Page 16 of Handle Me

“And a bunch of other racers,” she said dryly.

“Yeah, on race days. But I’m not really competing against any of them.”

She shifted in her seat, turning her body to face mine. “Then why race?”

“I can’t explain it,” I admitted. “It’s just a feeling—like I belong behind the wheel.”

Lola fell silent, and I wondered if I’d said something wrong. “That must be nice,” she said after a few seconds.

The sadness in her tone surprised me. Until this moment, I wouldn’t have thought it was possible to ruffle Lola Bishop. But, now, somehow I had done just that.

“Maybe you should get a car,” I suggested. “Or do I need to read some tabloids to find out why you don’t drive.”

“It’s not necessary to own a car in London. Besides that, I don’t know how to drive.”

I nearly stopped the car on the spot. “What do you mean you don’t know how?”

“Calm down,” she said. “I never learned. We moved to London when I was kid, and there was never any reason for me to drive. I went to university in the city. I had access to the Tube. What’s the point?”

“The point is that you can do this.” I shifted into a higher gear as we hit a stretch of lonely highway. I pressed my foot against the gas pedal and the Ferrari shot forward.

“Fuck!” Lola shrieked. Her hand flew out and gripped my arm tightly, but I didn’t let up on the gas.

“You wanted me to get us there quickly.”

“And alive,” she reminded me.

I downshifted, dropping the speed a bit until she relaxed. We had plenty of time to get there. It wasn’t worth it to scare the shit out of her. And the longer we took on the drive to Birmingham, the less time we would have to shop. In my book that was a win-win.

“If you buy a car, I’ll teach you how to drive it.”

“Is that so?” She released a trembling sigh. “I think I’ll pass.”

“Cars really scare you, huh?” Earlier this morning, I would have thought she was fearless. She certainly acted that way.

“My sister almost died in a car accident, remember? Or did you miss those headlines, too?”

Fuck. Why hadn’t I remembered that? The accident had made more than the tabloids. It had been on the front page of every paper in the world and all over the Internet. “I’m sorry,” I said sincerely, “but the offer stands. If you ever want to learn how to drive…”

“I’ll let you know.” She relaxed a bit into her seat. “How much does this car cost?”

“This?” I searched my brain, trying to remember. “About two-hundred-and-fifty… thousand pounds.”

“Okay,” she said, not batting an eyelash.

“You could get something cheaper for your first car,” I suggested. I had no idea why I found myself so invested in getting Lola behind the wheel. Maybe it was her obvious love of control, but I couldn’t imagine she’d dislike driving.

“I was just curious.”

So, I wasn’t going to get her to talk about cars. That left me searching for other safe topics of conversation. The truth was that I knew almost nothing about her. I’d been too angry when she’d first butted into my life to look her up. When I’d found out she was Clara’s sister, I’d expected her to be more like Clara. But while they were two of the most beautiful women I’d ever seen, Lola was Clara’s opposite in every way. “What do you do?” I asked. “I mean, for a living when not “helping” family?”

“I’m helping a friend launch a fashion subscription,” she explained.

I shot her a blank look, and she sighed.

“People pay us money to borrow expensive clothes instead of buying them.”

“People pay for that?”