Page 14 of You, Me, and Lucky Number 13

Ugh. Why am I doing this? Was it really so bad living with Brian and his demon dog? I could sacrifice a pair of shoes every now and then, couldn’t I?

I think of the boots that I only wore once.

No, no, I can’t. Nor can I sleep on that mattress ever again.

I also can’t just keep sitting on the couch, shoveling ice cream and cheesecake down my throat while YouTubing how to make voodoo dolls. Even I know that’s not healthy.

But in all honesty, I have to admit there’s a part of me that wants this. I want the roar of the engine, the thrill of the competition, the chance to prove myself in a world that has written me off as difficult, emotional woman scorned.

Chad Tane can kiss my ass six ways from Sunday.

It’s his fault that Cole is the only guy in the industry who is crazy enough to work with me after the whispers started.“Unstable.” “Difficult to work with.” “Sleeping her way to the top.”

I hope they all get chlamydia with a mild case of the flu.

I’m making a vow right now that I will never date another coworker—more specifically, a driver—ever again. I will never let someone use a personal relationship against my career. Well, except for this fake dating arrangement.

Maybe fake dating Cole won’t be so bad. No one will hit on me, and apart from the public eye, I can still be as mean to Cole as I want. We have a deal. He can’t fire me just because I don’t like what he makes for dinner or think his TV shows are lame.

We can be total strangers when the cameras and crew aren’t around. His mansion is big enough that I’ll probably never see him at the house.

It’ll be the perfect relationship.

I can save my career—and reluctantly Cole’s—all while making good money. I need to replenish my savings, after all.

Maybe the dipshit had a decent idea after all.

Said dipshit shifts in his seat, his hand brushing against my arm, sending chills along where he made contact. See? I’m allergic to Cole and his touch.

As if reading my mind, Cole glances over at me, his eyes, the color of aged whiskey and just as potent, sparkling with amusement.

“You okay over there, Quinn?” His voice is a low rumble, laced with that familiar Southern drawl that always made me think of those sexy cowboys on that TV show.

“Peachy,” I lie. “Just admiring the vintage upholstery. It’s got that… new car smell.”

Cole’s grin widens, and for a ridiculous moment, I want to lean over and k—I mean smack his face.

Seriously, the heat is messing with me. Or whatever illness I caught in jail.

“I try to keep it classy,” Cole says, his gaze lingering on me for a beat too long. “Unlike someone I know, who seemsto prefer dented coffee mugs and questionable engine parts as decoration.”

He’s referring to my temporary digs at my brother’s place. In my defense, the coffee mug wasn’t dented. It was…artistically distressed.

“Don’t judge a woman’s decorating choices until you’ve seen her trophy collection, Lawson,” I shoot back. I might not be a racecar driver, but the one I worked for had just as many, if not more, than Cole—thanks to me.

The corner of his lip twitches. “I’m not judging. Just…sharing my observations.”

He can share them with someone else. I don’t want to hear it.

As we cross the causeway into Bal Harbour, the world shifts. Gone are the modest beach bungalows, replaced by sprawling estates that scream “new money” and “I peaked in high school.” Not that I can judge. I’d grown up in this town, a scholarship kid in a world of trust funds and designer labels. My family's little two-story house had stuck out like a grease stain on a silk scarf.

But as we pull up to Cole’s place… I realize this is on whole nother level. Even for Bal Harbour.

It’s a fortress of glass and steel, perched on the edge of the beach as if daring the ocean to try and touch it. An infinity pool shimmers like liquid turquoise, and a four-car garage that looks more like a luxury showroom gleams in the afternoon sun. The roar of the surf, the salty tang of the ocean air, even the blinding white of the sand, all felt heightened, charged with an energy that mirrored the chaos brewing inside of me.

And there, nestled in a place of honor, is Eleanor.

My breath hitches.

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