Best Laid Plans - Robyn Kelly (red white and royal blue hardcover .txt) 📗

I dream of being chased by a pack of wolves that all look like Jackson. That isn’t the disturbing part. In my dream, I’m waving my arms so they can find me.

I awake with a start. I’ve overslept, so I don’t have time for either a shower or a cup of coffee. The fridge is still dead, and I make a mental note to call the super to get the status. I’ll have to do it later because the cleaners arrive at nine, and I need to let them in. I grab a taxi and barely make it in time.

I retrieve the work clothes I hid last night and stuff them into my backpack. I check the refrigerator to see whether the caterers left any food, but there’s only an opened bottle of water.

By noon, when the real estate agent arrives, all traces of the previous evening have been scrubbed away. I hand over the keys and thank her profusely for the rental.

“The pleasure is all mine. I’ve been trying to move this property for months, and today someone wants to see it. Someone with deep pockets.” She winks at me. “I don’t think it’s a coincidence.”

I don’t have to guess who the mystery buyer is. The wink told me all I need to know. I thought he was interested in me. I should know better. You don’t become a billionaire by romancing event planners. You get inside information from them. It makes me a little mad.

I leave the church and head for the neighborhood sandwich shop. The more I think about all his questions, the angrier I get. I might have my mouth filter on, but my texting fingers are itching.

“Texting U (even tho U read ALL my txts). Hear ur getting n2 church biz.”

My phone rings. I don’t need to guess who is calling. “How did you know about the church?”

Based on his tone, I’m glad I’m out of his reach, and that makes me bold. “It must feel awful when people don’t respect your privacy.”

“I’m waiting.”

“I just called my head of technology and had him bug your phone.”

“Ms. Whitkins, you need to tell me now or I’m going to get mad. Trust me, you don’t want to see me mad.”

“I’ve seen you mad, remember?”

“That was annoyed. This is mad! ” He’s shouting into the phone, and it sounds as if he’s right next to me. Suddenly there’s an arm around my waist, and I’m thrown into the back of a limo.

I land a little less than ladylike, and by the time I right myself (and my clothes), Jackson has climbed in and shut his door. I try the handle on my side but it’s locked. The limo moves and I spot Ron behind the wheel. I should kick and scream. I’m sure they assume I’ll do that. I’ll try disarming them with calmness.

“Are you two expecting me to hand over my phone, or are we going to wrestle for it?”

Jackson straightens his tie. “Business first.”

The thought of wrestling Jackson does have its appeal. As does kicking him in that special place I learned in my self-defense class. This man certainly brings out conflicting emotions in me.

He’s dressed for work on a Saturday afternoon, and looks like sin in a suit. I guess when you’re a billionaire, you never get any free time. I’m surprised he could fit a kidnapping into his busy schedule.

“We’re going to need a little privacy.” Jackson presses a button and a glass partition inside the driver seat closes between us and Ron. While I’m admiring the technology, Jackson slides across the seat, pinning me against the door. His voice is soft, but there is no mistaking the tone. “Let me make this perfectly clear. You are not getting out of this car until you tell me how you knew about my offer.”

My heart races and my breathing is shallow. I’m just not sure it’s because I’m frightened. “You should put your seat belt on. We’re in a moving vehicle.”

“I would suggest being more concerned with your safety than with mine.”

I’m tired of this man threatening me. “I will tell you when you stop monitoring my phone!” This kidnapping isn’t serendipity. I could be having lunch now if he wasn’t still tracking me.

He grabs me by the shoulders and moves in so close I can feel his breath on my face. “Why can’t you just obey me?”

I shoot back, “And why can’t you use the magic word?”

He looks puzzled. “Abracadabra?”

“Please. Please is the magic word. Were you raised by wolves?” His face goes blank, and I can see his emotional partition go up like the glass partition in the car. I instantly regret it. I met his mother. She’s a sweet woman. It’s not her fault she gave birth to the devil’s spawn.

“I was raised by the juvenile detention system, as I’m sure you know,” he drones.

So that’s what Robert found on the Internet. What I didn’t want him to tell me. Jackson’s face and posture are such a mask now, I almost wish the dangerous side of him would come back. At least he seemed alive.

I give him the only apology I can manage, considering I’m still technically kidnapped. “I didn’t know.”

I get his lie detector glare, and then he sighs. “I’m about to make a multi-million dollar offer and this deal has to be done in strict secrecy. I need to know how you discovered it.” There is a pause. Before I can respond, he adds, “Please.”

He used the magic word. There was no pleading in his voice, as I’m sure there never is. I would have preferred he said it as if he meant it, but he made the effort.

“I just met the real estate agent to give her the keys, and she said someone called her this morning to see the place. I remembered all your questions last night, and put two and two together.”

“You couldn’t just tell me that on the phone?”

“I thought you asked those questions last night because—” Don’t finish that sentence, Jillian. It will only give him more ammunition against you. “I felt played. And then you were so bossy on the phone.” It’s not much of an amends, but he did hijack me off the street.

“And I didn’t use the magic word.”

“That didn’t help.” Looking back at my behavior, I’m embarrassed by how childish I acted. All of my emotions seem to get amplified by this man. At least I’ve taught him to say “please.” Maybe I can teach him “sorry,” too. That’s another word I’ve never heard out of his lips.

I realize as much as I’d like to take his inventory, I need to keep the focus on me. I take a deep breath and try to sound civil. “Why are you interested in the church?”

“Condos. The reason the lot hasn’t sold is that the church has landmark status. I can’t tear it down. But it appears the parsonage isn’t restricted at all.”