Mr. Mitchell Billionaires' Club Book 2 - Raylin Marks Page 0,122

You saw me driving in England. Big difference.”

“Well, my darling,” he said, walking to the passenger side with his briefcase and putting my duffle bag in the backseat as the garage closed, “let’s see if you’re a lead foot out here the same as you were in England.”

He kissed my cheek as I sat in the most luxurious leather seat—more like a cockpit. The steering wheel even felt glorious.

I took a deep breath and looked at him. “I don’t think I can handle this kind of extravagance.” I started laughing. “What if Addy spills something in it?”

“Or gets French fry grease on the seats?” He smirked, adjusting the seat back to fit his long legs. “Then it will be the perfect family car, I would say. Right now, it’s new and needs something spilled in it.”

“My ass.” I eased the car back and then turned the beautiful baby to purr down the road. “This car begs you to floor it. Listen to this motor,” I said, hearing the throaty growl of the sports car.

“If you fucking kill yourself in this because of that lead foot of yours.”

“Chill out,” I said, easing through his driveway and wishing we were near an open highway. “At least this will be comfortable in traffic,” I said, wiggling my body in the comfortable seat.

“We’re taking back roads, gorgeous,” he said, pulling up the business address on the GPS. “I’m never on the freeway unless I have to be.”

“Through the hills, then?” I smirked at him.

“Just keep us on the road, please.”

“Hey, if we bite it because I let the car get away from me, the workers you’re going to rip into today will be that much happier,” I teased.

“Fuck,” Jim gasped when I stepped on it, finally letting the car loose. “Avery, swear to God if you—”

“Quiet, darling,” I said, using our fake marriage pet names from England. “I’m trying to focus. I don’t need your bickering nonsense as a distraction.”

Jim laughed. “We need to do something—like a new driving test or what the fuck ever. You like speed way too much for comfort.”

“I love fast things.” I glanced over at his serious yet humored expression. “And huge cocks.”

Jim closed his eyes and smiled. “Drive the damn car, darling,” he said, pulling out his phone after it started ringing. “Just get us there alive.”

Chapter Thirty

Jim

I sat in my office, perusing a spreadsheet and crunching numbers on a company based in London that I wasn’t convinced Mitchell and Associates should acquire. The decision could easily be made without flying out to the London headquarters, but this one wasn’t looking robust enough for me.

The market was saturated with these particular pet products, but perhaps Party Pets could raise more awareness toward organic food being brought in for animals. We’d certainly have to change the name and relaunch the company, which would be easily done; however, the owners’ proposal gave me the feeling that company names would be more of a struggle than reaching an agreement on company shares and money issues.

I leaned back in my chair when Summer announced herself, and with my best friend right behind her. I smirked and shook my head when Alex’s flirty eyes held hers for a second too long.

“Mr. Mitchell, I’ve called for the heads of HR to conference room D for the meeting with public relations and the team leaders you requested from the Palm Springs event. It’s in fifteen minutes.”

“Thank you, Summer,” I said. “I think we’re all set.”

“The head of marketing has also set up the video you requested for the meeting as well.”

“Excellent.”

Summer left, and Alex sat across my desk. I swiveled my chair back and forth, studying my friend and giving him a look that told him that he was playing with fire regarding Summer.

“What the hell is that look?” he asked with a smile. “My mother is fine, by the way.”

“I know,” I answered with a smile. “You assured me of that on Saturday. You should’ve stayed longer, though. That’s your mom, for God’s sake.”

“A mom I hardly knew,” he answered. “Or do you forget the part where she walked out on us when I was three?”

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” I smiled and leaned forward on my desk, crossing my arms, “How is it most men seem to have daddy issues, but somehow we have issues with our moms screwing us over?” I shook my head. “I’m glad she’s well. You’re a good man to forgive her for her trespasses. I, however, am never going