Irresistible Driver ~ A BWWM Sexy Romance Read online

  “We call it boot here, not trunk,” Lola corrected. “Get your luggage inside and let me do my job.”

  Grunting, Maxwell ignored the sarcastic edge in her tone as he shoved his 4-wheel cabin suitcase and a 2-wheel holdall inside the trunk of the white Toyota Land Cruiser Prado SUV.

  “How far is the car ride from here to the hotel?”

  The over eighteen-hour flight from Chicago, Illinois was brutal and he had hated every minute of it. All he needed now was a stiff drink and the comfort of a hotel bed. Having a chat with the overbearing driver–pretty, or not–was not his priority.

  Nodding, she held the door of the back seat open for him.

  “At this time, it’s a little over two hours to three depending on the traffic situation.”

  Irritated by her helpful gestures, he stepped back and spoke through tight lips.

  “Don’t bother holding the door for me. I’ll get in the front seat.”

  Without waiting for her response, he opened the front passenger door and climbed inside. Sweat trickled down his spine, soaking his green lattice shirt.

  “It’s stuffy!” he grumbled, blowing out air through his not-so-thin lips.

  The valid complaint reverberated around the inside of the car. Hopefully, she would take the hint and get the engine running. Instead Lola stood her ground and arched one brow.

  “Sir, clients sit at the back.” She paused. “You’ve paid a lot of money for our service, so let me do my job by making you feel welcome and comfortable.”

  “There’s nothing you can do to make me feel welcome, or comfortable except to turn on the air conditioner to the max at this moment. What I really need is for you to drive me straight to my hotel without chatting. Can you do that?”

  With her closed lips pinched at the sides, his driver gave him a curt nod, backed away and showed up on the driver seat shortly after.

  “On this hot Thursday afternoon, the last thing I want to do is argue with a client.”

  “Good.” He hoped the misunderstanding was over.

  Both of them settled inside the SUV in silence before he strapped his seat belt in place. Lola did the same with jerky movements.

  Blocking out his companion, he reclined his seat, shut his eyes and covered his face with his Armani baseball hat.

  Without saying another word, she eased the ride out of the Murtala Muhammed International Airport Lagos parking lot.

  About half an hour later, he skewed his hat to the right. From the gap, he glimpsed at his driver. A super dark lens blackout sunglass hid her eyes from scrutiny. Dark hair slicked along the side of her face softened her frown. She rested her left elbow on the door edge and manoeuvred the steering with one long arm. Angry vibes ricocheted from her posture. Frankly, her personal life had nothing to do with him.

  While Maxwell scanned her long, straight hair caught at her nape with a red clip, the car dunked inside what must have been a deep pothole because pain whipped through his neck.

  Wincing, he braced the back of his neck with his palm as he shuffled upright. To prevent breaking his neck altogether, he adjusted his seat and gave Lola a side peek. A part of him wondered if she had deliberately plunged into the hole?

  “Avoid the next nasty pothole!” he barked. “The last one did some damage to my neck.”

  “Oh! Butter boy,” she mouthed, without glancing at him. “I apologize, sir. It’s wiser to sit up on this long journey. We’ve got big, bad potholes in some places. It’s impossible to avoid all of them.”

  Though he did not know her at all, he could tell she was not sorry. In fact, she sounded as if he deserved the whiplash.

  “My name’s Maxwell. Stick to that. Drop the sir.”

  She shrugged and kept her gaze on the long stretch of road filling up with meandering cars.

  “Hmm. You’re not the typical American tourist.”

  Staring ahead, he swallowed the lump in his throat before he asked. “What do you mean?”

  “Usually, tourists often ask many questions about everything they see as we drive to their hotels. They’re usually polite and friendly. They laugh a lot–”

  “I’m not here as a tourist,” he butted in. “Keep your opinions to yourself. Americans aren’t all alike. Just do your damn job! Can you do that?”

  Swinging her head in his direction, she clicked her teeth.

  “There’s no need to be rude, sir, I mean, Mr. Maxwell. If every passenger I drove around treated me the way you’ve done this afternoon, I would’ve given up on the entire human race.”

