Page 4 of Riding with the Secret Billionaire

"Not random," I correct her. "I checked your profile before accepting.Trish Walker, 32, marketing consultant with verified employment at Walker Digital.Five-star rating as a passenger.Previous ride share to Muskoka last summer."

She blinks, clearly surprised."You researched me?"

"I don't let just anyone into my truck." The words come out more possessive than intended.

I check the GPS. We're making good time despite the minor traffic outside Buffalo.If we maintain this pace, we should reach our first overnight stop in Heartstone, Missouri, by early evening tomorrow.I've already made reservations at the Nighty Night Bed and Breakfast, the most secure lodging option in that small town, according to my research.

"And what would your profile say, Jake Winters?" she asks, still studying me."Besides your apparent control issues and preference for silence?"

"38. Business owner. Perfect five-star rating as a driver.Never been late for a pickup." I keep my response as vague as my RoadRunner bio.

"That tells me absolutely nothing about you as a person," she challenges.

"You don't need to know me as a person," I say simply."You need a ride to Nevada. I'm providing one."

She crosses her arms, her chin lifting in a way that signals I've annoyed her."And why exactly are you on a ride share app if you're so reluctant to interact with your passengers?"

I consider how much to reveal."It's a good way to cover gas for trips I'd be taking anyway.And occasionally, the company isn't terrible."

"Sounds like you love your job," she snorts."Let me guess, you're one of those mysterious loner types who think having basic social skills is beneath them?"

For the first time, I actually laugh, a short, deep sound that seems to catch her off guard."No, I'm one of those boring types who prefer quiet after spending my days talking to people."

"And what people would those be, Mr. Vague?Other mysterious men in black t-shirts with control issues?"

I glance at her, raising an eyebrow."You've been noticing my t-shirt?"

A faint flush colors her cheeks, but she recovers quickly."Hard not to notice when it's the only item in your wardrobe, apparently."

"I have six identical black t-shirts," I admit."Makes mornings simpler."

"Of course, you do," she sighs, but there's a hint of amusement in her voice."Let me guess what else about you.You work out at exactly the same time every day.You eat the same high-protein, low-carb meal with perfectly calculatedmacronutrients.Your idea of spontaneity is taking a slightly different route on your morning run."

The accuracy of her assessment is irritating."Not every day."

"Oh my God, you totally do!" She laughs, the sound filling the truck cab."I'm a marketer, remember? Reading people is literally my job."

As the afternoon wears on, I relax into her presence more than I expected.Trish has a way of filling silences without making them uncomfortable, telling me about her friend's wedding, her marketing projects, her cat back in Toronto who'll be watched by a neighbor.

"My turn for questions," she announces as we pull into a service station for our first scheduled break."Why Route 14 specifically? Won't the interstates be faster?"

I kill the engine, turning slightly to face her."Route 14 passes through smaller towns, less traffic, more predictable patterns.And after the recent storms, many of the major highways still have sections under repair."

"Always the practical answer," she notes."Fine, keep your mystique, Jake Winters.I'll figure you out eventually."

The certainty in her voice sends an unexpected current down my spine.Something about this woman makes me want to both maintain my distance and draw her closer, a contradiction that's becoming increasingly difficult to manage.

"Twenty minutes," I say, nodding toward the service station."Bathroom, food, whatever you need."

"Only twenty minutes? What if I want to enjoy the fine cuisine this place has to offer?" There's that teasing lilt in her voice again.

"You want to sit down for a meal at a highway service station?" I raise an eyebrow.

"God no," she laughs, the sound surprisingly musical."But I do need more than twenty minutes to feel human again after sitting in traffic."

I check my watch. We're actually ahead of schedule.

"Thirty minutes," I concede. "Not a minute more."

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