•⋅⊰∙∘☾✶☽∘∙⊱⋅•✾•⋅⊰∙∘☾✶☽∘∙⊱⋅•

I gawked at the limo, to me, though, it might as well have been a spaceship. A really expensive one, with leather seats and its own driver, sitting there all casual while I was having a quiet meltdown on the pavement next to it.

Right then, the driver stepped forward, and I took him in like he was the proof of my worst fears, impeccably dressed in a black suit that looked like it had never met a wrinkle, moving with the kind of smooth professionalism you only see in someone who has been driving important people around for years and knows how to keep it discreet.

"Good evening, Young Master Lockwood."

I froze. Young master? What, was he royalty?

The words hit me one by one, each needing some careful consideration.

I whipped my head around to Damien faster than I probably should have.

Just how rich was this guy?!

Damien took that address in stride, as if being called "Young Master" was just another part of his life that he didn’t bother thinking about anymore. "Good evening, Harris."

The driver nodded with a practiced precision, like this was standard operating procedure for him.

"Harris has been with my family for twelve years." Damien spoke, grinning at my confused expression.

Harris, bless him, kept his professional composure intact, though I could’ve sworn I saw a hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth. Traitor, both of them. The whole evening was against me.

Damien stepped toward the door, to my horror, he opened it and extended a hand, inviting me in as if it were the most natural thing in the world, which made my brain short-circuit.

"After you," he said.

I stared at his hand. At him. Then back at the hand again. "Are you serious?"

I see, since he was royalty. I was his his princess now?!

"Would you prefer I throw you in?"

Yes, actually. At least then, my tummy would stop doing that weird, gross fluttering thing.

"Get in the limo, Oliver."

Even the way he said it, warm, patient, and a bit teasing, my name in his voice carrying a hint of something I’d been trying not to name for weeks, felt unfair. I muttered a few things under my breath that I’d deny if asked and climbed inside.

Then I stopped muttering.

Then I stopped doing most things.

The interior was nicer than any thing I’d ever lived in, and it took a moment to process that fact, piece by piece, because my brain needed time to acclimate to each detail.

Soft leather seats wrapped around the cabin in a deep charcoal, the kind that gives a bit when you sit down and then hugs you back with that quiet confidence that comes from being expensive.

Warm ambient lighting glowed from hidden panels, nothing harsh, just enough light to make you feel good.

A mini fridge was tucked into one side, next to a narrow shelf holding crystal glasses that caught the light and reflected it softly across the ceiling.

Crystal glasses. In a car. Just hanging out, as if cars always had crystal in them and the rest of us had been doing it wrong all along.

The seats were so comfortable that I immediately got suspicious. Nothing should feel this good. This level of comfort was excessive, almost a setup. It was the kind of comfort that ruins your expectations and then leaves you with a problem when you have to revert to regular seating afterward.

God, I want to be stinky rich in my next life please. Is that too much to ask for?!

I almost burst into tears, it was so unfair!

Damien climbed in behind me not noticing my inner bawling and settled down. Beside me by the way, not across from me, close enough that I could really feel the space between us, that annoying awareness I’d developed over the past few weeks.

The door closed with a soft but firm sound, and the outside world, the campus, the students, the sidewalk, all faded away, muted to a comfortable hush by what I assumed was some top-tier soundproofing.

Just us. In a fancy box, rolling through the city. Fantastic. Just great. My life was still as regular and normal as ever.

The limo pulled away from the curb with the leisurely confidence of a vehicle that had never been in a hurry and saw no reason to start now. I made a strong effort not to look impressed. Instead, I turned my gaze outside, watching the city slip by past the tinted glass, focusing on keeping a neutral expression.

While on the inside i was considering finding a sugar mummy.

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward. A month ago, being stuck in a car with Damien Lockwood for an hour would’ve felt like psychological torture. I would have needed hazard pay. I would have required debriefing afterward.

Now? It felt easy, and that realization crept in quietly and just sat there, true and undeniable, leaving me at a loss for what to do with it.

Damien opened the fridge. The sound yanked my focus back.

"Drink?"

I glanced over. A few bottles were lined up neatly inside, like someone had put thought into this. "What even is all that?"

"Water, juice, a couple of sodas." He scanned the options casually. "There could be something else in the back, I noticed you don’t really like alcohol."

I tried not to wonder how the heck he even noticed that. "Do you always travel with a mini grocery store?"

"I travel prepared." He held out a bottle.

I looked at it. "Nope."

"Why not?"

"Because taking things from you has consequences, I know that now."

Damien sighed, the kind of long-suffering sigh that had become too practiced over the last few weeks. "You are honestly exhausting."

I beamed at his statement, glad this went both ways.

His blue eyes caught the ambient light and did something very inconvenient. "I don’t see the connection."

I caved and snatched the bottle from his hand. "That’s because you’re rich."

He looked way too pleased with that, which was annoying, and I twisted the cap off and took a sip, resolutely ignoring everything else.

As I pulled the bottle back, our fingers brushed for a fraction of a second, just a minor, accidental contact, nothing more, the kind of thing that happens when you’re sitting close to someone and reaching for the same object.

My pulse did not treat it as nothing.

Suddenly, I was very aware of several things I had been blocking out for the last five minutes: the warmth radiating off him where our shoulders nearly touched, the cedar scent that I had, against my better judgment, completely memorized, and the way his focus was steady on me, relaxed and unhurried.

I took a long swig of water. Survival instinct. Totally justified.

"What?" I asked, because I could feel him looking and ignoring it wasn’t working.

"Nothing." His voice was easy. Relaxed. Like he had nowhere to be and had chosen to be right here.

"You’re doing the weird staring thing, we’ve talked about this, Damien."

"I like looking at you."

I inhaled at the wrong time. The coughing fit that followed was immediate, genuine, and totally undignified, and Damien had the audacity to find it funny... not in a mean way, but with the warm amusement of someone watching something genuinely endearing, which was somehow worse than if he had mocked me.

This asshole...