This could be why children are warned not to get into strangers’ cars.
“Ted, we must get the locks examined.”
“Yes, sir,” the driver replies.
“Meanwhile, something tells me that would be your groom.”
“What?”
“Evie!”
My body jolts, my unease spiking at Mitchell’s voice. The stranger’s fingers tighten as I turn, finding the window open and that shithead staring at me from a gap in the traffic.
“Evie, please!” His eyes flick to the man beside me, and his expression turns sour. “What the fuck is he doing here?”
“You have got to be kidding me,” I mutter at the accusation in his tone. He’s got some nerve after what he’s put me through today.
My companion’s arm tightens, giving my shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “Pure chance, Atherton. A pleasant quirk of fate. But I see you’re still undertaking your life’s work to screw over everyone around you.”
“You two know each other?” My head whips around as the car begins to move again. Tires squeal, and my heart shoots into my throat. I glance back just in time to see Mitch slam his palms onto the hood of a black cab.
“Pity.” The stranger slants me a look. “Don’t you think?”
“That he wasn’t hit?”
“You’d rather run him over yourself?” When I bite my tongue from answeringyes, he gives a graceful shrug. “Violence. It might not be the answer, yet it doesn’t stop certain individuals from begging the question.”
“Believe me, I know.”
“Babe, I’m sorry.” Mitch appears at the window, his fingers curled around the glass.
“Sorry you got caught, more like.”
“Please don’t do this.” His throat bobs with emotion.
“You did this, not me. You. And don’t you ever call mebabeagain.” Balling my fists in my lap, I swing away. I doubt I could get a good shot from this angle, anyway.
“Evie, we need to talk about this. I know I’ve hurt you—that you deserve better.”
I make a derisive noise. I so want to punch him in the face. Why isn’t this car moving? The traffic in London is the absolute worst! As horns honk, and angry Londoners yell their displeasure, I glance out the window and realize we’re not crawling because of the traffic—we’re causing it.
“What we have is too good to throw away. Just give me five minutes,” Mitch pleads. “Let me explain.”
“I got all the explanation I needed this morning in fifty-two anonymous texts.” My voice sounds supremely cool, yet inside, my blood is boiling.Why won’t this stupid car just move?
“Please.”
“Go fuck yourself.” Making a sceneandusing vulgar language. My mother would be so proud.
The stranger’s fingers tighten again as though in reassurance. “Still against death by cabbie?”
“This has nothing to do with you, Deubel,” Mitchell grates out.
“And yet, here sits your fiancée.”
“Ex,” I correct. “Can we please go?” This time, my distress is not an act.
He turns to the driver. “Ted, we’re done here.”
