She gets only sunshine and roses from here on out. No more emotional turmoil. Not on my watch.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
TAMSYN
“You’re telling me you’ve never been to Great Neck?” Lucien asks me three days later as we speed along the country roads outside the city heading east on Long Island.
“Nope. I have a firm policy. Brooklyn first, last and only.”
He shoots me a sidelong grin with raised eyebrow. “That’s not true. You were living on the Upper East Side with Mrs. Hooper.”
“For pay,” I say, tapping my temple so he can see how smart I am. “If I don’t get paid, I don’t leave my borough. Why would I? It’s got everything I need.”
“It’s a miracle we ever met,” he says darkly.
“True.” I run my fingers across his temple and down his nape, making him shiver and enjoying my power over him. Not that it’s anything close to his power over me, but still. I’ll take what I can get. “Being back at the airport really made me think about the day we met.”
“Indeed,” he says, lips twitching. “When you ignored me and admired my car.”
I wiggle my butt in the leather bucket seats and lovingly run my hand along the dashboard as we round another curve. “It’s a Bugatti. There’s a lot to admire.”
We both laugh. “Especially since I got it back with no scratches. Another miracle.”
“I know, right?” I say, still laughing. “And what are the chances that you’d get the same valet again? I’ve never seen a man look so relieved. You almost gave him a nervous breakdown with your death threats.”
“I made it worth his while.”
I flash back to the wad of cash Lucien slipped the valet when we left LaGuardia a little while ago. I don’t know how many hundreds were in it, but it was way more than one.
“That you did. When can I drive it?”
He looks at me as though I’m crazy. “The thirty-first of June at never-thirty. I just got my baby back scratch-free. I’m not taking any chances with inexperienced drivers.”
“We can discuss it later,” I say, now giving him a condescending pat on the shoulder. “Let the idea marinate. We’ll circle back.”
“Whatever you say, Ms. Scott,” he says, and we laugh again.
“I’m happy to stick to Ubering while I’m out here,” I say, now admiring a fenced pasture full of beautiful black horses as we zoom by.
“I’m sure I have something in the garage that you can drive.”
“Yeah, right,” I say, noticing the lovely black-and-white cows in the next field over. “Your other cars are also Bugattis, you said.”
“We’ll find you something.”
A light bulb belatedly clicks on over my head. I face him again, startled. “Hang on. How many cars do you have in that garage?”
“Eh,” he says, shrugging.
I’ve known him long enough to understand that this is Lucien code for I have more money than the GDP of Manhattan, but I don’t like to brag about it.
“It’s okay,” I say, unsettled, as always, by the wealth gap between us. “I don’t need a car anyway. My father never let me drive his precious 2014 Camry, either. I’m good with Uber.”
He doesn’t say anything for the length of another of another field or so, but a muscle begins to pulse in his jaw, which never bodes well for me. “I live for the day when you realize that money is no longer an issue, Tamsyn,” he says quietly. “Not while we’re together.”
I’m well aware of his wealth and generosity by now. I’m profoundly grateful and take none of it for granted. On the other hand, I spend a lot of time thinking that it’s all too much and too good to be true, even if it is only temporary. It’s like waking up one day and discovering that I hold the sun in the palms of my hands. It’s super cool and great while it lasts, but it’ll end with my getting burned. Badly.
I’m admittedly no genius when it comes to managing my expectations with him, but I’ve got to at least try to keep my feet on the ground. If only my tiptoes. “Yeah, but what if I scratch it somehow? You’ll never speak to me again. I know it.” I pause, compelled to add a bit more honesty to the proceedings. “And I don’t want to get too used to your world. I don’t want to be a spoiled Brooklynite whining about her Bugatti days while she’s waiting for the subway. Not a good look.”