Page 78 of Trailer Trash

I park in the driveway of the mansion in my usual spot. I grip the steering wheel, trembling with nerves.

It has been only a day, but it feels like forever since Killian ran out of my trailer like I was poison. I have no idea why he wants to keep the arrangement going. Maybe he felt sorry for me. I was pitiful. I can’t believe I cried in front of him the morning after. Who does that? It was definitely one of my more shameful moments.

“Ugh,” I groan as I push open my door, preparing myself to see this man again.

Be professional. Don’t let any crooked smiles get to you. Don’t linger in his cologne. Don’t forget it was a one-night stand, and be grateful you still have this job.

Cool.

I march inside, determined. As soon as I shut the door, Killian is there.

“Oh,” I say, palm over my heart. “You scared me.”

“Come on, I have a doctor’s appointment. It’s a follow-up with the surgeon,” he replies, cold and indifferent.

“This late?”

“Mm-hm. Follow me.”

“Uh, okay.”

He opens the door and leads me toward my car. He holds up some keys, and tosses them to me, then points at a red Audi. “We’re taking that.”

“You got a new car?”

“It’s a company car. For you.”

“What?” I say, truly confused.

He opens the driver’s door. “Get in.”

I’m frozen, my gaze shifting from the car to him several times. He doesn’t look his normal self. No smiles. No jokes. No problem I can’t seem to solve. If I wasn’t mistaken, Killian is behaving professionally.

I slip into the car, adjust the mirrors, then buckle in. Soon, we are driving down the highway lined with palm trees.

“I’ve never driven a car this nice,” I say.

“Do you like it?” he says.

“Yeah,” I chuckle softly. “It is a little much to drive you to doctor’s appointments. We could just take your car.”

Killian stares out the window, casually stroking his jaw. “You need something to get around safely. How will you show up to work on time if your car breaks down?”

I squint at him. “I’ve never been late.”

“You said the transmission is going out.”

“Yeah, but—”

“Do you want the fucking car or not?” he snaps.

I flinch at his sharp response. I didn’t expect that in the slightest. He usually doesn’t get mad.

“Um, okay. Yeah, I like it,” I whisper.

He nods, eyes still fixed outside of the window. “Good.” The tension in his shoulders releases and he sits less rigid.

We arrive at the hospital and wait patiently to be seen. It doesn’t take long, though. VIPs like Killian don’t wait long, I suppose.