KIMANI
Alaric’s hand didn’t leave my waist until we slid into the backseat of his sleek black car. And I didn't say anything about it.
“Where are we going?” I asked as the engine purred to life.
“You’ll see,” he replied, his tone smooth, final—like a man who didn’t bother explaining himself twice. Well, he definitely doesn't explain himself, or repeat himself.
I sat back in the car, waiting to see where he actually plans to have lunch, probably the usual fancy restaurant you can find any CEO.
The car glided through the city streets, tinted windows sealing us in a world apart. I peered outside, watching buildings blur by. It couldn’t have been more than a ten-minute ride—definitely walkable—but then again, I supposed Alaric Walker didn’t walk anywhere. Not unless he wanted the papar
