“Get out of the car, now!” a voice roared.

A high-pitched ringing noise filled my ears, replacing the silence of only moments ago.

“Get the fuck out!” the voice repeated.

I saw a form materialize next to me—not just the gun, but the black-clad figure holding it. There was one on Harley’s side, too, though I couldn’t even begin to make out the shape in the darkness.

“Oh my God! Oh my God,” she screamed, “I have a son; please don’t hurt me.”

“Get out of the car right now,” the voice returned, unmoved by Harley’s words.

“Ashton, please,” she begged. “Just get out and do what they say. I have to get back to Levi. Please, please; I can’t leave him alone—”

Suddenly, the world was clear for me, as if the gun to my head had honed my senses.

Quietly, and with an eerie calm, I instructed her, “Buckle your seatbelt.”

“What—?!” she began.

“Just do as I say.”

“It’s already buckled! Can you focus on the guns—”

Having been assured that she was safely fastened by the belt, I tightened my hands on the wheel and slammed the gas pedal to the floor.

Harley’s screams filled the car as we shot off, hitting sixty miles an hour in two seconds. We careened back and forth on the road as I frantically wove the car—which had all the tameness of a wild lion—around other vehicles. Tensing every muscle in my body, I clung on for dear life, the sounds of Harley’s shrieks piercing my eardrums.

At last, but what was realistically probably only twenty seconds later, we were thousands of feet away from the would-be carjackers.

“Slow down, slow down!” Harley ordered, and I acquiesced, certain that we were safe.

I found an empty space on the side of the road, and pulled to a stop.

“Are you okay?” I asked quickly. “I’m sorry I had to do that, but there was no other way out.”

Her chest rose and fell in heaving breaths, and I put a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

“I was so scared,” she whispered. “I don’t remember the last time I felt fear like that, like it was taking over my entire body. Crushing me.” She paused, and then sobbed, “Oh, Ashton.”

Harley fell into my arms, and I encircled her protectively. She nestled in closer, and I could feel her pulse in my own veins.

“Weren’t you frightened?” she asked softly.

“Of course,” I replied. “But, I guess…I don’t know, you being there calmed me. Like I understood that there was no allowing myself to be afraid; taking care of you was more important.”

She shifted from her position on my chest, and her blue eyes found mine. Earlier, they had cut into me like lasers, but now, they seemed to run over my face like the waves from which they derived their color. Her eyes caressed me, seeking out the intricacies of my body as if they had the power of touch.

“I can’t be alone tonight,” she said simply. “I just…I can’t. My parents took Levi for the night, and I don’t want to wake them. If I were with him, I think I could be calm—I’d have to be—but…alone…I don’t know. I’d be too afraid. Does anything I’m saying make sense?”

I understood.

Leveling my voice, I asked, “Would you like a drink at my place? It might soothe your nerves.”

She considered this momentarily, then nodded. “Yes, I think I would.”

“Okay, then,” I replied. Noticing that she was still firmly wrapped around my body—not that I’d ever stopped noticing, not really—I added, “You might have to ah, move a bit.”

She seemed to finally grasp the position she was in: one that, as she slid further down my torso, was dangerously close to more intimate areas of the body. Her eyes darted down to the slim-cut trousers that rose to my hips, fastened by a simple leather belt.

Slowly, she drew back from her embrace. I sensed a reluctance in her movements, as her fingers, now unclenched, trailed over my back, lighting fires in their paths. She shot one last look my direction, then completely disentangled herself, returning to the isolation of her own seat.

Okay, it was possible that the near-carjacking had spiked my adrenaline, too—just in other places. I resisted every urge in my body, which was begging me to grab her and kiss her and—

Enough, I warned myself. This is getting dangerous.

I put the car back into drive and sped off down the road. Luckily, the restaurant wasn’t all that far from my place, so we made it there in a matter of minutes. The car ride was silent, as I imagine both of us were too caught up in the drama playing out in our minds. For my part, I was occupied with trying fervently to not think about the implications of taking Harley to my penthouse. A small voice in my brain hoped that she was similarly occupied.

We rolled to a stop outside of the luxury condominium building.

“This is it,” I informed her, and we exited the vehicle.

I threw the keys to the building valet and put a protective arm around Harley’s shoulders, leading her past the glass doors and into the marble-covered entryway. Sleek, gilded light fixtures hung from on high, and blue tufted sofas lined the walls. It was a modernist play on the classic luxury of the 1800s, a fairly common design angle in this echelon of society. Personally, I thought it all looked a bit like an extremely high-end hotel.

“Wow,” she murmured, momentarily distracted by the building’s features. “It’s incredible.”

“Thanks,” I replied. “You don’t think it’s a little…I don’t know, impersonal?”

She paused, then returned, “You’re right. Doesn’t make it bad, though, just…hardened.”

Like me, I thought.

I waved a hand to the front desk receptionist, who in turn tipped his cap at me as I escorted Harley to the elevators. She looked around as I withdrew an electronic fob key from my pocket and ran it over the elevator’s sensors.

The elevator arrived with a soft ding and I guided her inside the mirrored box, where I selected the button for my floor.

“Oh, you live on the top floor?” she commented mildly. “Which way does your view look out? Towards the ocean?”

“Ah, all parts of the top floor,” I replied, surprised to find myself bashful. “I have the penthouse suite.”

