He crosses his arms. “You could probably buy me a whole new truck and have it be like dropping change on the ground!”
The gaping maw of horror in your gut widens and swirls.Please, God, don’t let this douchebag extort me. Maybe calling the police was the right idea.
Maybe he sees the concern on your face, because he frowns. “I’m not asking you for a new truck,” he says coolly. “I don’t need handouts from famous people. But I’ll definitely let you fix her up. There’s a body shop over in Norwalk that a buddy of mine used recently. You carry cash?”
You frown. “Honestly, sir, I don’t have anything on me but my phone.”
He rolls his eyes. “Bet you have some kind of assistant who pays for everything for you.”
Trying to ignore the hatred simmering in your gut, you force a smile. You’re good at that. “Kind of, yeah.”
“You got Venmo? PayPal? Zelle? CashApp?”
Honestly, you aren’t sure. There are a lot of apps on your phone, which you don’t use as an extension of yourself the way normal people do. Feeling embarrassed, feeling angry, you hit the search bar. Meanwhile, Mike is scrolling through something on his phone.
“It appears that I have Venmo,” you announce, feeling like the world’s most out-of-touch celebrity moron, which is exactly what Mike thinks you are. Your face is burning. You didn’t really dress for the weather either, and the cold is slicing at your body through your long-sleeved t-shirt.
“Good,” he says. “5k should do the trick. Just in case they need to replace the whole bumper. I want an OEM part. I still have a payment on this thing.”
He flashes you the screen of his phone, where the AI-generated report of his Google search forreplacement bumper ford f1502023does, in fact, say that the repair ranges from $1,500-$5,000.
It takes you a few awkward minutes, but you send him the money successfully. The transaction goes through in the name of your DBA, Grayson Enterprises, and not your own name, which makes you peevishly happy.
Once he’s accepted the money, he nods in satisfaction.
“Hey!” he says. “Can I get a picture?”
Your hands are clenched at your sides. “I’d prefer not, if that’s okay.”
“Well, I’d prefer to have not been late to work because you hit my truck.” He laughs. “The least you can do is give me a picture. Jeez.”
Weighing your options, you determine that the least-bad course is giving in. You barely did more than brush your hair when you got out of bed, and you look like shit, but you let him snap a selfie, smiling big.
“Thanks,” he says congenially. “Have a good day, now. Be more careful where you’re driving.”
“Totally,” you deadpan, waving listlessly as he drives away.
It’s only then that you even take a look at the front of the Highlander. It took much more damage than the truck. The front bumper is crumpled and sagging. It’s drivable, but it looks like shit. You heave a sigh before calling your mom and Cal to come bail you out.
***
By the time you make it back home, it’s early afternoon, and you aresteaming. Your first order of business is groveling to your mother, and setting up a rental for her while you get her car fixed. Immediately after, though, you return to your little escape in the backyard.
Knowing it’s a poor idea, you dial Kai on FaceTime. You aren’t sure if he will answer, but he does. It’s dim on the other end. He appears to be in his condo, on the couch, with the blinds shut. Lying down. (Does he have a headache?)
“Hey,” he says wearily.
“Hey,” you echo. “Were you just planning on ignoring me?”
He scrubs his face with his big hand. “Sorry. Yesterday was a bad day.”
It takes everything in you not to roll your eyes. “Yeah. That’s an understatement.”
He ignores the dig. “You still in Connecticut?”
“Where else would I be?” you say tartly.
“You didn’t say how long you were visiting your folks,” he says. “I didn’t know if you were coming back to Florida soon.”
