“I’m good.”
“Where are you going?”
“To a friend’s.”
He leans his head slightly, expression unreadable. “Really.”
“Yup.”
Langston doesn’t buy it. Of course he doesn’t. The man probably has a background check file on me already.
“Sabrina.”
I exhale, roll my eyes. “Fine. I’m going to my hotel. Alone. I needed air, not a chauffeur.”
He nods once to the driver, and the car rolls forward just enough to block my path.
“Sabrina.”
God, the way he says my name. It’s not a plea—it’s an order disguised as a favor.
“I’m not here to interrogate you,” he says. “Get in. You can clear your head in the car. I’m cutting your walk short, not your freedom.”
He sounds reasonable.
Which pisses me off.
But fine.
I open the door and slide in, pulling the strap across my chest like it might protect me from the heat radiating off him. He’s on his phone again, backlit by the screen, eyes scanning lines of text while the city glows outside the windows.
I glance at him. Once. Then again.
What the hell is it going to be like—being married to someone like him?
Always working. Always in control. Always quiet when I want to scream.
The driver glances at me in the mirror. “Address, miss?”
“La Quinta Inn on Grand.”
He pauses. “Are you… sure?”
I grin. “Dead sure.”
Langston finally glances up, brow twitching—but he says nothing.
Smart man.
The rest of the ride is silent. Except for the way I keep sneaking glances at him and wondering what the hell I just signed up for.
The car pulls up to the hotel. It’s nothing special. It’s not meant to be.
Before Langston can open his mouth, I’m already out.
I turn back, lean down just enough to meet his eyes.
“One year,” I say. “That’s all I’m offering.”
