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He just continued to stare at me as if he didn’t believe me.
I continued, “I don’t know what I’m doing, alright? It’s like I want to…protect her or something. It’s weird.”
He patted me on the back. “As long as you recognize that, boss.”My car was idling as I waited outside for her to exit The Heights. It was sort of an unspoken thing that I’d drive Gia home after her shift. I still hadn’t figured out how to tell her I’d fixed her car. Tonight she just started walking right past me even though I knew she damn well saw me.
As I drove alongside her, she joked, “We really have to stop meeting like this.”
“Get in.”
Gia kept on strolling. “I’m thinking I’d like to walk tonight.”
“Not safe.”
She started to skip, her wild, black hair blowing in the night wind. “I think I’ll risk it.”
I could tell by the look on her face that she was messing with me.
“Get your ass in the car, Gia.”
She laughed, then opened the car door and situated herself in the passenger seat.
Lighting up a cigarette, I blew the smoke out of the window. “Stubborn little shit,” I grumbled, putting the car in drive and speeding away too fast. This was a prime example of taking my sexual tension out on my Mustang. It had been taking a beating lately.
Sucking in another puff, I looked over at her. “Did you get any writing done last night?”
“Yeah, more than usual, but not as much as I’d hoped. I wanted to finish the fourth chapter, and I didn’t quite get there.”
“What happens if you can’t produce this book in time?”
“Then, I’m screwed. I’d have to give the ten-thousand-dollar advance back, which I’ve already spent, and I could end up being in breach of contract.”
“How did you get yourself into this mess?”
“Well, for a lot of people, landing a deal with a big five publishing house is a dream—hardly a mess. In my case, I won a contest based on submitting the first three chapters of the book, which remain the only completed chapters. Once I won, it was like my creativity shut off. It sucks.”
“What did you do before you were an author?”
She laughed. “You ready for this?”
“Uh-oh.”
Based on her warning, ideas were floating through my mind. Stripper? She certainly had the body for it.
As if she read my mind, she said, “It’s not that bad or crazy.”
“What was it?”
“Well, you know when you pick up a greeting card? The cheesy little saying inside? That was me. I wrote them.”
“No kidding?”
“Yeah. I worked for a card company for a few years, writing sweet sentiments.”
“I actually think that’s pretty cool.”
“You know what was really sucky? Having to write Mother’s Day cards. That really blew.”
Given that Gia’s mother had taken off when she was little, that hurt me to hear her say.
“Well, I’m sure you rocked it, even though it was hard.”
“Yeah. I tried.”
“Why did you leave that job?”
“Well, I got the book deal and decided to write full time. Clearly, I couldn’t afford to do that. I was struggling until this bossy, tatted man told me to look pretty and gave me a job.”
“Glad to help.”
When she kicked her toned legs up on my dash, I nearly swerved off the road. Gia grabbed onto my arm for a split second after practically falling over in her seat.
“So,” she said. “What did you do before you became a rebellious heir to a vast fortune?”
“I was a jack of all trades. I worked on cars…I waited tables. I was a tattoo artist for a while and—”
“Really? Can you tattoo something on me? I was thinking of getting one on my lower back with this saying abou—”
“No. That won’t be happening.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Why no—”
“Gia. Drop it.”
When she could see I was serious, she shrugged. “Okay…suit yourself, grumpy.”
The ride was quiet until she asked, “Go on, finish telling me about what you used to do. Tattoo artist…what else?”
“It didn’t matter what I was doing. I always worked hard, still do…it’s just that making actual money is a lot easier now. But like I’ve said before, I don’t take any of it for granted.”
“I know you don’t.” She paused. “How did you find out about your father initially?”
I let out a long breath. What was this girl doing to me? She was getting me to open up, and I didn’t like it one bit.
I finally caved and answered her question. “My mother had kept his identity a secret from me for years. Despite his money, she wanted nothing to do with him because of the way he treated her. But she got to a point where she felt I should know who my father was. And I think a part of her felt like I deserved a piece of the pie, even if it sickened her. I could’ve cared less about the money. In fact, some days, I wish it didn’t exist so I wouldn’t have to deal with them. The money…the businesses…they’re the only things that connect us.”
