The evening air was cool, the kind that slid softly over skin and made the city feel almost forgiving.
Vivian leaned against the passenger door of Steven’s Porsche, watching the streetlights smear into gold streaks across the tinted glass.
She had noticed a lot about him already—more than she let on. The way people looked twice when he stepped into a place. Even if he just came to France. his watch probably cost more than her entire semester.
Crazy rich wasn’t even an exaggeration.
Steven drove with one hand on the wheel, relaxed, quiet. He wasn’t the kind of man who filled silences just to hear himself talk. And that, oddly, made Vivian more aware of herself.
“So,” she said, breaking the calm, “is it a crime to ask what you actually do?”
He smiled slightly, eyes still on the road. “
