Page 7 of A Dangerous Kind of Love

Michael watches me after I answer. The car settles into silence, and I think maybe the conversation is over. Then he speaks again.

“So this week,” he says, “you worked until two in the morning every night and got up to teach the next day?”

“Yes.”

There’s a pause before he asks the next question.

“Why would you need to do that?”

I don’t answer right away. Instead, I look out the windshield, watching the streetlights pass one after another across the hood of the SUV. The truth sits right there in my chest, but it’s not something I usually hand to strangers during a car ride in the middle of the night.

The truth is simple. The bar job isn’t about extra spending money or something fun to do during the summer. It’s about my mom.

Two years ago, when I took the teaching job, she was still mostly herself back then. She was forgetful sometimes, repeating stories more than she used to, but still my mom. The doctors called it early-onset dementia.

The facility I found for her is beautiful. It’s safe and clean. The staff are kind and patient in the way people need to be with someone who forgets the same conversation three times in ten minutes. It’s also unbelievably expensive. I teach during the day and pour drinks at night, and somehow I make it work.

I realize a second too late that I’ve been quiet for a long time. I don’t answer him. Instead, I turn around in my seat until I’m facing him again.

“So let me get this straight,” I say. “You seriously came to the bar every night for a week and just sat there staring at me?”

His eyebrow lifts slightly.

“Obsessed much?”

The car goes quiet. Then Michael bursts out laughing. It’s not a polite chuckle or the quiet, controlled laugh I expected from him. It’s a full laugh that seems to surprise even his driver.

His laughter eventually fades, though the amusement still lingers on his face as he looks at me. His eyes drag over me in a way that should probably make me uncomfortable.

“I liked what I saw,” he says simply.

I roll my eyes at him, even though I can feel the corner of my mouth turning upward. “God, you really are a creeper.”

He doesn’t look the least bit offended. If anything, the smirk on his face deepens.

Chapter 3

Katie

Itwist slightly in the seat and look over at the driver. “So, what’s your name?”

Instead of answering right away, the driver glances up at the rearview mirror. I don’t understand why. Then I see it. He’s looking at Michael. Michael gives a small nod.

“Luca, ma’am,” the driver says.

I turn and stare at Michael.

“Did you really just give him permission to tell me his name?”

Michael looks completely unbothered by the accusation. In the driver’s seat, Luca raises his eyebrows and presses his lips together as if he’s trying very hard not to laugh.

I shake my head. “That’s gross.”

Michael watches me before a small smile spreads across his face.

“He’s my employee,” he says. “He’s not used to people talking to him in the car. Usually, they sit next to me. Not all the way up there in the front.”

I stare at him.