“Okay then.” I smiled, taking the cash. “Right on.”
“Right on,” he repeated, his smile meeting mine in the middle. “You’re all right, Getaway Girl.”
“You’re not too bad yourself, Hollywood.”
He leaned back, appearing way more relaxed now that the decision was made. “Who needs fame anyway?”
“Exactly,” I agreed, matching his mischievous tone. “It’s totally overrated.”
“And the paparazzi suck,” he added.
“Sure as shit they do. And don’t forget about the stalkers.”
His eyes popped open wide. “Oh, my god, I forgot about the fucking stalkers.”
His smartass comment brought a smile to my face. Attractiveandsardonic. I soaked in his edgy disposition, fascinated by the way he engaged with me. It felt like I’d known him forever even though I still had everything about him to discover.
“Although”—he flashed me his killer grin—“can we agree the money is nice? And the adoration? And the first-class flights?”
“Yes, I will agree with you on those points. However”—I raised a finger—“not worth the loss of your dignity, right?”
“I thought you didn’t have an opinion on that.”
“Well, now that you made the right decision, I do.”
Quinn groaned, but it was more playful than pained. “So now what, guru?”
“Now you blaze your own path.”
“Maybe you haven’t been listening to my ball-crushing story of woe,” he countered.
“No, I have. But you seem like a scrappy guy. Why not have the best of both worlds? Walking off the stage in the middle of a performance is next-level drama. If it gets any traction on social media at all, it could blow up. Maybe by losing, you might actually win.”
“Okay, sure. Let’s go with your working theory,” he said, leaning forward to bust out a drum solo with his fingers on my dashboard. “Do you happen to know a couple million people so we can make this happen?”
We? I liked the way that sounded. How long had it been since a man had included me in their planning process? “Um… I might be shy a couple million on my social media accounts. But stop shitting on my plan, dude. Think about what I’m saying. You might not come out of this the loser you think you will.”
Stopping the impromptu concert, Quinn finally seemed to give my theory the serious consideration it deserved. “I hope you’re right.”
So was I. Of all the random people I’d picked up over the past couple of years, Quinn stood out as being the worthiest of a second chance.
He resumed the beat. “You’re the kind of person I need on my team.”
“I’m already on your team. I let you in my car, didn’t I?”
“Yeah, about that,” he said, glancing up at me through the fringe of his hair. “What the hell took you so long to open the door?”
“I don’t open my door for just anyone, Quinn.”
“You’re a RYde driver! That’s literally your job!”
“Right. But you weren’t following the rules.”
“Because I was being chased!” His voice rose an octave.
“By a guy in a silk suit and shiny loafers. I hardly think your situation was critical.”
Quinn abandoned my dashboard altogether, shifting in his seat to give me his full attention. “So, you’re saying if I were being pursued by someone like Liam Neeson or a nine-foot troll, you’d have opened the door and sped away when requested?”
