Alan smiles and opens the driver’s side door. “Mr. Miles doesn’t do Toyota, Emily.”
I get in, and Molly sits in the passenger seat.
“Where are you going?” Alan asks.
“Vegas.” Molly laughs. “We’re going to Vegas. How much is this car worth, Alan?”
“It came in at around two million dollars, I think.”
> “Holy fuck,” Molly shrieks. “Get in, Alan; we really are going to fucking Vegas.”
I put my head down on the steering wheel and burst out laughing. “This is unbelievable.”
“You’ll be fine.” Alan laughs as he leans in and starts the car. It purrs like a kitten. “Blinker, brake, reverse.” He points to all the dials and knobs. “Take it slow. It flies.” He closes the door, and I put the blinker on.
I slowly take off into the traffic to the sound of Molly screaming and laughing in excitement, and as soon as I get out of sight of Alan, I burst out laughing too. “What the fuck is going on?” I cry.
Two hours later, I pull into the underground parking lot of Jameson’s building. I know why he takes the damn limo—finding a parking spot in this city is insane. In the end, I made Molly sit in the car in the parking lot and wait for me while I grabbed what I needed, and then I drove her home. I was petrified someone was going to steal it. Alan is waiting, and he guides me into the garage, where I park.
“Thank you.” I smile as I get the groceries out of the trunk. “This is a poser car,” I stammer.
He smirks as he takes the bags from me, and we begin walking to the elevator.
“Did you lock the car, Emily?” he reminds me.
“Oh yeah.” I turn and hold the remote up, and it blips as it locks. I giggle. “Oops.”
We get into the elevator, and he stays silent and looking straight ahead.
“How long have you worked for Jameson?” I ask.
“Ten years.”
“Oh.” I frown. “That’s a long time.”
He smiles. “Yes, he’s very good to me.”
We get to the top, and Alan opens the door and walks in and puts the groceries on the counter. “Do you need anything?” he asks. “Mr. Miles is still in his meeting. He will be at least another half an hour.”
My eyes hold his, and I want to ask him a million questions about the enigmatic Mr. Miles. “Do you speak to him often throughout the day?” I ask.
“No.” He smiles at the suggestion. “I am in constant contact with his PA.”
“Oh.”
“His masseuse is expected here at seven.” He glances at his watch. “Would you like me to wait for her?”
“Her?” I frown.
“Oh.” He corrects himself. “It’s a him now, isn’t it?”
Something tells me that Alan knows a lot more about Mr. Miles than he makes out.
“No, I’m fine. I’ll let him in.” I fake a smile. “Thank you.” I show him to the door.
“Call me if you need anything.” He smiles.
“Okay, thanks.”