Page 19 of Legacy
I lift and lower one shoulder, and suck in a breath. “Well, you drive an obnoxious, loud, fancy sports car, which I’m not offended by as an aside. Personally I love cars, but evidently it helps you pick up club chicks who you dump the next day because you don’t want girlfriends.” I clear my throat and look anywhere except his face. “Which is why my assessment that I’m not your type of girl would be an accurate assumption.”
He smiles widely, pleased with my assessment. “You like cars?”
He’s not denying the other shit which makes me think a little less of him, because it likens him to Durnin, and well, there’s nothing pleasant about that kind of man. But he did bring up cars. “All of them. The faster the better.”
“You’re bullshitting,” Hart says, eyes narrowed, trying to read me.
I open my arms to the side. “Try me. My degree from the academy is in mechanical engineering.”
He clears his throat. “Okay, then. Follow me.”
As we make the trek to his garage, which I’m sure is where he’s bringing me, because I saw it on that side of this palatial estate when I drove in, my nerves calm. Cars. This is completely neutral. The butler’s kitchen leads to a door that opens to an enormous space that is the same temperature as the house. Four vehicles and shiny showroom lights illuminate the space at the press of a button. It’s devoid of clutter, like most garages, and honestly as I peer around, I think it might lack actual dust.
“Holy shit,” I say, eyes wide. He definitely only drives one of these. I take the stairs down one at a time, aware that Hart is following behind me, but I’m too focused on the cars. “You have a thing for cars too. Except you can actually afford to drool over them at home instead of online,” I exclaim, my heart racing at the sight of the rare Ferrari in the corner.
“Tell me then,” Hart says, voice so close, I tremble.
I swallow hard and stoop next to the beautiful, red piece of machinery. “A 1954 Ferrari 500 Mondial Spider Series. There’s only nine of these left in existence, none probably as pristine as this one. It’s only four cylinders, but what it lacks in power, it makes up for in looks.” Closing my mouth to keep in the drool, I ask, “How in the world did you get this?”
When he doesn’t answer, I stand and turn to look at him. He’s doing that staring thing again. “You really did think I was bullshitting, didn’t you? That I wasn’t a car person?”
He clears his throat. “I guess I did. You’re full of surprises, Little Dempsey.”
The rest of his cars are modern. The yellow Lambo I’ve seen zooming around is next to me, so I check that one out next. I spit out a few facts about the engine just to watch his face pale a bit more. He has a Tesla as well, because duh, Southern California. It’s not the common one, though. Because duh, it’s Luke Hart who has one of the rarest cars in the world. It’s the performance model with ludicrous mode and every option available. On the end, he has a truck which looks sort of average in comparison to the rest of his garage, but even still, it has a Viper engine and a stunning paint job.
“Okay, you win the garage tour, Hart. One question,” I say, spinning to meet his gaze.
“After you schooled me on my own vehicles, I’d say it’s the least I can do.”
I point to the red Ferrari. “Do you ever drive that?”
He smiles, and for a second I’m transfixed by the symmetry of his face under the perfect lighting. Like the man is on display instead of the automobiles. “Never,” he replies, shaking his head. “There’s nothing I’d risk that car for. Like you said, there’s only nine left in the world!”
Like I suspected. “Well, it’s beautiful. All of these are.” I spin around like I’m in an episode ofThe Price is Right.“I could sleep here.”
Hart laughs. When I finally control my excitement, he’s shaking his head, one hand grabbing his chin. “You really are…something. Aren’t you? How did you learn so much about cars?”
“Just an interest. Always has been. I can work on them, too. Just so you know. I think it was the first sign I was meant to be an engineer of sorts.”
“Most people would assume that meant you should be a car mechanic, Aara.” He used my first name, and it stills me. He corrects himself. “I mean, Dempsey.”
I blow out a breath. “It’s okay. You can call me Aara. When we’re talking about cars,” I add, because honestly, I don’t know if I can deal with my body’s reaction in mixed company if he were to use my name all the time. A horrifying fact.
“I just bought a slightly used Camry, and I was happy with it until I saw your garage.”
Hart laughs, but his smile isn’t as wide as it was before. “Maybe you should get going, Dempsey.” Back to professionals. I lose my breath.
“Yeah, yeah. You’re right. Thanks for showing me your garage. I can say with confidence, I will never see anything like it in my life again.” It’s meant in jest, but he’s not smiling any longer. He looks uncomfortable as he moves his weight from foot to foot.
“Let me grab my stuff and I’ll get out of here.” I offer a bright smile and he returns it.
It takes a full three minutes to walk back to the downstairs room where my stuff is. There’s a gym across the hall that rivals a Gold’s. Something else I’ll probably never see in person again. The thing is, Hart doesn’t strike me as the rich, snobby, egotistical chode that you’d suspect when this much money is involved. You’d never know if he didn’t drive around in vehicles that cost more than most people’s houses. I commit the marble hallway to memory as I walk back up the stairs to where the foyer is. He’s waiting there, but he’s not alone. He’s talking to another man, about a woman named Chantal.
“Ah,” the other guy says, nodding at me. “You’re the reason he’s trying to get me out of here fast.” He approaches quickly, extending his hand like an overzealous salesman. “I’m Chase,” he says. “What might your lovely name be?”
Ew.
I grasp his hand oddly because my arms are filled with clothes and my large handbag. “I’m Aarabelle,” I reply, awkwardly, eyeing this dude with skepticism.