  He exhaled. “This is business. We’re not friends. I need a car service. You show up. Drive me and give me my space. I’m not going to apologize for that.”

  The last thing he needed was to be told off by a bossy driver who knew nothing about him.

  “You strike me like a man who wouldn’t apologize even if his life was on the line.”

  “I beg your pardon?” he growled, tearing his head in her direction. She needed to take that back.

  Lola swerved right to avoid a large pothole along the tarred road. He grabbed the overhead handle bars above the door to avoid banging his head against the dark tinted window. The driver of the black sedan on the next lane made angry faces and hand gestures.

  “Watch the damn road!” he spat out, furious at her reckless manoeuvre.

  “Maybe if you stopped arguing with me without reason, I’d do a fine job of driving you along Lagos-Badagry Express Way, sir.”

  She spoke to him as if he was sick in the head.

  Expletives rushed to his mouth. Pausing, he caught his top lip between his teeth to stop the flow of swear words. In its place, he angled his head and glowered. Balls of sweat shone on her broad, flat nose while her rosebud plum lips parted as she hummed a tune into the silence.

  The woman was unbearable to say the least.

  “If you can’t avoid potholes, why don’t you quit?”

  Carrying on with the soft humming, she did not respond, or spare him a glimpse. As if she were determined to prove him wrong, she set her face on the busy intersection. She steered away from a commercial bus that overtook recklessly on their right and stepped her foot on the brakes when a mother and child dashed across the road without warning near a bus stop.

  Clinging to the door handle, his throat clogged with dread.

  “What the freak was that? Are pedestrians fearless in this country?”

  Keeping her eyes on the road, she did not respond.

  “Say something,” he coaxed after five minutes.

  “Following your earlier order, I’m giving you space, sir. And, I dislike rude people.”

  “Works for me,” he retorted, rubbing his palms together. “Your dislikes are none of my business. My names are Maxwell Gael Legend. That hasn’t changed. Take your pick, or do you have a memory problem?”

  Lola threw him a slow-burning squint before returning her eyes to the road.

  In that moment, he almost wanted to take back the crappy things he just said to her. Anyhow, he jammed his lips and stared ahead. He was in Nigeria, six thousand miles from Chicago to forget about everything that had gone wrong. If possible, he wanted to forget any of it ever happened. Nothing was the same. Everything sucked. The last thing he needed was a woman who had too much to say to him.

  Maxwell must have dozed off, because when he opened his eyes again, he saw a billboard that stated, Welcome to Badagry.

  “Are we near the hotel?” He stretched out his long legs as he pulled down his khaki shorts.

  “Yes. In another twenty minutes or so,” she murmured, still humming.

  “Have you been humming the whole time?”

  “I can’t stop if that’s what you’re asking. Clients often ask for music. But you’re different. No music. No chatting. Nothing. Too boring, so I hum.”

  “Stop comparing me with other clients. It’s offensive,” he sneered, cross at himself for letting her push him over the angry edge with ease.

  “That’s not my in
tention, sir. I apologize. Maybe you should go back to sleep. It was more peaceful. I almost forgot you were here. You didn’t snore if that’s your next question.”

  From nowhere, a wild grin formed in his chest and blew up across his face. He felt the heaviness in his chest shift a little. Even the strained muscles holding his scowl in place relaxed. Breathing easier, he gave her a furtive glance.

  He shook his head. “You’re something else.”

  It was rare for a woman to wish he were asleep rather than awake. Under this peculiar situation, he was not perturbed. When his cell phone shrieked, it was a welcome distraction. Retrieving his cell from his shirt pocket, he answered the call.

  “Hey you.” Jake laughed. “Are you in your hotel yet? Donna insisted I called now rather than later. She’s worried about you.”

  Married couple, Jake and Donna were his super-nice neighbours who insisted they qualified to be called, Maxwell’s friends since they frequently checked up on him without his consent.

  “Hey you two. I arrived safely. Jake, I’m sure your phone is on speaker.”

  “Sure thing,” Donna confirmed, her tone anxious. “How was your flight?”

