Page 3 of Personal Escort

“I want you married, and I want you on the board. It only meets quarterly. The rest of the time you can play scientist.” She lifts her teacup into the air. “We’ll discuss this again next month.”

Okay, I’m not the boss of me. Nana is, and she knows it. That’s…not ideal.

I glare at my tea, wishing I could turn it into a triple shot latte. “No, let’s discuss it now. You can’t…how did you even…please don’t mess with my academic life!”

“Please get married.” She gives me a bland, unwavering look.

“I could get other grants.” I could use my trust fund. I could quit my program and run away with the circus.

I have options, but that’s not really the point here. The point is that my Nana—crazy, bossy, bitchy, but still my grandmother, for better or worse—has decided I need to be married.

So I let her think she’s won. I nod slowly. “Okay. Look. I’ll be open to the idea. How’s that?”

She narrows her eyes at me. “No funny stuff.”

“Of course not. But you must understand, these things take time.”

“Never took me any time.”

“Well, I’m not nearly as cute as you were. Please don’t mess with my funding, and I’ll say yes to anyone who asks me out on a date. I’ll drop broad hints about my love of peonies and white lace. Make sure to dress to accentuate my birthing hips.”

“Don’t be crude, Cara.”

I’m pretty sure anyone who would be willing to marry me might like a bit of crude, but it doesn’t matter. I’m not actually going to be asked out. I’m not actually going to do any of that.

Despite what Nana said, I’m totally, one hundred percent going to resort to funny stuff.

CHAPTERTHREE

TOBY

GENERALLY SPEAKING, I’m a good guy to work for. I like my staff, treat them well, and respect their intellect.

Except for when they’re being total idiots.

I swallow my curse, because I don’t want to horrify the grandmother sitting across from me on the first-class flight from Los Angeles to New York. Then I take three stabs at composing the message I really want to write.Get your fucking acts together, or there will be hell to pay when I get back from this trip.

But that wouldn’t be productive, so instead I find diplomatic, but clear words to convey my frustration that once again we’ve hit a snag in the development of our new Bluetooth solid state memory device.

Our annual shareholders meeting is three weeks away.

Getting this right is not optional. If we don’t have something new to announce, the forecast for the next two quarters will tank, and that will be fucking bullshit.

I don’t like bullshit.

In the long run, I’ll ride it out—and actually, I’d make bank on that slump, because I’d buy up stock released by people that don’t have vision.

But it would be a distraction.

I don’t like distractions, either.

I’ve never been one to play fast and loose with my business just to make money. I have more money than I’ll ever need. Last year, I permanently endowed a national math camp for kids, eight to twelve.

No, I don’t need money. I need stability and calm so I can focus on what really matters—making kick-ass products that change the tech industry. That’s all that matters, and—

“Sir? We’re in the final descent. You’ll need to put away your laptop.”

I can feel the flight attendant hovering beside me as I furiously finish typing. As soon as I hit send on a second email, this one to my chief engineer, I close my laptop and flip her a grateful smile. “All done.”

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