Maid for Each Other(12)
“But what make is it?” I prodded, because it definitely wasn’t a Kia.
He gave something like a shrug and said, “Oh, it’s custom.”
Custom?
What could that possibly mean? He’d had it custom-made? Did a car designer build him a special vehicle? Had he customized a regular car and added the CX1290 to be cool?
And wouldn’t it still be a certain make of a car, even if it’d been customized for Richie Rich?
It’s custom.
Insert one thousand rolling-eye emojis.
I knew it was a “me” thing, but I harbored a great deal of prejudice when it came to wealth.
I mean, I was fine with people working hard and rewarding themselves for their success; living well was A-okay in my book. Nice house, nice car, no money stress; hopefully I’d know what that felt like someday. My student loans pointed toward an eternal paycheck-to-paycheck lifestyle, but a girl can dream, right?
But I couldn’t wrap my head around things like twenty-room mansions and six-figure sports cars. I saw it as a massive character flaw, the ability to be fine with just collecting wealth while most of the world struggled.
Not that I had any sort of an altruistic plan as to what millionaires should be spending their money on, but I just couldn’t fathom being okay with things like Birkin bags and Bugattis.
And probably CX1290s.
I didn’t know Declan at all so I couldn’t technically judge him, but oh, it’s custom was setting off all the alarm bells about his character.
“What exactly does that mean?” I asked, because my curiosity needed to know more than my ego demanded I protect my ignorance. “Is it a certain brand, like Tesla, but customized for you? Is that what you mean?”
“It’s custom-built by my car guy, so it’s not one specific brand,” he said. “But we should probably discuss the story of us instead of my vehicle, don’t you think? We’re going to be at the restaurant in five minutes.”
I wanted so badly to open a discussion about Taylor Swift’s song “The Story of Us,” just to irritate him, but he was actually right.
“Okay, so we’ve been dating for six-ish months,” I said, thinking it was very bold of him to believe he could keep the same girlfriend for six whole months since he seemed pretty impossible to be with. The dossier hadn’t said anything specific about Abi and Declan as a couple, so I filled in the micro-details. “You said I love you first and really wanted to buy me a cat but I’m allergic so you couldn’t. I make you watch rom-coms even though you hate them, though I’m starting to suspect you love them and watch them without me now. I took you to get your wisdom teeth taken out and made a hilarious video of you bawling over broken Pop-Tarts while you were under the influence. I bring you baked goods every time we’re together—I’m an obscenely good baker, for the record—and you secretly wonder if they’re laced with something because that’s the only explanation as to how you could fall for someone like me.”
I knew without a doubt that it’d take some hardcore impairment for this billionaire to appreciate my…me-ness. Not that I didn’t like myself; it was more that my brand seemed a thousand miles away from his.
He seemed to be all refined elegance, where I was…not.
“First of all, I had my wisdom teeth removed when I was eighteen. Second, that is your story of us?” he asked, and he almost looked like he wanted to smile.
Almost.
Wow, had I even seen him smile yet? He’d grinned when he was intimidating me at Benny’s, but that’d been more of a wolflike I’m-going-to-tear-out-your-throat expression as opposed to a genuine, heartfelt smile.
“Well, I mean—”
“Hold that thought,” he interrupted as his phone started ringing.
“Holding,” I muttered as he answered the call with a “Hi, Warren.”
I sat there in the passenger seat, questioning yet again what the hell I was doing as the man behind the wheel took a business call when we were supposed to be prepping for the cocktail party. I really wanted him to tell me what the party was going to look like, who the primary characters were that I’d be meeting, and which people mattered to him the most.
The only upside of this going terribly wrong was that I could use the material.
I let my eyes wander over every inch of the car’s interior, committing to memory the huge navigational screen, shiny black-metal accents, and the way the buttery-soft leather seat felt under my legs.
When his call didn’t appear to be wrapping up anytime soon, I pulled out my phone and started putting details in the Notes app, just to ensure I didn’t forget.
When he finally stopped the car in front of the downtown restaurant, I was instantly nervous. Yes, this didn’t really matter in the overall scheme of things, but my stomach felt queasy as I looked at the impressive building.
And it got worse when Declan stepped out of the car and handed the valet his keys with the phone still attached to his ear.
Are we seriously not going to have time to share notes before the test?
I reached for my door handle, but Declan was already on my side of the car, pulling the door open. I looked up into green eyes that were a little intimidating as they focused on me, and all I could do was take his extended hand and get out of the vehicle.
But as soon as I stepped onto the sidewalk, five warm fingers slid between mine and it did something to my stomach. I swallowed as butterflies went wild, which was ridiculous when （a） he didn’t even like me, （b） the hand-holding was all part of the fake dating scheme, and （c） he was still on a damn work call.