“Come on then,” she says.
We take the elevator downstairs, her bodyguard waiting for us in the black Range Rover, as always. In front of it, a black Porsche parks. It has no type plates, but from the looks of the spoiler, it must be something very powerful.
“Get in,” she says and walks to the passenger seat.
I huff in disbelief as I walk to the driver's side.
I open the door, and the first thing I take in is the scent. Leather, new leather. It’s a distinct scent, one I automatically associate with freedom.
When I sit down, my skin tickles in apprehension.
“Start it,” she says. It takes me a second to find where, but when I press the button?—
A grin cracks onto my face as the beast—there is no other word for it—springs to life.
“I knew you’d like it,” she says, grinning,
“Where are we going?” I ask her.
“Wherever you want.”
I look at her because I don’t know where I want to go. I don’t even know the area.
“Why are you doing this?” I ask.
“Just drive,” she says. “You’ll see.”
“But—“
“Follow your gut, hun. Free will, remember?” she says, and I finally understand why she is doing it. “You can drive to Teterboro Airport, for example, where I’d have a plane ready within an hour, and we can go anywhere in the world. Paris?—“
Paris.A stitch in my chest as I remember my past with Sophie.
“London. Los Angeles. Hawaii. You’d love Hawaii, it’s freedom. Epic sundowns. Or, we can go here—“ she says and wiggles the phone with maps on it. “It’s freedom, too.”
“I don’t know—“ I say, lost in not being able to decide as my past craws up on me.
“Then just drive, and you will know when you know.”
So, I drive. I drive onto 9th Avenue.
We have to stop at a red light.
“Brake with your left foot,” she says, and presses a button. “Right foot on the gas, let her roar.”
I have a wide grin on my face.
“Let go of the brake,” she says when the light turns green.
Whatever I expected, I was not ready for this. The Porsche accelerates in such a beastly way that my chest compresses, and it feels as if my brain got sucked out of the back of my head.
“Holy shit!” I shout, because within the matter of two seconds, we’re at 60 mph.
We enter a tunnel, and I let the car roar by, downshifting, then launch it to 120 mph.
“I think we lost the watchdog,” I say, because there is no Range Rover in sight.
“He’ll catch up,” she says.
