And just like that, Mr. Business Mogul got so much less intimidating. I practically shrieked with hilarity and delight. “Neeeeeeeeeeerd alert! Nerd alert! Raise the shields!”
“That’s Star Trek,” he shot back defensively, still laughing a little, though probably more at my reaction than at my joke. “Completely wrong reference—besides, it was being a nerd that got me my first billion. If I hadn’t known Cathy Bateson in college games club and been able to invest in her imaging technology for films—why are you still laughing?”
I shook my head, mentally comparing this side of Asher to my own dorky tendencies. The tension was broken. There was still a little nervous flutter in my stomach as our space-car wended its way through the streets of San Francisco and we shot teasing repartee back and forth, but it was a good nervous flutter, full of promise.
This just might work out after all.
#
Asher pulled into a parking lot for a helipad and I turned to stare at him.
“Uh, maybe you want to upgrade your GPS on the starship Asher,” I said, “because I’m pretty sure this place doesn’t have waiters.”
Asher just grinned, cockier than a rooster in a henhouse. “And you might want to check your assumptions. Who said this restaurant was in San Francisco?”
Does this man know how to do anything small?
I looked up at the helicopter and resigned myself to my fate. And by ‘resigned,’ I mean ‘barely restrained myself from whooping with excitement.’ “Well, what are we waiting for? Beam me up, Scotty.”
#
The second surprise after the helicopter was that there was no hired pilot—Asher would be driving himself. He handled it deftly, so smoothly I almost couldn’t believe we had left the ground until I saw it dropping away below me. The chopper swooped out over the sapphire blue sea before circling back inland. Gradually skyscrapers melted away into small towns and the countryside, vineyards and fields ringed by green mountains. We cracked jokes at each other until the roar of the helicopter meant that we couldn’t hear each other anymore, and then I just enjoyed the scenery.
And I don’t just mean the scenery outside the window.
There was something about the confidence and grace with which Asher operated the controls, flicking switches, pulling levers, and consulting a truly dizzying array of dials, that made me want to jump his bones mid-air, and damn the consequences and my resolution to remain professional. Was it the way he’d rolled up his shirtsleeves, revealing ripped arm muscles? Was it the elegance of his hands as they danced across the controls? The way the wind ruffled his dark hair, curls tumbling in front of those dazzling green eyes?
I think it might have been the fire in his eyes as he hit the throttle and we went hurtling forward at an even greater speed, and the way he leaned forward in excitement as the sun began to paint the mountains in gold and purple. That utter air of absorption, at once relaxed and at home, yet keyed up and thrilling to the pursuit of adventure.
Before I knew it he was guiding us downward into what he informed me was the San Ysidro ranch, acres upon acres of rolling lawns and manicured gardens of groomed pines, lilacs, and lavender around ponds, fountains, and pathways.
“Like it?” he asked smugly, giving me his hand to help me out of my seat.
I stumbled from the helicopter, trying to find my land-legs and slow my speeding heart. I tossed my windblown hair back, exhilarated. “Dude, you are so teaching me to fly that thing!”
Asher raised an eyebrow. “I haven’t even heard your business proposal yet.”
“Well, I’m making that stipulation one on the contract.”
“Noted.” He took my hand again. Was it the lingering exhilaration of the ride or the touch of his skin that was making my heart race madly and my skin sing the Hallelujah chorus, my cheeks flushing?
I let him lead me to a quaint, beautiful old building with a tile roof and whitewashed walls. Despite the clean simplicity of its lines, it was plain that great care had been taken with the selection of the materials and the construction itself. We came to a stop out on the balcony, where dinner was already laid out for us, an upscale take on Tex-Mex: saffron rice, white beans cooked with bacon and caramelized onions, lamb and veal enchiladas drizzled with a ghost pepper sauce, chilled fruit juices and cucumber water, sangria, a fancy red wine with more French on the label than I remembered from four years of high school classes.
For a long time there was no talking, or any sound other than two adrenaline-flooded people trying to shove as much food into their mouths as possible while still retaining a tiny semblance of dignity.
“So,” I blurted in between sips of sangria, “your Fembot girlfriends really don’t mind you taking other women out in your helicopter for gourmet candlelit meals at secluded luxury resorts?”
Asher grinned as he refilled my glass. “I conduct my business affairs as I see fit, regardless of my relationship status, though I’m actually single at the moment. Woefully so.”
“How sad for you,” I shot back, ignoring my quickening pulse and diving into my enchiladas with renewed vigor. “Please accept my sincere condolences.”
Eventually the banter died down and it was time to get down to brass tacks, so I pushed my drink aside and laid out my pitch: “My main problem moving forward is a lack of capital to expand my business into something prospective clients, investors, and advertisers will automatically take seriously. I do good work, but I just don’t come off as professional right now—I have a good client base, very loyal, but my lack of funds makes the whole operation look more fly-by-night and hobbyist than it really is.” I lifted my chin and fixed him with a gaze more confident than I felt at that moment. “I know what I’m doing.”