Airports were already my least favorite place in the world. An airport full of angry people whose New York flight had just been rerouted to Columbus, Ohio was definitely my personal version on hell.

The only good thing that resulted from our early, unexpected landing was that I had managed to get French fries at the one burger place that was open in the airport. I munched on them, feeling a little bit better, since French fries could fix anything. Especially my nausea.

I had no idea how we had ended up in Ohio instead of New York, but at this point it didn’t matter. I needed to get to the Hamptons and I needed to get there as soon as possible. Looking at my phone, I saw that it was two a.m. If I wasn’t on the set of Ever After by five p.m. that evening for the start of filming, I was screwed. Which meant I had about sixteen hours to get to my final destination.

There were no flights leaving Ohio, so it became immediately clear that the only way I was going to get to New York in time was if I drove. I booked it towards the rental cars, only to find that they were already mobbed. Then I got in line and crossed my fingers.

When I finally reached the desk, I flashed the exhausted employee my brightest smile and leaned on the counter towards her, trying to keep all of the stress and frustration out of my voice.

“Any chance you’ve got a car that I can take to New York?” I asked.

The frazzled young woman tapped at her screen. Having worked retail jobs since I was a teenager, I knew exactly how stressful it could be dealing with irate customers. The last thing I wanted was to add to her anxiety when I didn’t have to. It didn’t cost any extra to be a decent human being, as my father liked to say.

“You’re in luck,” she told me. “We have one vehicle available.”

I let out the breath I was holding. “That’s fantastic,” I told her.

“It’s an SUV,” she looked at the screen. “And to return it to a location in New York is an extra fee, so it will cost about $400 per day.”

My jaw dropped. “$400? For one day?”

She gave me a sympathetic nod. “Do you want it?”

I thought of my bank account—my mostly empty bank account—and wondered if I even had enough credit after buying my plane ticket to charge the cost of the car.

“I’ll take it,” a low, familiar voice behind me said.

I spun around to find 4C standing there, that same, annoyingly hot, smug smile on his face. He was holding out a credit card.

The girl behind the counter looked at the two of us, her eyes darting back and forth, clearly unsure what to do. “Fine.” Reluctantly I stepped aside. I knew I couldn’t afford it. I would just have to wait for the next flight to New York, miss the job, and have to crash with my sister until I came up with another option. Damn, damn, damn.

Worst. Day. Ever.

Feeling totally defeated, I turned away, as 4C handed the card over. But before I could walk away, I felt a hand on my shoulder.

“Did you say you were heading to New York?” 4C asked me.

“Yes,” I told him, feeling the tiniest spark of hope.

“That’s where I’m headed,” he said. “If you want a ride.”

I practically leapt into the air with joy, until reality reminded me that he was a stranger. He must have noticed my hesitation because he let out a low, sexy laugh.

“I’m safe,” he crossed his finger over his heart. “I promise.”

I looked at the keys he held in his other hand.

“Then you won’t mind if I drive,” I told him.

His mouth dropped open and I took advantage of the shock to snatch the keys out of his hand.

“Come on,” I told him. “We don’t have any time to lose.”

* * *

SUVs were known for being luxurious and spacious, but the moment I buckled myself in and turned to my passenger, the enormous car interior seemed to shrink around us. It probably had to do with the fact that 4C was a tall, broad dude. Or that it was practically pitch black outside, with rain coming down hard. Or something else I really, really didn’t want to think about. Like the fact that I couldn’t stop remembering how it had felt to brush up against him. How his hand had felt on my hip. How his abs had felt under my fingers.

Whew. Now it wasn’t just crowded in the car, it was hot as well.

“Ready to go?” I asked as 4C adjusted his seatbelt.

“Sure.” He gestured for me to proceed, and in the dim light of the car, I could see that he looked pretty tired as well. Maybe I’d get lucky and he’d sleep the whole way and we wouldn’t have to talk.

Instead, the second I turned on the car, he reached for the radio. I slapped his hand away.

“What the hell?” he asked.

“Driver picks the music,” I reminded him. “Those are the rules.”

He gave me a look. “I’m pretty sure the person who paid for the car picks the music.”

I glared at him, but conceded. He flashed me that annoyingly smug smile of his and started fiddling with Sirius. I groaned when I saw what station he had chosen.

“Country?” I asked. “Really?”

“Do you have something against country music?” He crossed his arms and leaned back in his seat.

“Only that it’s cliché and old fashioned,” I told him. “If I wanted to hear some good old boys sing about tractors and pickup trucks, I’d go to the Grand Ole Opry.”

“Yeah, that would be the best place to listen to country,” 4C replied dryly, effectively de-snarking my comment. “But any music lover would know that the genre is way more diverse than that.”

I snorted, and looked at him. “Please.”

He raised an eyebrow. “So you’re telling me that you think Willie Nelson is cliché? Johnny Cash? Dolly Parton?”

Just then, as if to prove his point, Dolly started crooning “Jolene” over the radio.

Dammit. I loved Dolly Parton. Who didn’t? But instead of admitting that he was right, I closed my mouth and focused my attention on navigating out of the rental lot and onto the highway.

I could practically feel 4C’s smugness, and I did everything I could to ignore it. To ignore him. Unfortunately, he seemed completely uninterested in being ignored. In being quiet in general.

“Ten bucks says that if I had given you control of the radio, you would have gone straight for the pop station.”

