Chapter 3
Sanaya
The cab of the car is silent as we skid along the snowy I-90 headed north with the darkened scenery whipping parallel to the highway. We've been on the road for nearly half an hour and my irritation at the unmannerly cretin in the passenger's seat hasn't subsided one bit. I keep stealing glances at him out of the corner of my eye.
I’m mad at his face.
He’s way too jerky to deserve such a pretty face. The thick, dark hair, flopping effortlessly over his brow. The angular jaw donning a generous sprinkling of stubble. The sinful lips that don’t seem to know how to smile.
He hasn't even looked my way since we climbed into my cramped, little hatchback. His frowny attention has been set on whatever the hell is so riveting on the screen of his laptop. He’s obviously deeply committed to being as unpleasant as humanly possible.
Self-important, anti-social Silicon Valley programmer-asshole type. Computer Boy thinks he’s so damn smart. I can tell. I know he doesn't want to be here but the polite thing to do would be to try and make a bit of small talk, right?
Jerk!
But unfortunately, I'm one of those people who can’t stand complete silence for too long. It makes me itchy. So, against my better judgment, I take a stab at conversation with him.
I clear my throat. “D’you have a good flight?”
He doesn’t shift his eyes. His fingers pound at his keyboard like mantis shrimp hammer-claws. “Had an awesome flight,” he says snidely. “I spent five hours squeezed into a flying lock-box next to a chatty, little newt who alternated between telling me stories about his career as a professional Magic: The Gathering player and coughing his lungs out like he’s ‘patient zero’ of the next human influenza pandemic. I should probably be quarantined as we speak...And also, I forgot my only sweatshirt in the overhead bin. So yeah—awesome flight.”
All righty, then…
Another long, drawn-out quiet stretches over the car. Let’s try this again.
"So, Annaleigh mentioned that you're in tech?" I say with a playful lilt to my voice. “Any big inventions to brag about? Multi-million dollar IPOs? All that jazz?”
His shoulders tense. His response is barely a grunt. "No."
More silence.
I’m almost at my wit’s end, but I give it one last shot. "My cousin's stepsister's roommate works at a startup in Silicon Valley. Like, in the cafeteria or something. ChoChoTrippers is the name of the company. They make shoe laces that tell the weather. Ever heard of them?"
He presses his eyes shut and pinches the narrow bridge of his nose. He finally tears his eyes away from the laptop perched on the tops of his knees and glares at me. "Look—don't take this personally but I'm kind of sitting on a tight deadline, so..." His hand gestures toward his screen.
Oh really? Thought you were sitting on a big, fat stick. With spikes. I barely manage to keep from saying that out loud. Remind me again why I’m trying to make conversation with him.
It's true. Annaleigh warned me that her brother might be grumpy and petulant. I shouldn't be surprised. But the extent of his grumpy petulance is grating on my nerves. Get over yourself, dude!
Still, I find myself glancing over at him again. It’s like an involuntary neck twitch. I can’t keep it under control. Trust me, I’m trying. With each stolen peek his way, my irritation with myself only increases.
He’s oblivious, though. His chiseled face is focused on the screen of his computer like nothing else exists. He takes a brief intermission from bludgeoning his keyboard to run his knuckles along his strong, stubbly chin. I watch the way the swollen muscles of his bicep swell and roll with the slight movement. It only pisses me off further.
Tearing my eyes from his striking profile, my eyes focus back on the road. Snowflakes thicken, tumbling from the sky and melting on my windshield. The temperature is dropping and the asphalt is starting to get slippery. Shoot!
Desperate to fill the dead airtime, I thumb the volume control on the steering wheel and Tina Turner's voice spills into the car from all sides.
Oh, girl—I can't stand the rain against my window, either.
I drag in a deep breath and the tension in my shoulders releases the slightest touch. I drum my fingers on the leather wheel, the music chipping away at my annoyance. I start bobbing my head instinctually and switch lanes as our exit approaches in the distance.
Just as I begin really lose myself to the rhythm, I feel Wesley shift beside me and his intense stare falls on the side of my face. "Do you have to listen to that right now?"
My eyes spin into my skull. “Okay, Ebenezer. Would you prefer that I find a radio station with a children’s choir singing Christmas carols?”
His taut features tell me he doesn’t appreciate the provocation. He makes a growling sound deep in his chest. And why the hell was that sexy? I push down the thought.
“We’re about fifteen minutes from Annaleigh’s place where we will happily go our own separate ways. So, how about we keep it cordial until then, huh?”
Slamming his computer shut, he sighs gruffly. “Fine.” He settles his skull against the headrest and stares out at the road. “So, you work for Prescott?” He couldn’t sound more uninterested if he tried. But still this is an improvement over the deafening silence so I’ll take it.
I relax into my seat and my stomach unclenches. “Yeah, I’ve been working for him for a few years now. I actually started when he was an intern at the firm, believe it or not.”
“That’s a long time.” He moves around in his seat, trying to get comfortable. No doubt a feat. He’s big. This car is small.
“Tell me about it,” A bittersweet laugh shoots from my nose. “Up the corporate food chain. From intern to partner. They grow up so fast. I feel like a proud mama who watched her kid blossom. Except I’m two years younger than him.”
