Livvy shoots me an admonishing stare. “Don’t be silly, young man. Peter has errands to tend to in the city, and I’m more than happy to have him drive you back.”
“I’ll just catch an Uber to the station. I’m good,” I say, since I do not want to be stuck with that chick in a car for a two-hour drive.
Livvy wags a finger at me. “I insist. We have cheese, crackers, and champagne in the town car. Grapes, too. Have a snack. Relax and enjoy the drive. Now, let me ogle this Corvette, then you’ll be free to go.”
When a client like Livvy says how it’s going to be, you don’t tell her no. Already Livvy has booked business with the new competition. I need to make damn sure the door to Henley closes, and that I’m the one who wins the commission for Livvy’s next sports car.
“Your generosity is greatly appreciated,” I say.
She lowers her voice. “There’s some Pappy Van Winkle in the town car.”
“I’m going to need that,” I say, but mine’s not the only voice.
Henley says the same words at the same damn time.
And that’s how, fifteen minutes later, I’m sliding after her into the backseat of a sleek, sexy town car.
7
I grab the bottle and sink into the buttery leather seat as Peter swings out of the driveway. There’s a partition window and it’s rolled up. I fucking wish this was a limo and Henley and I had some goddamn space between us. She’s right next to me, and I can smell her perfume. It’s soft and floral, like spring apple flowers.
Why can’t I have a stuffy nose today?
These damn nostrils work too well for my own good. She smells amazing.
I unscrew the cap.
“You’re going to just drink that straight from the bottle?” Henley fires off.
“I’m so sorry. Will that offend you?” I bring the opening to my lips and take a swallow, savoring the delicious burn of the whiskey as the car picks up speed.
She rolls her eyes. Her pretty, soulful, chocolate-colored eyes. “I’m sure you think you just marked that bottle and I won’t touch it now. But you’re wrong.”
She leans into me, stretches an arm over my chest, and snags the bottle from my hand. Nothing else registers for a few seconds, because her tits brush against my bicep.
Not fair.
Not fucking fair.
I might be a tough bastard, but this is not in the rulebook. This is foul play, and my dick likes it. What does he know? He’s Benedict Arnold right now. Especially since he seems to be controlling my eyes, because I can’t look away from this girl as she brings the bottle to her lips and knocks back a swallow.
I stare at the way her throat moves. She winces for a split-second while she pulls the bottle away.
She licks her lips. The little tip of her tongue runs along her top lip like she’s starring in a slow-mo commercial. I can see the next frame perfectly. She’s the beauty on the hood of a car. Sprawling sexily across it. Batting those come-hither eyes.
The universe must want to test me somehow.
But then, I wrap my hand around the neck of the Pappy Van Winkle, taking it from her. I remind myself this is not a test because I don’t even fucking like her. I take a long, thirsty drink, and I can taste her lipstick.
Jesus Christ. I can taste her motherfucking lipstick.
This isn’t a test. It’s a goddamn pop quiz I’m thoroughly unprepared for. Because her lipstick is unexpectedly delicious. I set the bottle back in its holder as the car slows at a light.
“Is this how it’s going to be for the next two hours?” she asks.
“You mean are we going to go to battle with a bottle of bourbon?”
“Yes. Because I will go toe-to-toe with you.”
I scoff, giving her a doubtful look. “Sweetheart, you’d never last. I’m twice your weight.”
“But I’m three times as tough.”
“You’re a fucking piece of work. Would you prefer to one-up me by showing up at a client’s house at the same time?” I smack my forehead. “Oh wait. You already did that.”
She crosses her arms. “You think you’re the only game in town, don’t you?”
“No. But I’d like to know what kind of game you’re playing.”
She jerks her body away, giving me a you-must-be-crazy look. “When did it happen, Max?”
“When did what happen, Henley?”
“When did you go certifiably insane? Was it right after I left you, or a few years later?”
I sigh heavily, wishing I hadn’t walked right into that one. I turn to face her. “Look, I think it’s bullshit and suspicious to see you at her house.”
She twirls her finger in a circle by her ear. “And I think that’s paranoid and cuckoo. I can’t believe you think I’m playing a game because Livvy Sweetwater ordered a rush job on a custom car from me. I’m fast, I’m furious, and I’m awesome at souping up Corvettes. Deal with it, Summers.”