“Hey, we are okay,” I try. He nods and squeezes his eyes shut. He inhales through his nose. “We can breathe, we can see with some light from the window and, hey!” I gesture around, “We can drink!”
He lets out a small laugh and says, “That won’t help, I don’t think.”
I almost chuckle, “But Benedict will?”
“He owes me, I took care of him throughout all of school, he can send a bloody search party. A helicopter, the marines,” he’s panting and seems to realize how crazy he sounds. He adds, “Bollucks, I don’t know. I’m losing the plot now, eh?”
I nod and watch him as he steadies his breathing. He’s clearly been through this before. So I ask, “If alcohol won’t help, what will?”
His eyes lock with mine through the shadows, “Talking.”
My turn to let out a small laugh. He seems serious, though. So I ask, “What do you mean you took care of Benedict, doesn’t he have two brothers?”
His eyes dart around the van like a door might appear at any minute, “Yes, but they weren’t assertive enough. Ben was teased for a bit there at the start because he was…kind, I suppose, and so I sorted it.”
“Sorted?”
“Yes, took care of it. I take care of things. Something needs done, I do it, always have,” he starts pushing on the door again, “Except I can’t seem to now…shit!”
I straighten up on the wheel well where I sit and raise my voice, ready myself for more talking. “Aiden. Aiden! I’m not from California, I just…like it.”
He finally stops looking around and stares at me, “Why?”
“What’s not to like?”
“The taxes, for one thing,” he says.
Eager for him to calm down, I decide to try more personal questions, “Do you live in London?”
He nods, “And New York.”
I tilt my head, “You don’t sound like a New Yorker.”
“Not a Londoner either, though,” he adds. I wouldn’t know, since I’m not an accent expert. But his tone is weird. Sad.
So I decide to mess with him.
“Would you feel better if I told you the secret to my coffee?”
His head snaps up, “Immeasurably.”
I shrug, “Too bad.”
He lets out a shocked puff of air, “Cruel.”
“Pft! You can have a team of flavor experts flown in to analyze it. Take samples to London and have it broken down in a lab.”
“Or you could just tell me,” he says, his tone getting better.
I shake my head, “I know something the great Aiden Vanderwell doesn’t. I’m drunk on the power.”
He lets out a chuckle. His color hasn’t returned yet. But his habit of studying me has. I look out the window to see if I can possibly bang on the glass or wave someone over.
“Whose dog is he?”
I look back at the curious billionaire. Curious about me. And my dog. I’m not sure why.
I glance out the window again but decide to answer with the truth, “He was left behind.”Like me.
