Page 17 of BillionHeir
“It soothes me,” he offers before throwing another question at me. “Are your parents still together?”
“Never really were, if I’m honest. It has always just been me and my mum. What about you?”
“My parents had been together for twenty-five years when they died in a tragic plane crash.”
“I am sorry. That is horrible,” I say as I look in the rearview mirror again.
Our eyes connect for a brief moment before I break away to look back at the road.
“It is okay. It has been nearly twenty years now.”
“You must miss them.”
“Every day,” he says before clearing his throat. “Why nursing?”
The sudden change in topic from family to work isn’t lost on me, but I don’t mention it. “I have always been a caregiver. From my dolls as a toddler, to my drunk friends in secondary school and uni, I love taking care of people.”
“If your mom is in England, and your best friend moved to Wyoming, who takes care of you?” he asks far too perceptively for a casual car game.
This time I don’t have the courage to look in the mirror. My eyes water slightly as I am reminded that apart from a few dear coworkers, I am basically all alone.
If I am honest, there really isn’t anyone who takes care of me. When Jenna was here, we sort of took care of each other, but she has been gone for over a year now, and I don’t really have anyone who has stepped into that role. It has been so long since I have let someone doanythingfor me. Maybe when this job is over, I will have more time to spend finding the person who will take care of me.
“Oh no you don’t,” I say, trying not to let on how close to home his question hit. “It is my turn again.”
I hear Maxwell shift his weight in his seat in an effort to get comfortable. With his injuries, I am sure that comfort is elusive even in a vehicle as lush as this one. I contemplate a question that can distract him from his suffering.
“What is your favorite color?” I ask, trying not to laugh at the absurdity of asking one of the wealthiest men in the country something so trivial.
“Really?” he asks, noting the ridiculousness of my question.
It seems my little tactic worked.
“Really,” I answer, smiling to myself.
“Blue, I think,” he says, sounding like he is really considering my question. “I always look my best in shades of blue.”
I tuck that little morsel of information away as I await his next question.
“Do you think Jackson and Jenna will make it?”
“That is an interesting question,” I comment as I think my answer through. “I have thought about this quite a lot, if I’m honest. I hate that he stole her away from me, but for maybe the first time in her life, she has found someone who makes her happy. And I so desperately want her to be happy.”
“That didn’t answer the question,” Maxwell says, ever the astute observer.
“I suppose you are right. My official answer is yes. I do think they will make it because what they have is real. They really do love each other, despite their early communication issues.”
“I think so, too,” Maxwell says after a few seconds of silence.
“Are you in a relationship?” I ask next.
“No,” he huffs out cynically. “I don’t have time for relationships.”
“Aw, come on, now. That can’t be true. You have friends, don’t you?”
“Well, yeah. But a girlfriend expects more from me than Tristan and Liam. I just don’t have the energy to date after working all day.”
“I don’t blame you, actually. I feel the exact same way.”
