Sasha
Maxim buys me a convertible Lamborghini Huracan in electric blue, which he says goes with my eyes. After we finish the paperwork and get the keys, he hands me into the driver’s seat, his eyes ablaze with l**t.
“Do I look hot?” I ask, remembering his words.
“Like a movie star.” He walks around to the passenger side. I know it must kill him to ride shotgun. He’s all alpha male. The guy who likes to drive, but he takes the seat with his casual grace.
I start the car, and we pull out of the lot, showing the paperwork at the gate. Rather than drive back to the apartment building, I just take off without any destination in mind. Maxim was right—I wanted the freedom.
Driving feels amazing.
Maxim doesn’t comment or direct, another surprise. I push away my mother’s voice in my head, rem
