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He laughs as I wiggle my wallet with the new credit card inside in response. “Busted.”
“Good. So, all that’s left for me to do is tell you to be careful.”
“Drew.” I slide my arm around his waist and squeeze. “You know I will.”
“I know. But I also know how men think, Maddy. We’re pigs. Don’t go letting any of these wannabe Italian studs sweet talk you into anything you aren’t comfortable with.”
“As if,” I snort. I’m hardly the girl who gets guys falling at her feet. That was always my friends at school. And even if all the boys didn’t think I had crabs, courtesy of Logan, then I doubt things would have been much different. I’m the quiet girl that studied hard and liked books. And I’m good with that.
“I’m just saying,” Drew continues. “Never place your worth in a man or the way he treats you.”
“Thanks.” This is his brotherly love talking. He hates to see me hurt. He gave my first boyfriend a bloody nose after he kissed me and then told all his mates about it at school.
We walk outside, and I fight not to roll my eyes at the over-the-top flashy car with a driver that’s pulled up at the curb. Logan’s leaning against it in a deep charcoal suit, arms crossed over his broad chest, eyes full of mirth, and a smug smile.
My hand aches to smack it off his face.
The curtains two doors down twitch. Logan doesn’t miss it, puffing his chest out and waving to our neighbor, Mrs. Templeton. She’s going to have fuel for neighborhood gossip for the rest of the month at this rate. He loves the attention. He usually comes over in one of his noisy-engine supercars. But today, he’s stepped it up one notch further.
I give his driver a polite smile as he takes my suitcase and places it in the trunk of the car.
“Your chariot awaits, Princess,” Logan says with a smirk as he opens the back door for me.
“Who does that make you? Prince Charming?”
Logan chuckles, and I narrow my eyes at him before I turn and hug Mum, Dad, and Drew goodbye again. Then I walk past him to climb into the car.
“This next month is going to be fun, Mads.” He grins through the doorway at me as I sink into the cool leather seat.
Drew walks over, and Logan straightens up, clapping his palm on my brother’s back as they hug, exchanging words in lowered voices. All I catch is,‘Look after her’from Drew, and the end of Logan’s response, something about not needing to worry, and then the final words of‘When have I not?’
They look thick as thieves, and I bite my tongue from commenting how I don’t need to be looked after, especially by a man-child who struggles to be serious.
Logan slides into the car next to me and grins. “Hope you know Italian.”
“I’ll manage.” I cross my arms, wishing I’d downloaded a translation app. I’ve been so busy packing I forgot. It can wait until we get there now. There’s no way I’m giving Logan any more reasons to be smug if he sees me do it now.
His thigh presses up against mine as he settles into his seat. I scoot away, giving us both more room, and turn to wave out of the back window at Mum, Dad, and Drew’s shrinking forms.
When I turn back around, Logan is watching me, his green eyes bright. “Do you want to start now? Ask me questions for your article?”
I’d rather clean out a rat’s cage with my tongue. But instead, I take a breath and plaster what I hope is a professional expression on my face as I pull my voice recorder from my purse and press record. Might as well get the basics down. I can write the intro up when we get to Milan, which is our first stop. That way, I might get some time off tomorrow after Logan’s first meeting.
“Sure. Why don’t you start by telling me how you came up with the idea for the new engine? Some people will think it’s your father’s idea and you’re taking the credit.”
Logan laughs. His eyes crease at the corners and he sweeps a hand back through his thick, light brown hair. I thought he’d be pissed at my suggestion, which I literally just thought of this second to rile him. But he’s amused.
He looks at me, his eyes glowing.
“Oh, Smiles. I can see we’re going to have lots of fun together, you and me. You’ll not go easy on me, huh?”
“Like you’d ever deserve me going easy on you.”
He laughs again, missing the hostility in my tone. “Write it was all my dad’s idea if you like. It doesn’t matter.”
I eye him curiously. Maybe he isn’t always such a big-headed jerk.
“What matters is that it’s going to be the greatest engine that was ever designed,” he says, stretching his hands behind his head, his signature smug smile firmly back in place.
