be surprised," she quipped.
"Okay, look at each other and smile like you have a dirty, dirty secret," Tanya called.