“Dammit,” I say.
He frowns at me. “Do I need to ask you to give me your other set of keys?”
I bristle. “What is this, medieval England? Want to fit me with a chastity belt as well?”
“I’m sure that can be arranged, ma’am.”
I scowl, march over to the Range Rover, and get in the passenger side without being asked. He gets in the driver’s side, we buckle ourselves in, and he reverses out of the space. Soon, he’s heading down Shortland Street toward Parnell.
“Well?” he says.
“Well, what? Or are you talking to your team? It’s impossible to tell.”
“Well… do I need to ask you for your car keys?”
I sigh listlessly and look out of the window. “No. I promise not to give you the slip.”
“Oh. I was expecting more resistance.”
I don’t reply. I can’t be bothered to argue with him.
After a while, he says, “Are you okay?”
“Just tired.”
“I’m not surprised. You work very hard.”
I look across at him. He doesn’t meet my gaze, concentrating instead on the road. Marcus has given him access to my online calendar, so he’ll have seen all the meetings and tasks on today’s list.
“High praise from someone who calls me princess,” I say, a little huffily.
“I’m not saying the description wasn’t accurate,” he teases, “just that I hadn’t realized how you have to keep your tiara polished at all times.” I think he means I’m constantly in the public eye, what with interviews and social media.
“We are not amused,” I point out, and his lips curve up.
“So you’re having a quiet night in tonight?” he asks, presumably having seen the absence of any social engagements on my calendar.
“Yeah. It’s a busy day tomorrow. Several meetings in the morning, and then I’m seeing Dom for lunch.”
He sighs.
“What was that for?” I demand.
“What was what for?”
“You sighed.”
“No, I didn’t. I exhaled.”
“It was a sigh! You don’t approve of my meeting Dom?”
He just glances at me before returning his gaze to the road.
“No, come on,” I say, frustrated. “Out with it.”
“It’s not my place to say.”
“Oh, bullshit. You can’t sigh like that, then refuse to elaborate.”