“You’d lose that ten bucks,” I told him, not bothering to glance over. “I’m a rock-and-roll girl, thank you very much.”

“Really?” I could hear the surprise in his voice, which annoyed me even further.

I had nothing against pop music—I mean, I loved my Taylor Swift and Katy Perry as much as the next girl—but when it came to my standbys, it was rock all the way.

“What kind of rock?” he asked, and I could tell he didn’t believe me.

I rolled my eyes.

“British rock is my favorite,” I informed him. “Razorlight, Franz Ferdinand, the Libertines. I also like Joy Division.” I offered him an overly sweet smile. “Perhaps you’ve heard of them?”

“Joy Division? Yeah, I’ve heard of them,” 4C said dryly.

“Oh good,” I widened my smile. “I didn’t want to assume.”

“Is that what you were doing in London?” he asked. “Chasing your favorite bands?”

Did he think I was some sort of groupie? Ugh. This guy was the worst. Hot as fuck, but also the worst. And I wasn’t going to let him get the upper hand.

“Listen, 4C—” I started, but was cut off by his laugh.

“4C?” he asked, and I realized that just because I had been calling him that in my head, didn’t mean I should have called him that in real life.

“Your seat number,” I muttered.

He laughed again. “My name is Dash.”

“Dash?” I glanced over at him. “I think I’ll stick with 4C—it’s just as ridiculous.”

But now that I thought about it, his name and his face seemed familiar. Like I knew it from somewhere, but I couldn’t quite place it. My attempt to place him must have shown on my face because Dash let out a sigh.

“Yes, you’ve seen me before,” he said as if he had said it a million times.

“I don’t care,” I shot back. He was too damn cocky for his own good, and reminded me too much of another cute, tall guy I had known. A guy I didn’t like to think about and didn’t like to be reminded of.

“I used to be a Formula One racer,” Dash told me, as if he hadn’t heard my insistence of not caring.

But as he said that, I realized that I could remember seeing his face on the cover of tabloids.

“Must really annoy you to be in the passenger seat, then,” I said.

“Not really.” He leaned back. “I don’t mind being chauffeured around.”

“I was just afraid you’d drive too slow,” I retorted.

“Honey.” He reached over and tugged at a loose curl. “You couldn’t handle the speeds I’m used to.”

Even though a shiver went through me at the contact and the sexy sound of his voice, I pulled my head away from his grip. “Doubtful,” I told him. “And don’t you Formula One drivers just drive around in circles? That doesn’t take much skill, does it?”

“I’d be happy to show you my skills,” he said suggestively. “Want to pop your hood for me?”

I couldn’t help the laugh that sputtered out of me.

“That is the most ridiculous line I’ve ever heard,” I told him, unable to control my giggles.

He gave me a grin, one that didn’t seem to have the same cocky arrogance that he’d had before. It seemed like a glimpse of the real person. One that I liked immensely better.

“I don’t know,” he shrugged with a smile. “I think I’ve come up with way worse.”

“Doubtful,” I teased.

“You may be right.” He settled back in his seat, and the car got quiet. Even though it was what I had been wanting, I suddenly missed the conversation.

“I’m Paige,” I told him.

“Nice to meet you, Paige.” He flashed me that devastating smile again, and god help me, my knees wobbled a little and my pulse skipped. Dammit, I didn’t have time for this, but with an eight-hour drive ahead of us, there wasn’t much I could do about it.

* * *

The rain was coming down pretty hard as we entered Pittsburgh. I checked the GPS. We were still six hours away from New York City, and the exhaustion of the past several hours had begun to wear on me. I was blasting the A/C to keep myself awake, but I couldn’t help the yawns that kept coming out of my mouth.

“Maybe we should stop.” Dash looked as tired as I felt.

“I need to get to New York,” I told him, just as I had told him every other time he had suggested we stop and rest.

I didn’t want to admit how important it was for me to get there on time, because doing so would mean explaining why I needed the job so bad. Detailing the lackluster state of my bank account would probably make him feel a little bad for me. And I didn’t want pity. The poor little PA and the fancy Formula One driver. That was stuff for a rom-com, maybe, not for real life.

The highway was dark, with very few lights illuminating the road. We were the only ones out there, which maybe should have told me something. The rain kept coming down, and the soothing sound of it drumming on the roof was doing nothing to help keep me awake.

Then suddenly, and without warning, a deer leapt in front of the car.

“Oh my god!” I cried, and I swerved, barely missing the animal and driving us off the road.

I hit the brakes before we could go into the woods, leaving the car in the dirt that served as the side of the highway. My heart was pounding in my chest, my entire body shaking as I sucked in a few deep breaths.

“Holy shit,” Dash finally said, reminding me that he was there.

I glanced over at him and he gave me a crooked smile.

“Nice driving, Ace,” he told me.

I let out something between a laugh and a cough.

The deer was still standing in the middle of the road, practically begging to get hit by the next car. I rolled down the window and waved my arm at it.

“Shoo!” I said. “Shoo! Shoo!”

It didn’t move. Dash got out of the car and charged it. Immediately it took off, disappearing into the darkness on the other side of the road.

My chest hurt. I pressed my hand against it, realizing that I had probably bruised myself when I hit the brakes and jerked against my seat belt.

“Get out.” Dash was at my window. “I’m driving us to a hotel.”

I wanted to argue, but I knew that he was right.

“OK.” I handed him the keys. “But we’re getting separate rooms.”