Page 64 of Take It Offline
And as it turns out, leaving Charlie speechless is exactly as amazing as I imagined it would be.
For all that I know about clothes, I know less than nothing about cars, but even I can appreciate Charlie’s black beauty. I can’t help but touch the gleaming woodgrain dash.
“It’s gorgeous,” I say. “Is there a story behind it?”
“The guy who originally owned her lived next door. He ran a repair shop and didn’t mind teaching me, then gave me a job after I’d learned enough. I helped fix her up after school and on weekends, and I kept on working for him right up until we moved here.”
His voice is full of a fondness that makes my heart swell.
Sheis a classic, I’m informed. With a personality.
“We’ve been through a lot together.” Charlie rests his arm along the back of my seat, teasing the bare skin of my shoulder. “I even lost my V-card in her back,” he adds with a wink.
I run my hand over the smooth leather. If he’s not careful, I’ll show him a few more tricks back there. “Virginity isn’t real, and also, I don’t think your hand counts.”
He throws his head back to laugh, and I grip my clutch tighter to stop myself from hauling him in by the lapels.
“But if you’re going to do it anywhere, this is a good choice.”
He leans in, and his lips brush against my cheek. “You’ll need to stow those ideas away for later, sweetheart. As much as I want to rip that dress off you, we’re running late.”
I’m trembling so much I barely notice when he sits back and starts the car.
The engine growls when he accelerates. I’ve never heard anything quite like it. While idle, it hiccups and grumbles, more like an out of breath chainsaw than a purr. But I’ll forgive a fifty-year-old antique some rough edges when it’s so lovingly kept.
Charlie looks even better behind the wheel, the warm dusk light enhancing how sharply handsome he is. It makes him look dangerous.
A man on a mission.
“Lead the way,” I say.
The (now singular) Conway residence sits on five acres outside town. Despite boasting six bedrooms and seven bathrooms, it’s considered modest compared to its neighbors.
My heart bucks like a palomino as Charlie turns into the drive. Ahead of us, a steady line of cars slowly approaches the house, and attendants greet guests so they can take over and park the vehicles on the empty lot down the street.
My throat tightens.
Though I’m not ashamed—I love my parents, even though they regularly frustrate me—ostentatious displays of wealth are not my style, and now I’m terrified that when I look over, a sneer will have replaced the playful smile.
“Hey.” Charlie’s voice tears me out of my thoughts, and I realize we’ve stopped. Both doors are open, and a valet waits at the driver’s side.
All of Charlie’s focus is on me. It helps. Gently, he raises my hand to his lips, kissing first the inside of my wrist, then my palm.
“We’ve got this,” he says, his breath ghosting my skin.
And as though the words are keys in a lock, I feel myself restart.
We’re directed to the terrace, where the party is being held. I have other plans, though, and instead drag Charlie through the house (which we’ve been told to stay out of) in search of a drink.
Every detail of these parties is perfectly arranged as a performance. The clothes, the speeches, the friendliness.
Here, words are weapons and destruction is a sport.
I’ve spent enough time around the rich to keep my guard up. Betrayal left my trust hard to win and even harder to keep, which is why it’s so nerve-racking to put my trust in Charlie tonight.
“This might not even work,” I say, airing out the fear that’s plagued me the whole way here.
“It’ll work,” he says gruffly. “If he’s got any brain cells at all, he’ll be sick at the sight of you with anyone else.”
