“True,” she said. “But I have standards.”
I glanced at her. “That why your patience wore off with the humidity?”
She ignored the jab. “What’s your name?”
Two minutes and she’d already forgotten. I thought about lying. Thought about giving her something like Randy or Billy Bob just to mess with her. But in the end, I figured it didn’t matter.
“Charlie.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Just Charlie?” Had she really forgotten?
“That’s my name, don’t wear it out,” I said.
She turned slightly, angling her body toward me like she was deciding how much energy I was worth. “Well, Just Charlie, thanks for the rescue.”
I raised an eyebrow right back. “Wasn’t a rescue. It was charity.”
She let out a tiny scoff. “Bold of you.”
“What’s your name?” I asked, though I already had a dozen guesses. Probably something that sounded like old money and Chanel perfume.
“Sloane.”
I glanced at her, pretending to squint. “Sloane? For a girl?”
Her head whipped toward me like I’d slapped her. “Excuse me?”
I shrugged, deadpan. “Just never met a female Sloane. Sounds like a hedge fund manager who drinks scotch and yells at interns. You a hedge fund manager?”
She stared at me, mouth parted in disbelief.
Then—miracle of miracles—she laughed.
It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t long. But it was real. A quick, surprised huff that caught her off guard and softened her just enough for me to see the human underneath all the labels. She caught herself fast, covering her mouth like she’d broken character.
The laugh died, and the mask slid right back on.
“Cute,” she said. “Real original.”
I smirked. “I do what I can.”
Another stretch of silence followed, but this time it wasn’t heavy. It hummed. She didn’t fidget with her phone. She didn’t demand to know how much longer the drive would be. She just stared out the window, her expression unreadable.
Truth was, she was gorgeous. Obnoxiously so. All sun-kissed legs and a megawatt smile, with wide blue eyes that made you feel like you were the only person in the room—right before she cut you down with a single glance. Her blonde hair had that effortless bounce, like she’d just stepped out of a shampoo commercial and hadn’t even tried. The kind of beautiful thatmade men forget their names and women consider homicide. But it wasn’t just the looks. It was the confidence. The attitude. Like the whole world had been handed to her on a silver platter and she’d decided it still wasn’t polished enough.
She was everything I couldn’t stand.
Trust fund baby. Raised on silver spoons and staged photo ops. Probably had a trust with more commas than the GDP of most Caribbean nations. And yet, she was still pissed off because her driver took a wrong turn.
I hated people like her.
And yeah, technically I was one now. The Dane fortune had plenty of zeroes. But I hadn’t grown up in it. I’d earned my way into this life kicking and bleeding—and I’d die before I joined her brunch crew. I had no interest in champagne towers and black-tie fundraisers. I didn’t want to sip cocktails with senators or pretend to like foie gras while someone named Chase talked about crypto.
I liked my life the way it was—quiet, dirty, unbothered.
Sloane? She was a walking complication.
Still, I was amused.
