Armani
"Aren't you going to ask where we're going?" I turn to look at Rena, who seems all too content to stare out the window at the passing scenery. The golden afternoon light catches in her hair, highlighting strands of amber I hadn't noticed before. She doesn't even glance in my direction, her profile etched against the backdrop of rolling hills and scattered clouds.
"I figured you'd tell me when we got there. Or give me a head's up if there was something I needed to know for the interview." Her voice carries a hint of resignation, as though she's grown accustomed to being shuttled from one obligation to another without much say in the matter.
"No interviews today," I say, happily tapping on the steering wheel. The leather feels smooth beneath my fingertips as I drum out a rhythm to
