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“I was...” I grimaced, unsure how he made it my fault for being nice. He made it so difficult to be polite. “Never mind, I guess.”
He harrumphed and nudged my arm, and I took a step back. He pulled a sports coat out of the back and showed it to me. “You prefer to sit on this? It’s all I’ve got.”
I grimaced at the Theory coat—wool and cashmere mix in an ebony color, easily seven hundred dollars. “Well, how much is it exactly to clean leather?”
“Not as much as the coat,” he said, and he threw it back into the rear seat in a heap. “Just get in, will you?”
I wasn’t sure if that was true or not, but I wasn’t going to argue any more. I did get in, sitting on the very edge of the cool leather, trying to make myself as tiny as possible. I dropped my wallet to the floor, tugged the phone out to join it.
I sucked in a breath to hold briefly, avoiding looking at his face as he got into the car. I was embarrassed by how I must have looked and my situation and didn’t want to see any pity.
He closed the door and smacked the dashboard to flick a dial. A wall of ice-cold air hit my body.
My muscles seized, taking in the change and adjusting. My mouth opened as I tried to cool off my insides, too. I opened my arms a bit, tugging the shirt away from my stomach and chest. I probably appeared insane, but my skin was sticky and I wanted to dry enough that I could sit back.
Then I realized I smelled awful. Ugh. I closed up, trying to prevent further assault to my senses. I could taste the dirt and sweat in the air, as horrid as it was.
He changed gear and started the Montego down the road. He started slow, but within moments was over sixty, and tilting toward ninety. He was skidding over the rocks and the potholes had me bouncing in the seat at first, until he was going so fast we were flying over them.
I gripped my door and reached around for a seatbelt. “Take your time,” I said. “I think I’ll be okay.”
He turned his head to me, eyebrow arched. “What?”
I snapped the seatbelt into place, deciding it would be wrong to be critical of his driving when he was doing me a favor. There was a water bottle in the console between us. I eyeballed it, licking my lips. “I don’t suppose you’ve got anything to drink.”
He reached down, grabbing the bottle. “Not much left.” He shook the contents and passed it over.
I took it, draining what was left, and then coughed when parts of my throat were still parched.
“You okay?” he asked.
I nodded, and then licked what I could from the inside of the bottle, shaking it for whatever drops I could get.
When I got what I could, I replaced the bottle in the holder and settled back into the seat. The sea of cotton and soybean fields around us stretched on for miles. We had a way to go before we’d reach civilization.
The inside of the Montego had been refurbished to something more exquisite than the original. I knew little of old American cars, but I did know the dashboard couldn’t have been originally in wood. The leather was also brand new, and not part of the original interior. He’d smashed together old vintage with new luxury finishes. “Did you rebuild it yourself?” I asked.
He laughed deeply, reaching to adjust the direction of the air from his vents my direction. “I might have made a few modifications.”
“It’s a nice one,” I said, and it was, even though it wasn’t to my taste. “It’s hard to find a sixties Montego in such good shape. You had the engine redone?”
His head tilted like he wanted to look at me but didn’t want to take his eyes off the road. “Usually you have to with old beauties like these. You can tell, huh?”
I wasn’t surprised by the question. I found a little joy in surprising people with what I knew, something I gained by reading widely or in deep conversations with people who had a passion for such things. A Montego was an uncommon choice to rework. “The old Montegos couldn’t reach ninety that quickly. The dash isn’t original, is it? I didn’t think they used wood.”
A playful smile made his attractive face light up. “You should see my other toys.” He drove with his left hand, reaching for me, open palm in offering. “Ace.”
I placed my hand in his, trying to keep it a light touch as my hands were clammy with drying sweat. I paused. “Em—,” I stopped short. My real name might be all over the news by now. If Georgia news reached out here to South Carolina and he’d been paying any attention, he’d have heard it. I hadn’t come up with an alternative name for myself, and the first one I could think of was Emily. Did I look like an Emily?
He clutched at my hand, keeping it in his grasp. “Em? Is that short for something?”
