Page 17 of Kandi's Crush: A BWWM Sweet Billionaire Romance

“Oh. Sorry.” She let out a little laugh after she removed the earbuds. An easy smile formed on my lips as her brown eyes met mine.

“What are you listening to?”

“A podcast about a female executive in Silicon Valley. She claimed to have an invention that would revolutionize the medical industry, instead she managed to bilk investors for millions of dollars.”

“Ah. A podcast.” I repeated. “Listen, the weather is nice, why don’t we go out for ice cream?”

“I have a few more things to do.”

“Don’t worry about it. Please join me.”

“Okay. Give me a few minutes to wrap up.”

Ten minutes later, I led Kandace to my parking spaces in the enclosed garage, heading toward the Porsche. I only had three cars—a Porsche 911, a Jeep Rubicon, and a Range Rover. I’d had each black late-model vehicle detailed to a mirror finish and customized with darkly tinted windows and European tire rims. She stopped walking and tapped the corner of her mouth.

“Hmm. Which ride should we pick? If I remember correctly, the Porsche is for the ladies. The Range Rover is for riding around with the fellas. The Jeep is for you. I still can’t believe you own three cars.”

I shrugged. A boy never grows up, their toys just become bigger. My love for cars had begun when I was sixteen and received my first car, an electric-blue Ford Mustang. Over the years, I’d enjoyed the feel of luxury vehicles on the road. My father owned three cars that he used for business, while in Arizona, there was a warehouse filled with his collection of vintage Bugattis and Lamborghinis. I would argue that owning three cars wasn’t so bad.

“The Range Rover is smoking hot,” she said, pointing to the SUV. “Let’s take that one.”

We settled into the cabin, and I deftly wheeled us through a midday traffic jam. Within minutes, we were on the highway and making our way to City Park.

I parked in the first available space in the almost full parking lot. I imagined that many people wanted to take advantage of the unseasonably cool temperatures and spend a little time outdoors.

Kandace beamed and bounced as we headed toward the walking path, strolling side-by-side. She was ecstatic next to my amused demeanor. The wind blew through her hair, and I took a deep breath to inhale her sweet, clean scent of mango and vanilla.

“I love this park! I haven’t been here since I was in high school,” she exclaimed.

“My mother and I used to visit in the summers. I would beg until she agreed to rent one of the swan boats. Once we were in the middle of the lake, I liked to pedal at top speed.”

“I never had the chance to ride one. My mother hated the park in the summer, she complained about the heat and the bugs. Her negativity ruined the fun, so we spent our time doing indoor activities.”

“Let’s change that.” I took her by the hand and guided her toward the boat dock. She stopped in her tracks when she saw a black wood gondola. Her eyes shone brightly.

“Ooh. A gondola?”

“Do you want to take a ride?”

“I think we need a reservation for it. The swan boats are fine.”

“Your eyes lit up at the gondola. That’s what we’re riding.”

We approached the launching dock where the gondolier, dressed in a black and white striped shirt and black pants, stood on the boat. The boat had intricately carved golden inlays, and black fabric covered the seats.

I shared Kandace’s excitement for the ride, it seemed like it would be a lot of fun. That was until I met the gondolier. The older man looked down at his phone, his fingers gliding over the screen.

“Hi. What can we do to get a ride?” I yelled over.

Without raising his eyes from the phone, he held a finger up while he continued to type furiously. After fifteen seconds of silence, he shot us a bored expression.

“Sign up online and pay the one-hundred dollars.” His dry, unaffected tone matched his equally dry facial expression.

Kandace’s face fell before she turned to walk away. I pulled her by the hand to prevent her from moving. I prepared to pull out all of my charm and tell a little white lie. I also reached into my pocket for my wallet and pulled out two one hundred-dollar bills.

From an early age, I’d learned that money had an interesting way of getting people to see things your way. And I’d tested that theory against snobby maître d’s, unenthusiastic valets, and brusque nightclub bouncers. Today, I would try it with a rude gondolier.

“My girlfriend would like to take a romantic ride, and my purpose in life is to make her happy. What if I gave you double your going rate?” I held the two bills out. The man glanced over his sunglasses, and I wanted to knock that straw hat off his head. He looked between the two of us before answering in a clipped tone.

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