  “Intolerable. But I’m in Lagos now and on my way to the small-town, Joe recommended.” His Nigerian friend and colleague, Joe Ossai had only good things to say about the hotel and its location.

  Lola swung her head in Maxwell’s direction, her brows drawn together.

  He frowned. Was his driver telling him off again?

  “What?” he mouthed to Lola after muting the call.

  “You’ve not seen the town yet. How do you know it’s small?” Her scary sandy-brown eyes rebuked him.

  Drawing in a slow breath, he shook his head and tried to also listen to his friends on the other end of the line. Meanwhile, Maxwell’s eyes dipped to his driver’s thigh as she stamped on the brake. Her short black dress rode up along her thigh revealing smooth, earthy-brown skin that peeked at him. He licked his lips and tuned his mind back to his cell phone chat.

  “Jake?” Maxwell croaked.

  “We’re here,” the couple answered eager to chat.

  “I can’t wait to get to the hotel and shut out the world.”

  “Don’t drink too much,” Jake reminded him. “Return to Chicago, sober and wiser.”

  “I can hold down my alcohol,” Maxwell insisted, grinning. “I’m out of your hair now. Take Donna somewhere nice and forget about me.”

  “Sure thing. We’re going out to a fancy restaurant this weekend. Donna’s sister found an upscale place that takes last minute reservations. But we’ll be thinking of you,” Jake clarified.

  “Remember we’re trying for a baby. Pull yourself together and start getting ready to be a godfather and a hands-on uncle,” Donna added with a giggle.

  “What? You’re trying for a baby? That’s the first I’ve heard of it. I wish you the best. Count me out of playing a hands-on uncle role. As you know, I’m always busy.”

  Instead of taking offense as he expected, the couple burst out laughing.

  But beside him, Lola hissed and shot him an evil glare. Maxwell felt his nerves stiffen. Every time his driver criticized what he said, did or, did not do, it irked him for some reason.

  “When do you get back?” he heard Donna ask.

  Tearing away his eyes from Lola’s pressed lips, he grumbled. “That’s not a fair question. I only just got here.” He closed his eyes so he did not have to notice his driver’s response to his conversation.

  “We’ll miss you, bro,” Jake muttered. “Don’t meet a girl in Nigeria, fall in love and then get married.”

  ‘“Meet a girl, fall in love and get married?”’ Maxwell scoffed. “Not a chance. That’s not going to happen.”

  “Can’t be sure about these things. Pain makes us vulnerable,” Jake told him in a serious tone. “Vulnerability opens the heart to love.”

  “I’m not looking for love, or interested in it,” Maxwell insisted. “All I want to do is relax, party and have a great time with Joe and his friends.”

  “Love has a way of finding us when we least expect it,” Jake pushed on as if someone made him say it.

  “I’ve got to go. You’re both romantic freaks! Hold on to what you have. It’s not for everyone.”

  “We’ll take care of your house and greenery.” Donna reminded him. “Don’t party too much.”

  “Thank you.” Maxwell nodded, kind of relieved his neighbours insisted on helping out.

  “Talk soon,” Jake said. “Bye.”

  “Bye you two.”

  When he opened his eyes, he then realized the car was already parked.

  With sunglasses perched across her head, Lola held his car door open without a smile on her face.

  “Welcome to Whispering Palms Hotel & Resort,” she recited. “Have a wonderful time, sir. Don’t shut yourself in your room. Explore all the resort has to offer. Go out to see our beautiful historic town.”

  “Stop talking.” His tone was gruff because he resented the fact, she insisted on calling him, ‘sir’. He stood in front of her after climbing down from the 4-Wheel Drive. “I can get my own door. Don’t you listen to anything I say?”

  In that brief moment, he noted the blusher on top of her cheeks and the cuteness of her chin softened the features of her oblong face. Winging out her dark eyeliner helped her slanted eyes appear bigger and wider.

  Lola shook her head before she swanked toward the trunk. “What a shame! I listen to what makes sense.”

  He followed behind. “What are you talking about?”

  “I’m shocked you don’t know when to say, thank you. Why do you have to be impolite all the time?”

  “I’m not in the mood to argue with you. I’ll get my things and be out of your way.”

