We stared at each other, trapped in a silent battle of wills. It felt like if either of us flinched, something would happen, but what that something was, I wasn’t sure. Based on the look on his face, he could scream at me or slam his mouth against mine.
For a moment, I thought he might actually do it. Thought he might grab me, pin me against the counter, and show me exactly what happened when I pushed him too far. The thought sent liquid fire rushing through my veins.
But eventually, he was the one to take a step back, though his eyes never left mine.
“Good luck today, honey.” I rolled up onto the balls of my feet and even offered a friendly wave.
23
POV: WHEN CHICAGO’S BIGGEST PLAYBOY GETS CAUGHT IN … WAIT, WHAT IS THAT? #VEHICULARHUMILIATION
AXEL
“What the actual fuck?”
I stared at the carnage in front of me, my brain struggling to process the level of petty genius Dakota had just unleashed.
All four tires on my Mercedes had their air let out, and the caps were arranged neatly on my hood. Which meant … she’d staged this whole thing.
Diabolical. Brilliant.
I was going to murder her.
But that wasn’t even the worst part. Oh, no. Standing next to what I could only assume was my “rental car” was a guy with a clipboard, grinning.
The car—and I use that term loosely—looked like Barbie, Hello Kitty, and a five-year-old girl’s fever dream had a three-way and spawned this … abomination.
Hot pink. Gradient paint job. Glitter. A fucking convertible with what appeared to be whiskers made of black wire protruding from a kitten nose on the front bumper. Googly eyes stared at me from the hood like some demented cartooncharacter, and I’d bet my left kidney there was a tail attached to the back.
This wasn’t a car. This was vehicular humiliation.
“Mr. Pierce?” Clipboard Guy approached, all smiles and sunshine. His T-shirt readSparkle Car Rentals. Fun Rental Cars for a Fun Price!in Comic Sans font because of course it did.
“I can’t take this car.”
A pause. Like he was legitimately surprised by my pushback.
“Actually, it’s one of my most popular models.” He said this like it was a selling point. Like normal human beings regularly chose to drive around in a motorized stuffed animal.
“I need something else. Something that’s not … a hot-pink kitty.”
He scrolled through his phone with the urgency of a sloth. “I’ve got a ladybug or a cow available, but they’ll take at least an hour to get here?—”
“No. No animals. I need a normal car with a normal paint job.”
Okay, now he looked annoyed. “Yeah, that’s not exactly what my company does, man.”
Of course it’s not.
“Forget it.” I yanked out my phone. “I’ll get a rideshare.”
God. Dammit. Forty-two minutes for the closest ride. The next app? Even worse. I checked my watch, like I’d have magically factored in an extra forty-two minutes into my commute. Shit.
“I’ll take a taxi,” I declared.
Clipboard Guy was already walking away. “They take forever to flag down in this neighborhood.”
Crap. He was right, and we both knew it.
