“Any chance you have a portable tire inflator in that thing?”Please say yes. Please say yes.
“No.”
Dakota. Fucking. Blackwood. I will haunt you from the grave.
“How were you getting back?” I challenged. He’d obviously driven the cat car here.
“My coworker. But he won’t be here for at least 30 minutes.”
Shit!
“Good luck.”
“Wait!” The word tasted like defeat. “Let me borrow your tires.”
He stopped. Turned. Stared at me like I’d suggested we sacrifice a goat. “Pardon?”
“Your tires. I’ll pay to borrow them. Just need to swap them onto my car for one meeting, and then I’ll bring them right back.”
In the awkward silent seconds that passed, I realized just how ridiculous I’d sounded. Even I knew it wouldn’t work, but I guess when faced with a Kitty Mobile, one panics.
“First of all,” he said slowly, “these tires won’t fit your rims. Second, I don’t carry tire-changing equipment. Third, if you’re too impatient for a rideshare, how long do you think changing four tires will take?”
Dammit. All. To. Hell.
“You could call AAA,” he offered helpfully. “But they’ll take longer than a taxi.”
My heart hammered against my ribs as I checked my watch. The meeting started in twenty minutes.
“I’ll give you everything in my wallet to drive me to the restaurant.” Maybe if I wasn’t the one driving, it would be less humiliating. Maybe I could hide in the back seat. Lay down, below window level.
His expression shifted from reluctantly helpful to offended. “I’m not a chauffeur.”
I pulled out my wallet, flashing the cash like some desperate asshole. “$150.”
His lips thinned. “I’m a business owner, not a driver.”
He’s the owner of this ridiculous business, and I’m basically calling his baby ugly.
The guilt hit me then, sharp and unexpected. Here I was, the penthouse-living Mercedes owner, throwing money at problems like some entitled prick. If he only knew I’d clawed my way up from nothing, maybe he wouldn’t be so determined to humble me right now.
“Please.” The word scraped my throat raw.
He shook his head. “If your meeting’s so important, take the car.”
My jaw clenched so hard, I feared jawbone damage.
The bastard had me cornered, and he knew it.
“Fine!” I said. “I’ll take the cat on wheels.”
Maybe I could hide inside Chicago traffic. Park far from the restaurant. Sprint the last few blocks. Maintain some shred of dignity.
I signed the papers with more force than necessary, my signature looking like an angry scribble.
As I pulled out of the garage, there she was. Dakota. Standing on the sidewalk instead of the penthouse, waving at me with that shit-eating grin plastered across her face.
Our eyes met across the distance.
