CEO His Chauffeur Cancelled, Never Imagining the Woman Who Offers Him a Ride Will Capture His Heart
The Unexpected Chauffeur
Finan Zeller was having the worst morning of his year. That was saying something for a man who ran a billion-dollar empire and had survived two boardroom coups and one scandal involving a hostile takeover.
His phone buzzed again: voicemail. He pressed the screen with a controlled breath. His driver, Tony, had canceled last minute because of a sick kid. He couldn’t make it to the Upper East Side in time.
Finan stood outside the exclusive glass entrance of his high-rise building. He glared at the sleek black pavement like it had personally betrayed him. His private car was parked in another garage.
His assistant was out sick. His backup driver was in Milan. Not a single cab or Uber was in sight. He hated being late.
“Damn it.”
“Are you okay?” a voice asked, soft but clear.
He turned. A dusty blue Toyota Corolla idled by the curb, window rolled down. The woman behind the wheel looked like she didn’t belong in this part of Manhattan. She definitely didn’t belong speaking to him like that.
Wild curls were tied up messily. She wore an oversized sweatshirt and no makeup. Her eyes were far too direct for someone who had no idea who he was. She blinked.
“You look like you’re about to punch the sidewalk.”
“I might,” he muttered.
She gave a half-laugh. “You stranded?”
He lifted a brow. “What gave it away?”
She tilted her head. “You want a ride?”
He stared. “You’re offering me a ride?”
“Yes. I mean, you look decent, and I figure if you were going to murder me, you wouldn’t be wearing those shoes.”
Her eyes flicked down to his handmade leather oxfords. He let out an incredulous breath.
“You’re kidding.”
“I’m not. Traffic’s awful, and I’m heading toward Midtown anyway.”
She reached over and popped the passenger door open.
“You can say no, but I think you’re out of options.”
He hesitated. He didn’t take rides from strangers. He didn’t even talk to strangers.
Something about her tone moved him. It was casual and unbothered. She wasn’t dazzled by the Manhattan skyline or the suit he wore. He slid into the seat.
“Seat belt,” she said, shifting into drive.
He clicked it shut. “Do you always pick up strangers in front of luxury condos?”
“No,” she said. “But you looked like you were going to combust.”
He looked at her again. She couldn’t be older than twenty-eight. She had paint smudged on the sleeve of her sweatshirt and a camera tossed in the back seat.
The car smelled like vanilla and coffee. She was completely unfiltered.
“I’m Finan,” he said.
She glanced at him. “Tessa.”
“Tessa what?”
She gave him a look. “Why? You going to Google me?”
“No,” he said smoothly. “I’m going to thank you properly later.”
That made her laugh. “Tessa Monroe.”
He nodded. “Where do you work?”
“Freelance photographer,” she said, swerving around a delivery van like she’d done it a hundred times. “Mostly events, some street stuff, whatever pays. And you’re heading to Midtown?”
“Gallery drop off,” she said.
“You?”
“Board meeting,” she whistled. “That sounds more stressful than mine.”
“It is.”
She glanced at him again. She really looked this time. “You own the building you were standing in front of?”
“No.”
“Live there?”
“No.”
She raised an eyebrow.
“I run the company that owns the building,” he said finally.
Her mouth dropped open a little. Then she laughed. “You serious?”
“Yes.”
“I just gave a ride to a CEO.”
He looked at her. “You gave a ride to the CEO of Zeller Holdings.”
She blinked. “That’s real?”
He nodded.
“Holy crap,” she said, eyes wide now. “You’re like rich-rich.”
He gave a half-smile. “I manage a few billion in assets.”
She let out a stunned breath, then laughed again, shaking her head. “And I made you ride shotgun in a Corolla with a broken A/C. Amazing.”
He chuckled. “It’s strangely refreshing.”
They fell into an easy silence for a few blocks. He kept stealing glances at her. She was unlike anyone in his world. She was messy, real, and blunt.
She was not trying to impress him. She didn’t care about his money, his watch, or the fact that most women in his life would sell a kidney to get a meeting with him.
She pulled up near Fifth Avenue. “This good?” she asked.
He hesitated. “You have a card?”
She shook her head. “Nope. I’m not that fancy.”
He reached into his suit pocket, pulled out a slim black card, and offered it to her.
“That’s my assistant’s number. Tell her what you want: camera equipment, gallery space, whatever. Consider it a thank you.”
She blinked. “You’re serious?”
“I don’t joke.”
She took it slowly. “This is really nice of you.”
“I don’t forget people who help me when they didn’t have to.”
Tessa tucked the card in her glove box like it was a golden ticket. “Thanks, Finan.”
He opened the door, then paused. “You free for dinner tonight?”
Her eyes widened. “Dinner?”
“You picked me up in the middle of Manhattan. Least I can do is buy you something fancier than street coffee.”
She hesitated. “I have a delivery later, but sure. Okay.”
“Seven. I’ll send a car.”
“Not the Corolla?” she teased.
He smiled. “Definitely not the Corolla.”