I flinched, glancing between the road and the speedometer. “Emily...” He wasn’t asking for a last name, so I didn’t offer. “Is Ace short for something?”
“Nope,” he said. He squeezed my hand gently but continued to hold on. “So, what’s your story?”
I slid my eyes forward in an obvious way to indicate the road. I tried to tug my hand back, but he held on. “What?”
“You’re out in the middle of nowhere in those clothes, and you want me to believe it’s just a coincidence?” His other hand turned the wheel. The car swerved.
I slid across the seat, first into the door and then into the center, the console stopping me from spilling on top of him. The only thing holding me up enough was his hand grasping mine, locking it into place.
I cursed to myself. Good going, I just hopped into the car of a maniac. I tugged to get him to release me. “Let go. Watch the road.”
“Not until you tell me why you’re out here.”
My heart was in my throat and my stomach twisted into a sharp knot. “I was stranded.”
We swerved again, and I slid over. The car lunged toward a ditch, where the front tires almost went in, but he turned the wheel at the last moment. It bumped hard into a pothole, causing me to strain hard against the seatbelt.
His hand kept me steady at the console. I grasped what I could of the door with my other hand, bracing as best as I could in preparation for another swerve. “Stop it!”
His grasp on my hand continued to hold strong, and he frowned in my direction. “I don’t like being followed. I don’t like being filmed.”
The fact he feared for his privacy didn’t surprise me, something my wealthiest clients always complained about. His suspicion of me had me shaken. “Okay!?” I cried out. “Next time I see someone filming you, I’ll tell them Ace doesn’t like it. I get it, but I have no idea who you are and I wasn’t out there for a scoop or whatever you think I want.”
His mouth slackened, lips parting, revealing clean, even teeth that were almost too perfect. He was thinking. Did he believe me?
I huffed. In a brash move, I caught his hand holding mine with my free one and held as if I was going to hold him in place even if he wanted it back. He was clearly driving fine even with one hand. I wasn’t going to be intimidated. “Do you see my sunburn? Not fake. What was the likelihood I knew you’d be out here? I would have stopped anyone coming by. I just wanted a ride. I don’t care who you are.”
He tried to release me then, but I clung to him, angry that he’d gotten me so irritated and was so reckless, even if I was mimicking him now and calling his bluff.
“Let go,” he said.
Now he’s concerned? Slowly, I released his hand and he reclaimed the wheel.
He drove in silence, both hands on the wheel and focused on the lane. My heart quaked in my chest, unsure he wouldn’t try something else.
I kept my back pressed to the seat. Damn the leather. I wanted to hide my shaking and at least appear unfazed by this.
Minutes went by with his lips firmly pursed. “Sorry,” he said eventually. He wiped the tips of his fingers across his lips and then wiped his palm across his forehead. “I already ran into two today.”
“Two what? Reporters? Women standing out in the middle of the road asking for help who turned out to be carrying cameras?”
I bent over to scoop up my phone to show to him, pushing buttons and still getting a black screen. “My phone is dead. I don’t have another camera. Not that I’d care to use one right now. If you don’t believe it, we can stick everything in the trunk. I don’t care.”
He relaxed his shoulders and then rubbed at his face, his fingers making scratching sounds against the gruff around his cheeks and chin. “I’m not crazy. It’s been a weird week.”
“How so? Besides this, I mean.”
“So far today, two girls dressed up as maids at the hotel I was staying at. They started snooping through my things while I was passed out in bed. Right in front of me. I woke up with one of them shoving a camera in my face and the other threatening to get into bed naked with me unless I answered questions. I eventually tricked them, trapping them in a bathroom and getting the hell out of there.”
That was very extreme, but I wasn’t too surprised to hear it. Amateur gossip bloggers, and sometimes gold diggers, showed up at my work way more often these days. It was too easy to find out who so and so hung out with, where he bought his clothes, etc. I had to deal with a few asking me what gossip I might have heard with the job I had. “They aren’t still trapped, are they?”
“I called security the moment I was out of there,” he said. “They’ll be lucky if they aren’t arrested.”
“Why did you pick me up if you thought I could be another one?”
