Page 34 of A Ticking Time Boss

“You’ve had champagne too,” I point out. “And no one drives in New York.”

“Well, my driver for the night does.”

That shuts me right up. A driver. I’ve never met anyone who has a driver on standby. We walk down the steps in silence, him on his phone, me with my mind spinning. Every time I settle into the idea of being friends with him, despite our differences, they whop up to hit me over the head.

“It’s not a big deal,” Carter says. “Think of it as a taxi driver on retainer. My own Uber, essentially.”

He’d read my silence correctly. He does that a lot, I’ve realized. “That doesn’t make it less weird, you know. You don’t have a butler as well?”

“I don’t even know where you’d get a butler in modern-day New York.”

“You can find anything on the internet.”

“Yes, well, I don’t want to hire a middle-aged man who’s watched too much Downton Abbey.” He slides his phone into his pocket and guides us to a spot on the sidewalk. “We’ll be on our way in no time. Now, something you said earlier.”

The wind whips at the loose tendrils of hair I’d artfully framed around my face hours earlier. No doubt they’re out of place, the lipstick smudged, my mascara runny. And I couldn’t care less.

Tonight was everything I’ve ever wanted career-wise.

“Oh no,” I say. “Being quoted is scary. What did I say?”

“That I’m like Dean Allen. Not someone normal people get close to.”

“Oh, that. Well, I stand by it. Great statement. You could put it on a T-shirt.”

His mouth twitches, but it’s not with his usual charming smile. It looks like he’s trying to stop a genuine grin. “You really are drunk.”

“No, and even if I were, it would be very unladylike of you to point it out.”

“Do you mean ungentlemanly?”

“Yes. What did I say?”

He rolls his eyes. “You’re a normal person, and you’re getting to know me.”

“Am I?” I ask. “We’ve texted about all kinds of things, but they’re not real things. All we do is laugh and joke. I like it. I mean, you’re funny, Carter. Some of your texts make me laugh so much my stomach hurts.”

His smile flashes briefly. “Right.”

“But I don’t know who you’re dating, where you grew up, where you live… I don’t know. You’re up here,” I say, raising my hand to the level of his collarbones, before lowering it down to mine. “I’m here. You’re not really for the likes of us normies. Tomorrow you’ll fire an entire department of people again before buying Zanzibar over lunch.”

“Buying Zanzibar,” he repeats. “Well, I usually do my nation-shopping at night.”

“Right. Are there infomercials for that?”

“Too many. I couldn’t sleep one night and accidentally bought the entire Scandinavian peninsula, and I don’t even have the space for it.”

My laughter is cut short by a black town car pulling up beside us. Carter unbuttons his dinner jacket and opens the door to the back seat for me. “Come on.”

I take a deep breath, and then I step into the luxe interior and leather scent. He closes the door behind us and we’re instantly in a world apart. Gone is the drizzle and wind. We’re alone, side by side in a dark car.

“Your address,” Carter says. I give him the details and he relays them to the man in the driver’s seat. Absurdly, I thought he’d wear a hat, and then feel stupid when I think it.

And all of a sudden my heart speeds up. Carter’s nearby and he’s a man and what if he has expectations, too? What if I’ve misunderstood and despite the fact that he could never, ever date someone like me, he might—

“Tell me something honestly,” he says.

“Uh-huh?”

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