Page 6 of A Dangerous Kind of Love

The driver lets out a laugh before straightening again behind the wheel. The reaction makes me smile.

“It’s Katie, by the way,” I say.

“I know,” the man behind me replies.

That makes me turn all the way around in my seat. I stare at him, my expression sliding somewhere between disbelief and disgust.

“You know,” I say flatly, “you’re really creepy.”

His mouth curves into a faint smirk.

“I heard it at the bar, Katie,“ he says, stressing my name.

I narrow my eyes at him. “You’re still creepy.”

I turn back around and settle into the seat again. When I glance over at the driver, I notice a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.

The SUV glides through the streets for several minutes before the man behind me speaks again.

“You have a long commute.”

I glance back at him. “Huh?”

He gestures the navigation system on the dashboard.

“For that bar,” he says calmly. “Why are you driving twenty miles to work in some dingy bar?”

I huff and turn around in my seat again. “My actual job is in the town I live in.”

He raises an eyebrow. “So your real job isn’t bartending.”

“God, no,” I say immediately. “I’m a teacher.”

The second the words leave my mouth, I squeeze my eyes shut. Because apparently tonight I’m just handing out personal information to mysterious men in luxury SUVs.

The silence stretches after that before he speaks again. “What kind of teacher?”

I open my eyes and glance back at him over my shoulder.

“Not until you tell me your name and what you do,” I say.

One corner of his mouth lifts slightly.

“Michael,” he replies. “I run my family’s business.”

I study him. He’s wearing a tailored suit. He’s in an absurdly expensive SUV with a driver.

“Must be a pretty successful business,” I say, glancing around the interior of the car before looking back at him, “if you’re dressed in that suit and riding around in this thing with a driver.”

“We do well,” he says.

I look at him. “I’m a high school English teacher. The bar is my summer job.”

He leans forward slightly in the back seat.

“Isn’t school still in session?” he asks. “It’s not even June yet.”

“It ends Monday, but they asked me to start early,” I say with a shrug. “I needed the money.”