Page 58 of Bad for Business
Camille rips the door open and gets into the driver’s seat. I watch her closely, unable to wipe the grin from my face. No matter how hard I’ve tried to change her mind about me, I can’t make her like me. Not the way I want her to. But I can make her hate me, and for some reason, I’d settle for that over her feeling nothing for me at all.
Her dark eyebrows pull together on her forehead as she stares at the dashboard. She starts to press different buttons.
“What are you doing?” I ask. Now that I’m sitting again, my body feels weird. It feels like we’re moving when I know we aren’t.
“I’m trying to move the seat up,” she mutters, her fingers still pressing random buttons. “You left the seat too far back. I can’t even reach the pedals.”
I smile. She acts like it’s my fault that I left the seat back inmycar. Well, technically, it’s my father’s. It’s the SUV we leave here for the summer. But no one’s been driving it but me. There was no point in leaving the seat in any position other than the one I prefer while driving.
“And you think the button for that will be on the dash?”
It’s a genuine question, but judging by the look on her face, it wasn’t one I should’ve asked. There is fury in her eyes as they meet mine. “Where else would the button be?”
I stare at her for a moment, wondering if she’s being serious. Does she really not know how to adjust her seat?
“Are you going to tell me where to find the button, or do you just want to keep sitting here, stuck together, until I figure it out on my own?”
My smile falls. She has a good point. The sooner I can get home and get away from her, the better. It seems like my brain is always running rampant with thoughts of her. It’s worse when we’re together and I can read into every interaction between us. Alone, she unfortunately still plagues my mind, but it doesn’t seem to cause the same dull ache in my chest that happens when we’re together.
With a sigh, I point my finger toward the driver’s side door. “Reach down to your left. There are three different buttons that will help adjust different portions of the seat.”
Camille does as she’s told. She figures it out, the dull hum of the seat moving filling the otherwise quiet SUV. It seems like she takes forever to move her seat up to the point she needs it, but as soon as she does, she finally turns the vehicle on.
“You forgot to say thank you,” I toss out. I know I should probably just keep my mouth shut. There’s no way she was going to say thank you. But the alcohol coursing through my veins tells me it’s a good idea to use our time alone in the car to really get on her nerves.
She deserves it.
Her existence—and inability to let me in—gets on every single one of my nerves. I need to give her some payback.
“I’m waiting,” I taunt. Now that she’s got the SUV started, I reach to my right and grab the seat belt to get buckled in. Thesudden movement makes me dizzy for a moment. The edges of my vision get blurry as I gather myself before finishing getting buckled.
I blink a few times, composing myself. When the wave finally ends, I look over at Camille. She still hasn’t backed up or made any move to get out of this parking lot.
“Are you going to go, or are we just going to sit here all night?”
Another glare is shot in my direction. Why does she look so uncomfortable?
Her lips turn down into a tiny frown, and there are now two creases between her eyebrows that weren’t there before.
“Leave me alone,” she snaps. “I’m nervous.” The second part is said so quietly I don’t think she meant for me to hear it.
I can’t help but laugh. The idea of her being nervous is ridiculous. She doesn’t seem like someone who gets nervous. She’s confident—all the time.
“What could you possibly be nervous about right now?”
She chews on her lip, something I can’t remember seeing her do before. “It’s been a while since I’ve driven a car. And this isn’t even a car. This SUV is massive. I’m just making sure I remember how to do it.”
My mouth pops open. “You don’t know how to drive?”
Camille rolls her eyes and looks over at me. “I do. I have a license, asshole. I just haven’t driven in a year…maybe two. You don’t have to drive while living in Manhattan.”
I shake my head. “Oh, so we’re fucked.”
The look she gives me is scathing. “I know how to drive, Ryker. I wouldn’t be trying if I didn’t. Just stop acting like a child for a minute and give me some quiet so I can remember how to do it.”
I groan. “Remember how to do it? Fuck, Camille. Let’s just call someone to take us back to the house.”
“And be stuck with you even longer? No, thanks. I’ve got it handled.”
