Page 2 of Riding with the Secret Billionaire

I punch the route into Google Maps.Thirty-three hours by car. If I left now and drove through the next few days, barely stopping, I could make it just in time for the fitting.

Except... I don't have a car in Toronto.Renting one would be astronomical for a one-way trip this length, if I could even find one available on short notice.

I pull up my contacts, scrolling frantically.There has to be someone who can help.My finger hovers over Oliver's name, my ex who still occasionally drunk texts me.He has a car. But asking him for a thirty-three-hour road trip favor would come with strings attached I'm not willing to deal with.

Then I see it. The solution, blazing on my screen like a neon sign.

The RoadRunner app.

It's the newest ride share platform, specializing in long-distance travel rather than just city trips.I'd downloaded it after reading an article about it in a marketing journal.It's a brilliant concept from some mysterious tech billionaire who remained curiously anonymous despite creating one of the fastest-growing travel apps in North America.

I open it, typing frantically: "Toronto to Foxfire Valley, Nevada.Within 6 days. Emergency. Will pay extra."

Within minutes, responses start appearing.Most are obvious noes, people going in completely different directions or wanting to leave days from now.Then one catches my eye.

JWinters:Heading west down Route 14.Can take you as far as Nevada.Leaving in 30. Terminal pickup.

Route 14.That's the scenic highway Jordyn mentioned runs near their wedding venue.This could actually work.

Me:Terminal 1.Can be there in 10. Will pay half gas plus $500.

Three dots appear.

JWinters:Make it $750.Meet at passenger pickup. Black Ford F-150.License plate WINTERS1.

Somethingabout the terseness of his messages makes me hesitate.Meeting a complete stranger for a thirty-three-hour drive could be the beginning of a true-crime podcast episode starring yours truly.But what choice do I have?

Me:Deal. On my way. How will I recognize you?

JWinters: You won't miss me.

Cryptic much?I grab my suitcase and weave through frustrated travelers, practically running toward the pickup area.My heels click aggressively against the tile floor, matching my racing heartbeat.

I reach the passenger pickup area breathless, scanning for a black pickup.The line of cars seems endless, drivers staring at phones, passengers loading luggage.

"Come on, come on," I mutter, standing on tiptoes despite my already substantial height.I check the time. I'm right at the thirty-minute mark.What if he got tired of waiting and left already?

Then I see it. A massive black Ford F-150, gleaming in the afternoon sun.The license plate confirms it.WINTERS1.

I wheel my suitcase over, rehearsing a quick introduction in my head.Professional but friendly. Let him know I'm not some weirdo, just a desperate maid of honor.

As I approach, the driver's door opens, and a man unfolds himself from the cab.

He's tall. That's the first thing that registers.Tall enough that I have to tilt my head up, which almost never happens with my five-foot-ten frame.His shoulders stretch the fabric of a plain black t-shirt that looks expensive despite its simplicity.Dark jeans, boots. A jawline that could cut glass, partly covered by strategic stubble.

But it's his eyes that stop me cold.They're a piercing blue-green, almost unnaturally so, currently narrowed as he assesses me from head to toe.

"You're Trish?" His voice is deep, with the faintest hint of a Western drawl that definitely wasn't present in his messages.

I straighten my spine, refusing to be intimidated by his size or his ridiculously symmetrical face."Yes. And you're JWinters, I assume?"

"Jake," he corrects, taking my suitcase without asking and lifting it into the truck bed like it weighs nothing.My very heavy suitcase. The one I had to use both hands and a silent prayer to get into the terminal.

"Right. Jake." I clear my throat."Thanks for agreeing to the ride.It's kind of a wedding emergency situation."

He doesn't ask what kind of emergency, doesn't smile, doesn't offer any of the normal pleasantries that make theseawkward stranger interactions bearable.He just opens the passenger door and waits, one eyebrow slightly raised.

"Always this chatty?" I quip before I can stop myself.

---