"Perfect," he says and hangs up, leaving me breathing heavier than when I answered, though for quite different reasons.
"Help me pick something to wear," I tell Jess.
Half an hour later I'm waiting in the courtyard, wondering when exactly I lost my mind. Probably the same time I lost my decency.
I smile to myself. I'm so much better without them.
I check my outfit in my reflection at the front door. Jeans and a white top, a choice Jess vehemently criticized. She brought me an array of her shortest skirts, insisting that this is not the time to shy away from showing some leg. To me it just seemed like trying too hard.
The sound of a car roaring behind me causes something in my stomach to flutter violently. I turn around, expecting the familiar Rover and find a gray Porsche instead. The flutter in my stomach becomes almost painful as I open the door and slide into the car.
James looks even hotter than I remember, wearing a dark green polo and stylish Ray-Ban sunglasses. I'm glad I can't see his eyes, because that would make coherent thinking even more difficult.
"New week, new car?" I ask as he drives away.
He raises an eyebrow. "You thought I would arrive in a Range Rover with a driver? That is Dad's car. And Peter is his driver."
"So where are we going?"
"You'll see," he says and the corner of his mouth lifts in his trademark smile. "I promise we'll have a lot of fun."
The hair on the nape of my neck stands on end at the word fun.
I was expecting some awkwardness between us or mentioning the silent week that has passed, but it's like it never existed.
"So how come the next Zuckerberg," I say mockingly, "gets to leave his office on Friday at five o'clock?"
He chuckles. "If you also mention the TechCrunch article from last Monday, I'll seriously consider reporting you for stalking activity. And by the way, I hate that comparison."
"Yeah, it's really unfair. You're much hotter than he is," I say without thinking. My face instantly feels like it's on fire and I look away, burying myself in my seat.
"That's very sweet of you." I can't tell from the tone of his voice whether he's mocking me or not but don't dare turn and check for fear my cheeks are as red as they feel. "We pitched to the last investors for this round today. It went well so I let everyone take off and celebrate."
"How high is the investment round?" I say, sitting up straight.
"You just read the title of that article, didn't you?" he smirks.
Damn.
"Sort of," I admit jerkily. I make a mental note to check what exactly he's doing when I get home.
"Two hundred million."
"Impressive," I say. "What's your valuation?"
"Nine hundred million."
"Wow," I say, stunned.
"We're hiring, by the way."
"I'll consider putting you on my long application list," I joke.
"Why not?" he says seriously.
"Because what you do is far too risky for me. I’ve heard of enough entrepreneurs going bankrupt.”
“True, but that’s part of the beauty in this. The risk.”