She looked at him, expression open, not an ounce of pretension or any sign of an agenda visible. “Where would you normally go to get cards?”
“Wherever you prefer.” Light from a smartphone screen lit up the interior, and Rachel started rapidly tapping on the screen. “No need to Google directions. Tell me where you want to go and David will get us there.”
“I’m not Googling directions. I’m texting my emergency contact to let her know where I am, where I’ll be and when I’ll be back.”
“Seeing as I’m with you and don’t know that information, maybe I should give you my cell and you could text me, too.”
She glanced at him then back to her screen, smiling. “Smart-ass.”
“Seriously, Rachel. Where to? David can drive the city for hours, but a destination would be nice.”
Fingers pausing over the screen, she worried her lower lip with her teeth.
Isaac leaned forward and hit the intercom button. “The boat, please, David.”
“Boat?”
“It’s as good a place as any for me to school you in seven-card stud.”
She laughed, that true laugh of hers that was low and sultry and a type of foreplay all its own. “Where’s the boat?”
“On the harbor.”
“That’s a given, Isaac. I need the name.”
“The Marina.”
Her tapping resumed, but she paused to read a response and then shot him a sharp look. “TheMarina?”
“The one and only.”
“Are we going to the clubhouse or do you have a boat?”
“Boat.”
“Slip number?”
He relayed the number and added, from memory, the manager’s name and number as well as his driver’s name and number, watching as she sent all the information to this mysterious emergency contact.
Rachel continued to clutch her phone even when she’d finished typing. She was clearly a good deal more nervous than he’d believed.
Sighing, he reached over and touched her forearm lightly before withdrawing. “Would you prefer I take you home?”
“No.” But she didn’t look at him.
Doubt began to weasel in, its insidious voice filling his mind with all the things that could go wrong, until he finally asked, “What are we doing here, Rachel?”
She swiveled around to face him, then. “My friend made me aware of who you are, Mr. Miller.”
“Isaac, please. And just what did she tell you?”
“That you’re the CEO of Quantum Ventures. That you’re—you’re...” She looked away, worrying her bottom lip.
His breath faltered, an unwilling captive trapped in his chest. He waited. Then he waited some more. When she didn’t continue, wouldn’t look at him, he forced himself to control his breathing. Every inhale and exhale felt forced. Possible attributes this stranger had saddled him with raced through his mind, each one hitting him with surprising, almost crippling force. Admittedly, his own imagination was likely far crueler than the simple truth. Without making a conscious decision, Isaac suddenly found himself filling in the possible blanks out loud, though in a low voice.
“I assume, based on your reaction, that your friend decried me as evil. Or am I perhaps corrupt? Has she found my name on some government watch list? Did she tell you I’m cold? Callous?” All truths—things he’d been called or labels that had been attributed to him at one time or another—that he didn’t want her to have heard. Surprised at his outburst, the shock of it caught him just below the diaphragm and made him suck in a short, sharp breath. Forcing himself to slow down, to regain control of himself and his runaway mouth, he offered a more lighthearted response. “I can confirm for you I’m neither evilnorcorrupt, but the watch-list thing? Odds are pretty good she’s right.”
“Cold and callous?” she asked, her voice oddly soft.