Page 44 of Austin

“What did you expect? I stalked you and Bryce, begging for my chance to get close to you guys?”

He shrugs his shoulders. “Most girls do.”

“Oh, that’s right. You’re ‘famous,’” I say with air quotes, and he turns red with an embarrassing smile. “Get over yourself. I didn’t know anything about you until I Googled you.”

“Ah, yes, let’s discuss what you Googled about me.” He lifts one eyebrow.

“I wanted to make sure I wasn’t being harassed by a sociopath.”

“Harassed? That’s a little harsh. I need to work on my game.” He runs a finger along the rim of his glass. “What did you find?”

“Just a bunch of posed photos. My friend told me you were kind of a mystery though.”

He takes a slow sip of his drink, nodding his head before replying, “So, you’re talking to your friends about me, too?”

“Get off your high horse. She asked about my day; that’s all.”

“Well, no need for Google. I’m right here. What do you want to ask?”

“Last time we talked, you said I asked too many questions.”

“Well, I’m in a better mood today. Ask away.” He holds out his arms in offering.

I feel like I’ve been given the key to a secret vault. I have so many questions, but I know he’ll close up if I ask the wrong one. I think for a minute, looking at him in this crisp suit, a stark contract from the hooded driver called Falcon who has been haunting my dreams since the day he told me to get into his car.

“Why do you race?” I ask the simple question.

“Because I like the rush. Sex and fast cars—those are my things.”

I close my legs at the mention of sex, and he must notice because a grin creeps up his face.

“Then, why do you hide who you are?”

His jaw twitches as he thinks about his answer. My attention is focused on the way his lips pucker and are only drawn away when he answers.

“It’s twofold. You have no idea how much it sucks, being known by everyone—except you, of course. Everywhere I go, people want to talk, get to know me … be my friend. But they really only want my wallet or my connections. I like the freedom I get at night when I’m Falcon.”

I nod in understanding. “That’s fair. You seem to go a little too far with keeping up with the disguise. Dirk Diggler and all.”

“As you know, it’s not exactly legal, and my getting arrested could have a more severe consequence than jail time.” He adjusts his cuff links for no reason. He seems like he just needs something to do with his hands.

When he’s done, he looks up at me and continues speaking, “My family didn’t always have money. My mom started a local magazine almost thirty years ago. She used to talk about putting Bryce in the stroller and walking door to door, delivering magazines because she couldn’t afford a delivery boy. That magazine grew to be the most successful in our county by the time I was born, and I spent most of my childhood going with her to businesses, getting advertisements for the magazine, and on interviews. She wrote most of the articles on her own—all human-interest stories. She said that was what made it so successful. The heart.”

He takes a deep breath and continues to reminisce. “Anyway, my mom was brilliant. She expanded into other states, built a publishing warehouse, had a delivery route, and started taking over failing magazines and newspapers when I was in middle school. Every dollar she had, she poured back into the business. She invested in a digital presence—something my dad thought was a waste of money and fought her tooth and nail over. She did it anyway, creating an internet magazine. That is how Sexton Media made its first million. By the time she died, we had more money than we knew what to do with. That is why she wrote her will the way she did.”

He looks up at me and speaks as if he trusts me with his soul, “Bryce, Tanner, and I inherited her half of the company. If any of us gets convicted of a felony, we forfeit our shares to our father.”

I’m taken aback by the idea. Why a mother would put something like that in her will is confusing. “Were you bad kids, so she thought you’d do something that would land you in prison?”

He laughs lightly. “The complete opposite actually. She didn’t put it in there because we were bad. She did it because she wanted us to stay good. She knew that, if she died young, we would be way too young to come into this fortune. Too many men have made mistakes at the hands of money. She needed to hold us accountable. That’s also why she put in there that we have to work for the company for a minimum of twenty years.”

“Why didn’t she just leave her shares to your father?”

“Maybe she knew he’d want to sell it. He’s not like her. He was a good dad when we were kids, but the money? It changed him.”

I slowly nod my head, taking it all in. “Is that why you joined the military?”

“That’s a conversation for our fourth date.” His tone changes, altering the mood from semi-somber to oddly flirty.