“No,” he says flatly. “I hope that doesn’t make me sound like a jerk. I’m sure they’re all fine people. But I’ve got my…”
I’m sure he was about to say, But I’ve got my sights set on someone else.
“But they’re not my type. Not that I have much of a type.”
What does that mean, that he’ll fuck anything that moves or that he’s super selective?
I search my mind for a way to tactfully ask. The best I can do is offer up a tidbit about myself, and hope he bites.
“Well, I’m nineteen and I’ve never even had a semi-serious boyfriend.”
“Nineteen,” he repeats, his voice a growl.
Does that mean he likes my age, or he thinks I’m too young?
Most likely I’m just reading far too much into his every word, his every gesture. He’s probably not thinking along these lines at all.
Chapter Seven
Kayden
She’s nineteen and single. I almost punch the air in celebration, almost throw my head back and howl like a wild wolf, just to release some of the tension inside of me.
Sitting so close to her is torture. I squeeze the steering wheel hard, gripping it until I have to relax my grip unless I want to tear it clean off.
This is the first time I’ve ever prayed for more traffic. We glide far too effortlessly across the city. Her perfume – or maybe it’s just her scent – fills the car, tempting me to reach over and squeeze onto her ample sexy-as-fuck thigh.
“So why did you want to be a runner?” I ask.
She giggles. It’s such an endearing sound, as though she’s delighted that I’d take an interest in her. But of course, I would. I want to learn every single thing about her.
“I don’t want to be a runner, really, but I’ve always dreamed of being a movie director. Ever since I was a kid, well… I was orphaned when I was five. It was a car accident. My parents rarely went out, but they decided to treat themselves that day. They hired a babysitter and—I’m sorry, I don’t know why I’m telling you all this.”
I know why she is. She feels comfortable with me, at ease in a way only two lovers can be. She knows subconsciously that our connection is going to develop into something real, something eternal.
No, no, no.
I need to stop. Fucking hell. If she knew how far I’ve already taken things in my mind, she would scream at me to pull over.
“I want to hear it,” I say, as calmly as I’m able. “If you don’t mind, that is.”
She’s an orphan. Like me.
“They didn’t suffer, apparently. I went into the system. My parents were both only children and they didn’t have any family. I guess you could say I was a shy kid… and well, I guess you could say that’s an understatement.”
She trails off, turning to the window, watching the city as the lights flit by. It takes every ounce of willpower I possess not to smooth my hand over her shoulder, give her a comforting squeeze.
I have to keep reminding myself that, as far as she knows, I’m just a CEO doing her a favor. Nothing more.
“I lost myself in films. The orphanage had a TV room, but the other kids rarely let me pick the movie. It didn’t matter. I watched everything and anything. I’d watch a kids’ film in the morning, and then one of the other kids would smuggle an R-rated bootleg in and I’d watch that. It didn’t matter what the movie was about. It was more the craft of it, the beauty of the shots.”
She pauses. “Are you sure you want to hear all this?”
“Yes,” I say, with far too much eagerness. I can’t help it.
She tilts her head as though curious. “Okay, as long as I’m not boring you.”
“You’re not.”
“So I kept watching movies, as many as I could, all the time. Me and my friend Zadie would spend whole weekends watching them together in high school. And then I started getting books about filmmaking from the library. I learned everything I could. I wanted to go to college to study it, but, well…”
She doesn’t have to finish that.
“So many talented people are held back because of money. I understand.”
She nods. “Now I’m trying to do my best. I was so stoked to get this job. I know it’s nothing prestigious, but heck, it’s a foot in the door. I just hope I can figure out transport for tomorrow.”
“I’ll send a car for you.”
“Really?”
“Yes,” I growl.
“But why?” she asks, confused, why a stranger might offer her a ride.
Because she’s my woman. Because the thought of her missing out on something that clearly matters to her makes me want to roar. Because I’ll do anything I can to help her pursue her dreams.
“I can see how much this means to you. And I know how it feels…”