Wesley’s eyes dart to me. I see the wheels turning as he does the age quick calculation. He’s quiet for a while and then he says, “So, you’re just gonna keep doing that? Being Prescott’s secretary?”
His judgment hits hard. “I’m not a secretary. I’m an administrative assistant.”
“Whichever title floats your boat.”
“Hey—I resent the suggestion that I’m not ambitious. I am. I work hard and I have big dreams but not everybody can be a big shot lawyer.” He’s hit my sore spot.
“Why not?”
“Because.”
“Because?”
“Because.” My lips go flat and my eyes stick to the road. I am done pandering to this dude. Done.
He makes that growly sound in his throat and scrubs his fingers through his hair. “I’m sorry.” The words come out low, though sincere. But I don’t give. I was trying to make this trip into a pleasant experience but forget it. Wesley is a write-off. “I’m in a crap headspace today and I have no right to take it out on you. It’s just that Christmas just really isn’t my thing. Hasn’t been for a very long time.”
Something tells me there’s more to that story. A lot more. But I hold onto my steely indifference. He gets no reaction out of me. No sympathy.
He continues. “And on top of that, everything I touched this year has turned to shit. I put my heart and soul into two separate projects and they both tanked once they hit the market.” His frustration bleeds through his words. “I’m anxious. Stressed. Feels like time is ticking by while I’m stuck in mud. I should be back at home, making progress, working on something new. But here I am, on my way to Reyfield for the Holidays. The very last thing in the world I wanna do.” He pauses, his eyes on my profile. “But that’s no fault of yours and…I’m sorry.”
Biting on the corner of my lip, I try to hold back but the words come swooping out. “I accept your apology.”
A jet of air surges out of his nose and the tension in his body unknots. In an act of goodwill and civility, I turn down the volume to a murmur. I concede that Wesley and I are probably better off in silence anyway.
The precipitation has morphed to near blizzard-like conditions. Through the haze of snow, I see bright orange traffic cones up and a parked squad car up ahead. I lean forward, peering through the windshield.
"Shit!" I mutter, slapping a fist against the steering wheel.
Wesley follows my line of vision. "Of course, Murphy. Of course…" I hear the exasperation in his voice. The same exasperation I feel when I see that our exit has been blocked off, a massive tree splayed diagonally across the road. A tow-truck works to cart away a sportscar that somehow managed to find itself under the debris.
No, no, no!
Throwing on my right turn signal, I veer onto the shoulder. The car lurches a little and Wesley grabs onto the edge of his seat. “Hey! Careful!”
“Oops...” I give him an impish grin.
Lowering my window, I bring my attention to the police officer hunched up and trying to keep warm on the side of the road. I flash a trophy-worthy smile
"What the hell are you doing?" Wesley mutters out of the side of his mouth. He’s still all tensed up, cautiously adjusting his seatbelt. "The road is blocked. Don't you see that?"
I ignore him. I’m a pretty convincing girl. It’s a long shot but maybe I can persuade the officer to let us through.
I lean across Wesley’s lap and his overwhelming manly scent hits me straight in the lady bits. Dragging in a breath, I disregard my body’s very exaggerated reaction (and Wesley’s very exaggerated protests). I have some serious shit to deal with right now.
"Good evening, officer," I coo.
The cop leans forward and his eyes glint at me even as the wind and snow whip around. “Good evening to you.”
Oh, a flirtatious one…
He’s attractive considering that the only visible part of his face is the reddened, narrow strip between the furry trim of his snow hat and the buttoned-up collar of his parka.
I speak in a syrupy, sweet voice. “Do you think that maybe you could do me a favor and move these cones out of the way so I can drive through?—” I quickly grab a peek at his name plate. “—Officer Rigs?”
He guffaws, a deep throaty sound. “Beauty, trust me I would let you through if I could but within 100 metres, I'd be peeling your pretty body off of the roadway when I’d rather be peeling that little dress off ya after a nice steak dinner." He lifts a brow in question. "Saturday night?"
It’s a struggle not to roll my eyes."I'm flattered officer. But we're on my way to hubby's family for the Holidays and I don’t think my mother-in-law would forgive me for ducking out on the festivities to go for restaurant food, y’know?”
Riggs laughs and throws me a wink. “She sounds like the pesky, old-fashioned type.”
“Well, some are blind to everything but her virtues.” I stab a thumb in Wesley’s direction, pretending to be discreet. Wesley rolls his eyes as me and the officer chuckle at our inside joke.
Wesley reaches his limit. “So, are you letting us drive through or not?” he explodes.
The cop’s disdainful gaze falls on my carmate. “Not a chance, man.”
I groan, dropping my flirtatious grin in defeat.
Riggs is all business now. “Next exit’s about 20 minutes away. Go into Copper Heights and loop around. Take your time. It’s slippery out here tonight.”
“Ugh! Whatever.”
He raps his knuckles against the roof of the car. “Be safe on the roads, folks,” he says just as I’m rolling up the window and pulling back onto the highway.
Wesley snickers in the seat beside me.
What an infuriating man!
He’s lucky I like Annaleigh or I’d tie a rope to his waist and make him paraglide on my tailgate all the way up to Reyfield.