Page 13 of Love and Other Champagne Problems

Sumner stared at me until he could no longer hold back the tiny smile that quirked at his lips. “I know what business casual is. I was just joking. It was a little funny, wasn’t it?”

I just blinked at him.

“I don’t have anything on your level, though. All Ihave is my work uniform, and the khakis from last night are in the wash, so—” Sumner gave awhat can you doshrug.

He was testing me. He had to be. He was acting so… casual. Teasing and acting flippant. There was no professionalism anywhere to be seen for a man hired to be my secretary.

There was no condescension that I was used to from other clubgoers, either. No fear that was common amongst the staff.

The place I’d made our breakfast reservation, Pierre’s, would’ve barred Sumner at entry, dressed like that. It was a rooftop restaurant on one of the tallest buildings in Bayview, with the best views and avocado toast in the county. I’d been looking forward to it ever since moving back from New York, and I debated pushing the issue, forcing him to go scrounge upsomethingmore presentable.

Ultimately, I scrunched my nose. “Tie your shoe before you trip.”

In a sort of startled realization, Sumner fell to his knee and tied up the shoe. It hit me then it wasn’t necessarily lunatic behavior he exhibited—he more was like a puppy with its energy unbridled.

He followed me out into the mid-May air, and when I started toward the valet section between the hotel and the country club, Sumner picked up pace until he walked at my side.

I glanced at him from the corner of my eye. “Why are you walking so close?”

“I—am I notsupposed to?”

It was quite the conundrum, Sumner’s hiring. Sure, my parents thought him unflappable, but how could they hire a man so genuinely unknowledgeable in all things decorum? “A secretary is a shadow,” I told him. “A shadow doesn’t walkbesideits focus.”

“Actually, it would depend on the position of the sun?—”

I stopped mid-stride. “Do you have a response for everything?”

“I don’t know abouteverything?—”

“A secretary isn’t supposed to ramble on. They’re supposed to be seen, not heard.”

Sumner, true to my parents’ word, remained unruffled. “I don’t remember a ‘vow of silence’ clause in my contract.”

The longer I stared at him, the more clearly I could see the mirth swirling in the blue depths of his eyes like they were a new color of their own. Hewasteasing me. Not mocking, as I was used to, butteasing.

Without another word, I started back toward the valet, shaking my head. Sumner’s clomping footfalls followed faithfully.

The valet barely looked either of us in the eye as he passed me my keys back, rounding the car to open my door for me. I debated on having Sumner drive, to milk his secretary services for all they were worth, but slid into the driver’s seat and revved the engine. Once Sumner sealed himself inside, I stepped on the gas before he slid his seatbelt on.

In the four years I’d been in New York City, I hadn’t driven once. Even on the rare occasions I’d come back toAddison with my mother for events, I’d rarely had a chance to take my car out for a spin. The route to Nancy’s yesterday had far too many hills and blind spots to drive as freely as I did now.

This route to Bayview had no traffic, no hills, no crosswalks—nothing but a clean stretch of asphalt that I could barrel down, and bask in the adrenaline as I did so. If the windows had been open, my hair would be flying everywhere.

Sumner, though, was not as entertained.

“Can you—” He clutched the handle above his head. I almost thought it’d rip from the ceiling. “Can you slow down?”

Now it was my turn to bask in the mirth of the moment. I revved the engine in response to his desperation, adrenaline pouring into my veins at the glorious sound. I was already in the top gear, but let my hand rest on the shifter. The tires sang in response, creating a beautiful symphony of noise. I teased the speedometer, daring it as high as I could before allowing the speed to creep back down, only to make it spike again.

“You may not care about dying, but I do,” he bit out, his other hand coming down and grabbing where mine rested on the gear shift. Grabbing ittight—the bones in my hand shifted, and I jumped at the sudden touch. “Slow down.”

I tried not to think about how his hand swallowed mine, but allowed myself one glance to see the tendons accentuated through his skin.A nice hand. “Say please.”

Sumner didn’t, but he also didn’t let go. His eyes were squeezedshut.

“Don’t tell me you lost your parents in a car accident or something.”

“I don’t have to have a tragic backstory to hate you driving a hundred miles an hour.”

---