  Folding her arms across her busty cleavage, she glowered at him.

  Ignoring her combative stance, he retrieved his luggage and smirked.

  “Go ruin another client’s mood.”

  “What a nightmare trip,” she sneered, not hiding her resentment any longer. “I’m happy it’s over, sir. Don’t call me again. Find another driver to torture.”

  “I feel the same way.” He shrugged, fully intending to delete her from his memory.

  Without the exchange of goodbyes, he opened his wallet, took out several dollar bills and handed it over. Despite his irritation with the woman, giving tips was part of the American culture.

  “Thank you. Keep your money, Mr. Maxwell.”

  Marching forward, he tugged the front passenger door open and placed the bills on the seat.

  “I can’t in good conscience deprive you of your tip.”

  “Even though you hated riding with me? I’m surprised you’ve got a conscience. I thought you were dead inside. Dead!” she spat out the last word with a vicious tone.

  “Maybe I am.”

  He withdrew and headed for the hotel entry point, towing his luggage along. Her harsh words cut through his core and shook his inside.

  To be honest, he felt dead inside. Cold.

  If only Lola knew how right she was about her parting comment. Yet, for a high-end customer service provider, Lola Lawson had a terrible temper and a vicious tongue.

  Long before he met her, rage already burned inside him, so crushing her in his path today was inevitable. Unfortunately, she was collateral damage.

  Without knowing it, his sharp-mouthed driver had helped set his head straight on his muscular neck.

  Chapter 2 – It’s Nothing

  Lola

  On Saturday morning, after dropping off her kids at the take-off point for their weekend camping trip, Lola went back home to check up on her Grandaunt Aduni. It had been two days since her sour encounter with Maxwell.

  “What are you doing back home again,” Grandy asked, the world-weary lines along her moist eyes deepened as she wiped her face with one end of the multi-coloured Nigerian print wrapper tied around her waist.

  Lola’s kids named the
older woman, grandy when they were a little over one-year-old.

  “To make you breakfast and watch you swallow your medicines.”

  “Eh-hen!” Grandy scoffed, wagging one sun-baked hand as she re-tied her wrapper. “Go to work before they sack you. I can cook for myself. I’ve been cooking before you were born.”

  Ignoring the older woman who raised her salt-and-pepper bar eyebrows, the same colour as her natural short hair, Lola smiled.

  “We argue about this every morning. Nothing you say will change how this is going to end. So, sit down and let me take care of you.” She made her way through the parlour to the kitchen.

  “And who’ll take care of you, ehn?” the older woman asked joining her in the small kitchen.

  “You already did. It’s my turn to look after you.”

  Working quickly, Lola handled a small tuber of yam, sliced and peeled off the bark. She washed the cut slices and poured it inside a pot, added some water from the plastic drum outside the door, a pinch of salt and covered it on the kerosene stove.

  “Something has been bothering you for two days, my child. What is it?”

  “It’s nothing, Grandy.”

  If it was nothing why did the square features of her grumpy American client jump into her thoughts? Swallowing, she sliced several ripe tomatoes, two onion bulbs, a few scotch-bun peppers and tossed it all into a frying pan layered with oil. She seasoned the tomato sauce and added slices of washed mackerel fish she bought on her way back.

  “Thank God I’m not blind yet,” Grandy huffed. “Something is on your mind.”

  Blinking back painful tears gathering in her eyes because of the intense flavour of the cut red onion, Lola turned to her grandaunt.

  “Grandy, do you want cold chocolate drink?”

  “Yes, when the food is ready. Now, come and sit with me and tell me why you’ve not been yourself.”

  Living with her grandaunt made it impossible to hide anything from the woman who raised her.

  After both women sat on the two wooden stools positioned near the narrow kitchen door, Lola leaned her jaw on the back of her palms.

  “One client was very rude to me on Thursday. I tried hard to please him, to make him feel welcome, but he was nasty. I wish I’d finished school with my mates as I’d planned instead of getting pregnant, none of this would’ve happened. Even though I’m a graduate now, I can never catch up with my mates. Do you think he would’ve been rude to me if I was working in a bank?”