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By the time they arrived at their destination, Nate’s heart pumped with adrenaline, and exhilaration sang through his veins. When he cut the engine, the pounding in his ears intensified, prolonging his rush.
“So?” He draped an arm over his headrest and twisted his body to face Kris. “You regret giving me the keys or what?”
“Hardly.” Kris smiled, smug as a cat that got the cream. “I enjoy being chauffeured.”
Nate’s laugh rang loud and clear in the still night air. “You’re something else, princess.”
“I know.” She smoothed her hands primly over her dress. “Good thing you didn’t nick the car or I would’ve had to kill you.”
“You could’ve tried.”
Her smile turned feral. “There are ways to kill a man that don’t involve brute strength.”
Nate narrowed his eyes, examining her words and expression the way a detective might. “Remind me never to get on your bad side.”
Another smug expression before she swept her gaze over their surroundings. “This view is amazing.”
They’d parked on a hill overlooking the city, and the view was pretty damn spectacular. Not many people knew about the spot, though—it wasn’t clearly marked, hence why they were the only ones here. Nate stumbled upon it by accident one day when he’d gotten lost after a disastrous audition. He’d been so in his head about what he could’ve, should’ve done at casting that he’d taken a wrong turn, and boom, Lostville.
He had figured it out in the end—thank you, Google Maps, even though it liked to spaz out and fuck with him sometimes—and snagged himself a secret hideout in the process.
Not bad for what had been a shitty day.
Today was also a shitty day, but he was with Kris, so it wasn’t all bad. Her presence…soothed him.
She was the only other person he’d brought here. This was his getaway. The place he went when he needed to escape other people and think. But it felt right, having her beside him as they gazed out over the glittering sprawl of the city.
“A lot of people hate L.A.,” Kris said, propping her elbow on the top of the car door and resting her chin in her hand. “They say it’s fake and plastic. Materialistic. Coincidentally, they say that about me too.”
She didn’t sound too bothered by that fact.
Nate ran his gaze over Kris’s profile. The stubborn tilt of her jaw, the sensual curve of her mouth. Illuminated by nothing other than moonlight, she resembled an ethereal goddess come to earth. “That’s not true. You’re the realest person I’ve ever met.”
He meant it.
Kris was prickly and a little spoiled, but she never pretended to be someone she wasn’t. That was more than Nate could say for most people in this town—including himself.
Her lips twisted into a wry smile. “But I’m materialistic.”
“We all are, in our own ways.” Nate ran his hand over the polished wood of the dashboard. “Money can’t buy happiness, but it can buy comfort. Peace of mind. Freedom from the stress of worrying about whether you can pay next month’s rent.”
The people who said money didn’t matter were probably rich hippies who didn’t have to worry about it. Money might not be everything, but it meant a helluva lot to those who were struggling to keep their heads above water.
Nate knew that better than anyone.
“You forgot one thing,” Kris said.
He cocked a questioning eyebrow.
“Money buys…” She paused, as if searching for the right word. “Loyalty, I guess, in its most fucked-up form. If you buy something, it’s yours, and people who are there for money will stay for the money. They’re predictable that way, and it’s less fickle than relying on love or innate decency. I guess that’s why I like L.A. Because it’s all so predictable. No offense,” she added.
“None taken. It’s true.” Nate chuckled. “God, we’re cynical.”
“But realistic.”
“Yeah.” Nate sometimes wished he could be as optimistic as Skylar—it seemed like a happier way to live life—but optimism didn’t pay the bills. Which reminded him, he needed to check whether their health insurance covered the total cost of Michael’s hospital stay and treatment. If not…
I have the money from my arrangement with Kris. That should cover it.