Her mouth hung open, but before she could form a reply, the elevator dinged again—we’d arrived. I ushered her out first, then followed behind.

“The elevator goes straight into your room?” she gasped. I chuckled, and she pressed, “What’s funny?”

“I don’t know; I suppose the fact that you’re most amazed by the elevator.”

It was true—there was plenty else to be stunned by in the suite.

All the walls were made of glass, and two of the four sides (which you couldn’t see from our position within the condo), had enormous balconies that jutted out over the city streets below. The one-story pad spanned thousands of square feet, with architecture that nearly defied the laws of physics. The floors were all dark wood, and my designer had selected accent colors of silver and royal blue.

“Holy shit,” Harley breathed.

Generally, I wasn’t too curious about how people perceived my apartment. I knew it was lavish, and interpreted as such, and that folks usually tried to downplay their shock. While I liked my place, I understood the inclination of the average visitor; after all, appearing cowed by wealth in San Bravado was a big no-no.

So, I couldn’t say for sure why Harley’s reaction so delighted me. Perhaps it was just that she was speaking her mind, a rare thing in these parts. A loud woman with opinions to spare? It was a wonderful break from plastic people who tried their best to never show human emotions.

“Do you like it?” I asked, genuinely curious.

“Are you kidding?” she replied. “It’s…it’s…I don’t even have the words. I didn’t know real people actually lived in homes like this.”

I chortled. “Last I checked, I’m not a robot, so I suppose real people do live here.”

She walked forward, absentmindedly slipping her high heels off by the entrance.

“You don’t have to take your shoes off,” I said.

“It’s just a habit,” she replied, then turned to me. “If it’s okay with you, that is.”

I nodded. “Of course. Make yourself at home.”

The phrase slid off my tongue before I had time to second guess it.

Taking me at my word, Harley walked around the apartment like a princess around her castle, letting her hands fleetingly touch a suede, gray sofa and a glass coffee table held aloft by a marble sculpture of a wolf on its back.

Feeling a sudden urge to impress her, I held my smartwatch close to my mouth, and instructed, “Entertainment lighting.”

With that, the house’s automated system darkened the lights and flicked on the three fireplaces that were scattered around the open-plan living room and kitchen.

I heard Harley’s sharp intake of breath, and the sound brushed over me as though it were an extension of her fingertips.

“Could I have that drink now?” she asked falteringly, obviously daunted by the penthouse.

“Of course,” I replied. I’d meant what I’d said before—I didn’t want her to feel intimidated here. This was new emotional territory; my place had been designed with the main purpose of impressing any potential investors I brought over with my good taste and open wallet.

I walked to a nearby cabinet, which was covered by a deep blue lacquer, and opened its doors. My hand rummaged around the tops of one expensive bottle after another, at last landing on one with a familiar cap.

“You like whiskey, right?” I called out.

“Yeah, that’s perfect.”

I grabbed the bottle and two crystal glasses from the cabinet, walking over to where Harley stood gazing out a window. The fireplace caught the gold in her hair, and reflected it back across the silver accents of the apartment. She seemed to be in both direct contrast and direct harmony with the place.

“Here,” I said, passing her a glass.

“Thanks,” she said. “What are we toasting to?”

“To surviving a carjacking?”

She laughed, then corrected, “To new friendships.”

Our glasses clinked, and we both took deep swigs of the amber liquid.

I brought the glass from my mouth down to waist height, and looked into its depths as I garnered the courage to press forward.

“Harley,” I began, “I’d like to answer your question from earlier.”

She removed the glass from her lips, showing that the liquid had left a light coating around her mouth.

“Which one?”

“About why people don’t see that side of me. The…kinder one.”

She hesitated and took another sip of her drink, as if to fortify her for my answer. “Okay,” she said, “I’m listening.”

I took a deep breath and launched in.

“I was raised to believe that being cold, exacting—brutal, even—was the only way to succeed in life. I’ll spare you the details on my upbringing, but that’s the general gist of it. I’ve operated like that in the world for as long as I can remember, never wondering for even a moment if, perhaps, I’d been raised all wrong.”

I punctuated this sentence with a sip of my whiskey, and saw with an upward flick of my eyes that Harley was hanging on to my every word.

“Yes?” she urged.

“But—and I know this is cliché, but who cares—after what happened—after what could have happened earlier, I began to wonder if I was all wrong. No,” I corrected, “that’s not true. I started to wonder at dinner…with you. Just being with you made me think about how I’d screwed myself over, prevented myself from living a fuller life, because of my upbringing. How I’d insisted on being distant even when intimacy may have been more welcome.”

I swallowed, and went on, “The carjacking solidified things for me. I’m glad I was able to stay calm in the moment, but in my head, I was realizing, if I died just then, what would it have all been for? What kind of life would I have lived? Sure, I’ve made money, and plenty of it, but at what cost? I’ve stopped myself from letting love into my life. Easy pleasure, maybe, but actual love? I haven’t even begun to taste it.”

I broke off, at last raising my eyes to meet hers. I could see that she was misty-eyed, stirred to emotion by my words.

Wrapping a hand around her shoulder, I apologized.

“I didn’t mean to make you sad, I just…I want to tell you everything about me, every part of me—even the dark parts that may not be so appetizing. And I know I’m moving quickly, and that’s really not like me, but—”

“Shut up,” she whispered, and interrupted my declaration by leaning in and kissing me.