chapter eleven Inevitable Impending Doom #2
In my ear, Lex mumbles, “Who the fuck shows up to a picnic without food?”
I bite the inside of my cheek to stop from smiling.
Fancy Car Guy gestures with his thumb toward the McLaren. “I figured we’d go for a drive. I know this great spot with the
best ceviche you’ll ever eat.”
“I repeat, do not get in his car.”
I have to stop myself from replying to Lex. Instead, I say, “Was your plan to entice me with your fancy car and lure me to
my untimely demise with the promise of delicious seafood?”
Fancy Car Guy laughs, a great bellow of a thing, the laugh of a rich person who doesn’t give a shit about disturbing the peace
of people around him. “Come on. Have a look inside, at least. I just had it detailed.”
Despite myself, I am intrigued. The likelihood of me getting to see a car as cool as this again is slim to none. I glance over my shoulder at Lex
as her eyes narrow. “Fine. Just a look,” she concedes.
With Lex’s permission granted, I give a nod to Fancy Car Guy, who walks me to his car, past a small group of people snapping pictures of it, and opens the door.
I’ve never seen a door open upward in person, and, I must admit, I’m a little impressed and slightly turned on.
The interior is the fanciest shit I’ve ever seen.
The tan leather is double-stitched with red and black, there are velvet accents, and a plethora of buttons and switches across its swooping, masculine dash.
“Sit for a minute,” he says, extending his hand to mine.
“Don’t do it,” Lex warns.
I hesitate, weighing my curiosity against the possibilities of what the curse might do to me.
“The seats have a massage function you might like?”
“Sold.”
I slide into the deep bucket of the seat and immediately sigh in comfort. Even without the fancy massager turned on it’s the
most comfortable chair I’ve ever been in. Lex growls in my ear, sending tingles down my spine.
Fancy Car Guy takes the driver’s seat and closes his door, entombing us in decadence before flashing his rich-guy smile and
reaching for the ignition button. The thing roars to life, and he smirks over at me as if he expects me to swoon. When he
doesn’t earn the reaction he expects, he presses his foot on the gas several times, the car rumbling beneath my ass. I squeak
in surprise at the obnoxiously loud noise.
“You okay?” Lex asks.
“That scared me a bit, but I’m fine,” I reply.
Fancy Car Guy laughs again, almost as loud as his car. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you, but I’m glad you’re alright.”
I give him an uncertain smile, laughing it off.
“I can barely hear you over that engine,” Lex states, clearly unhappy with the situation. She’s right; enough is enough.
“Okay. Cool car. I’m going to get out now—” I reach for the door handle, but pause when I can’t find it.
“Just wait, I haven’t shown you the massage function.” He presses a few buttons, and I practically feel the stress evaporate from my body as the machine works its magic on my lumbar.
“How about a spin around the parking lot?” Fancy Car Guy asks. “Every pretty girl should know what it’s like to drive in a
McLaren.”
I sink further into the massage chair. “Okay. Just a few minutes.” I need to get me one of these.
Lex sighs, resigning herself to my poor choices. “Put on your seat belt.”
I do as I’m told. Even the seat belt feels expensive. How the hell do they make it click so nice?
Fancy Car Guy revs the engine and eases his McLaren out of its spot, then turns to make our way around the lot. We’re only
going fifteen kilometres an hour, but I can feel the power thrumming beneath my ass like a thoroughbred racehorse pacing its
paddock.
Fancy Car Guy chats at me about his life, his work, his various businesses, and houses he owns all over Canada, trying his
best to impress me. And, honestly, it sort of does. I am, after all, a human being. The only thing that interrupts his monologue
is when we go over a speed bump. This car was not made for speed bumps. Fancy Car Guy has to manoeuvre us over them at an
angle, and it’s extremely jarring up and back down each time, jostling the shit out of me. Each time it happens, I catch Fancy
Car Guy glancing over at me to watch my tits jiggle. Can’t say I blame him.
“Is that enough of a ride?” he asks after our third tour of the parking lot. “How about we get out of here and grab some ceviche?”
Lex is loud in my ear. “Hell no!”
I share her sentiment. “No, thanks. Drop me off here, that’s fine.”
Fancy Car Guy is incredibly confused that flashing his money around did not, in fact, get him everything he wants. Despite his disappointment, he obeys my wishes and parks his McLaren back where we’d started and turns off the engine.
“Well, this was great,” I say. “But for future reference, if your date agrees to a picnic then you should probably pack a
picnic.”
Fancy Car Guy has the audacity to look offended. “For future reference, how about you show a little respect and gratitude?”
Lex gasps. “Oh no he did not!”
My mouth drops open. “Excuse me?”
He looks away, hands gripping the wheel. “I just wanted to take you on a nice drive and treat you to a meal that would have
cost hundreds of dollars.”
“I didn’t agree to that, though.” I speak slowly and clearly. “When you make an agreement with someone you stick to your word.”
“None of the other girls complained.”
“Yeah, I’m sure they had a great time, which is why you’re on a date with me right now and not with them. Have yourself a fabulous day.” I unclick my seat
belt and grasp at the door for the release mechanism.
“It’s there—” Fancy Car Guy points.
“Where?” I fumble around the door.
“No, not there. Over there—” He reaches across me, his hand sliding along my breast completely unnecessarily, and points to
the right place.
I elbow his arm away and grasp the handle. “It’s not working.”
“You’re probably doing it wrong.”
“Really? Like I can’t even figure out your stupid door handle?” I reef on it a few more times. “It’s not working.”
“Easy on the door,” Fancy Car Guy complains. “Don’t worry, I’ll get it.” He grasps his own handle exactly the same way I did and pushes the button. Nothing happens. He pushes it a few more times.
“Everything okay over there, dear?” I ask, dripping as much sarcasm into my voice as I can.
“The handle’s not working,” he says more to himself than to me.
“You’re probably doing it wrong,” I parrot.
Fancy Car Guy glares at me, then continues pressing the button. “What the fuck?” He turns back to his steering wheel and tries
to start the car. Nothing happens.
“What’s happening?” Lex asks, panic rising in her voice.
“Why won’t the doors open or the car turn on?” I ask, reiterating the problem to Lex.
Fancy Car Guy sits back in his seat. “I’ve heard of this happening, but it’s never happened to me.”
“What?”
“There’s a wire that can get disconnected and shut everything off like this,” he explains. “Probably from all those speed
bumps.”
I bridge my fingertips together. “So, you’re telling me your hundred-thousand-dollar car—”
“Two-hundred-thousand-dollar car,” he corrects.