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Shift gears, Abigail.
It’s been days since I’ve heard the bossy voice in my head, and for once, it’s not parroting the critiques of the team back in NYC.
If this magical week turns into a real future with Justin, I’ll never need to listen to them ever again.
“What are you thinking about?”
I glance across the truck cab. “Us. Figuring out how to extend my ‘trip’ out west until…” I trail off.
He squeezes my knee. “I mentioned my brother, but there are also lawyers in San Diego. It’ll be hard to keep your team off your back for the entire duration of a pregnancy, right? No pressure, but whatever we need to do to keep that low-stress for you, I’m on board. I’ll pay for whatever needs to be covered.”
How bizarre to be the heiress to a billion-dollar company and need to mooch legal fees off your newfound boyfriend because your bank account is healthy but not that healthy, and could be frozen at any moment. I puff out my cheeks. “Yeah. But I don’t want to think about that right now.” I force myself to brighten up. “We have a farmer’s market to go to!”
He grins at my enthusiasm.
We’ve made a shopping list, with alternatives in case we can’t find something we want, and I found the entire process fascinating.
When we park, I spot a cash machine just inside the overhang at the community centre entrance. “I want to take out some money,” I say, grabbing Justin’s hand.
He stops me. “Not to be too paranoid, but is there any chance someone might use that to track you?”
I blink at him. “Fuck,” I whisper.
He makes a face. “Sorry.”
“No, it’s…” I want to stomp my foot. “Track might be a strong word, but…” I shake my fist at the sky. “Yeah, they might.”
“How about I pay for the garlic and mushrooms today?”
“All right.” But I’m glum again, and I’m not any good at hiding it.
Poor little rich girl, a nasty voice in my head whispers.Causing all sorts of trouble.
“Hey.” He frowns. “What was that?”
“What?”
“Your expression…” He cups my face.
It’s hard to hide anything from an observant, well-trained military operative.
“Just beating myself up a little for feeling bad.”
“Sounds unproductive.”
“Tell me about it.”
His grip tightens, enough to make me very aware of the press of his thumb against my jaw. “Princess, you don’t need to feel bad about anything.”
“But I—”
“I said,you don’t need to feel bad.” The command in his voice takes my breath away. Then he grins, a lazy half-smile that makes my stomach flip in a very good way. “And what Daddy says, goes.”
Heat flames my face again. But I smile, albeit reluctantly.
“Now, here’s your allowance.” He pulls out his wallet and hands over a few crisp twenties.
I raise an eyebrow.
