Everything I had to say fell away as his hand turned and his fingers wrapped around mine. His thumb traced a slow circle on the flesh of my palm. His features softened.
I swallowed back my embarrassment. His eyes flickered to the rearview mirror.
“Anyway, I was hoping that you would—”
“Buckle up,” he said. His eyes were fixed in the rearview mirror.
“What?” I hadn’t expected him to agree so quickly. “I mean—”
He let go of my hand and shoved the gear shift into first gear. Before I could even turn to grab the seat belt, he was roaring away from the curb.
The force threw me back against the leather seat, and I squealed as much as the tires. He swerved expertly around a delivery guy riding a bicycle through a red light and dodged a jaywalker before zooming out again into an open bus lane.
“What the hell are you doing?” I cried out, my hand fumbling for the seat belt.
“Driving,” he said calmly, as he jerked the wheel and careened around a Lexus who was double parked on the curb. The tires squealed again as he sped through a yellow light. I finally got hold of the seatbelt, but then he jammed down on the brakes. My shoulder slammed into the dashboard and my breath went out of my lungs in one whoosh.
I looked up to see a mom with a stroller coming out from a car right in front of us. She took her time crossing the street, and Piers swore, tapping the steering wheel with his fingers. As he accelerated around her, he leaned out the window and swatted the phone out of her grip. I could hear her yelling at us as the phone clattered to the asphalt.
“What the—”
“I’m all for the Darwin award when it comes to idiots,” Piers snapped. “But I don’t appreciate parents using their children as human shields.”
He sped through another intersection. I gulped and finally grabbed hold of the seat belt. Moving quickly, I buckled it in before he could do any more stunts out of The Fast and the Furious.
“Come on, come on,” he muttered, swinging into an alleyway and coming out the other side. I had no idea what he was doing, but when he took another detour through a parking garage, I started to get weirded out.
“Are you kidnapping me?” I asked finally.
“And I’m the one who’s arrogant? Ha! Ha!”
The next turn he made tossed me sideways toward the driver’s seat, and I braced myself instinctively.
“Ahem,” Piers said, straightening the wheel. I looked down and realized I was gripping his upper thigh, right next to his—
“Sorry!” I said, pulling my hand back into my lap.
“Are you sure you’re not a stalker?” Piers asked, making another sharp turn.
“I’m not—what the hell are you doing? Where are we going?”
“You would make an awful celebrity,” Piers said, glancing into the rearview mirror.
“Thanks, I kind of already knew that,” I said. “That’s why I’m a writer and not a famous TV host. But that doesn’t answer—”
“What I am doing,” Piers interrupted, “is getting us away from the paparazzi who were waiting for me. If those turn out to be your people, I’m going to be quite upset.”
“They’re not my people,” I spat. “I didn’t even know they were there!”
“And as for where we’re going, well, I know this nice Italian place uptown.”
“I—Italian?”
“Do you not like Italian?” His head swiveled toward me, and I nodded quickly, anxious to have him look away from the streets for even a split second.
“I—uh—you— sure. Sure. Italian’s great.”
“Brilliant.”
“Wait here,” he said, pulling up to a curb. He was out of the car before I could even ask him what was going on.
What in the hell was going on? I had just wanted to ask him a few questions, but here I was, waiting for him to come back to take me to a nice Italian place. It was only when I reflected on this that I realized he might be taking me to a discreet mafia location where I could be executed and disposed of.
I pulled out my phone. Ten percent battery left. I texted Jessica.
“Going to dinner with Piers Letocci,” I wrote. There. That served two purposes. The first was, of course, bragging rights, even if I hadn’t known who the hell Piers Letocci was before yesterday. The second was that, if Piers was trying to pull off a mob hit on me, there would be a clear trail. I didn’t know why that thought made me feel any better. I’d still be dead.
A knock on my window made me jump in my seat. I stuffed my phone back in my purse and rolled down the window.
“Here,” Piers said, shoving a bag through the window. “Take this.”
I took the bag and he walked around to the driver’s seat. What was in there? Was it drugs? Booze? A gun? I bet it was drugs. High-level celebrities always had designer drug addictions, if the articles in Moi were to be trusted.
“Well?” he asked, settling in behind the steering wheel. “Aren’t you going to open it?”
I pursed my lips in confusion.
“Open it?”
“It’s for you.”
I peeked into the top of the bag, expecting to see bottles of prescription painkillers or baggies of uncut opiates. Instead, I pulled it out—
“A shirt?”
Now I was really confused. And Piers was confused at my confusion.
“Maybe where you go to dinner, the standards are lower. For the rest of us, a shirt and shoes aren’t optional.”
“Oh!” I said, pulling out a brand new blouse. It was a soft pink-orange, and flowy, and completely not my style at all. “Um, thanks. Thank you.”
“Put it on,” he ordered.
I stared at him.
“What? Don’t get all prudish on me. I’ve already seen you in your bra.”
The reminder made my skin turn hot.
“But we’re on a public street—”
“In a car with tinted windows. In New York City, where at any time of day you can find women dressed only in bodypaint and thongs parading down the sidewalk.”
“Okay, okay.” He had me there. I started pulling off his jacket, then stopped.
“Do you have to look at me like that?” I asked.
“Like what?” A wolfish grin spread across his face.
“Like you’re enjoying it.”
“Oh, I am.”
I clenched his jacket back over my chest.
“Cover your eyes,” I said.
“What?”
“I’m not changing until you cover your eyes.”
“You are the most ridiculous—alright. Alright.” He put his hands over his eyes. “Let me know when you’re done.”
I was already out of his jacket and pulling the top over my head. I struggled to find the right armholes. In my hurry, my head accidentally went through one of the armholes. I tugged off the top to re-evaluate, twisting it on my neck. Was this on backwards?
“Are you finished yet?”
“No!” I said. “This top is confusing.”
“I was under the impression that you were an intelligent woman.”
“Whatever gave you that idea?” I asked, trying again with a different opening. Was I putting this on upside down? Where had the tag gone?