Mr. Masters smirks. “I have no doubt. Now get in the car before I throw you in the trunk.”

I bite my bottom lip and smile at his playful return. Has his mood switched because I am no longer staying out?

Interesting.

“I’ll be back in twenty minutes,” he tells the children.

I smile at his fancy accent. He sounds like British Royalty or something. I’ve never known anyone who talks as snootily as he does.

“Okay,” the kids reply, going back to what they were doing.

I follow him as he walks down the front steps and out to the garage. The roller door goes up slowly and the Porsche lights beep as it unlocks.

My eyes widen in excitement. “Are we taking the pimp car?”

His face falls. “The pimp car?” He slinks into the lowered seat.

I bounce in beside him. “Yes, you know… I would expect the mafia or something to own this car.” I look around. Wow! This really is a pimp car. It’s compact, sporty, sexy…not at all something I would have imagined he would drive.

He rolls his eyes and looks through the rearview mirror to reverse the car out of the garage. "Or perhaps just a man who has studied at university for twelve years," he replies dryly.

“That, too,” I giggle. “Although a pimp car does sound way more exciting.”

He smirks, and we make our way down the driveway. I don’t know if it’s the excitement of going out in London for the first time, my sexy dress, or the fact that a gorgeous older man is driving me out in a Porsche, but I feel excited, alive, and I can hardly wipe the stupid smile from my face.

We pull out onto the open road and drive for a while, until I look over at him. “Show me.”

He raises a brow. “Show you what?”

“What this baby can do.”

I see excitement dance in his eyes, and it isn’t long before he accepts my dare.

Without emotion, he changes gears and floors it. The engine roars like a tiger, and I am thrown back into my seat as the car takes off like a rocket.

I squeal with excitement, and he laughs at my reaction, and then moments later he slows the car back to what feels like a snail's pace now. We're back to the speed limit.

I smile broadly as I stare through the windscreen, my heart pumping hard as adrenaline courses through my veins.

His eyes flash to me.

“This car is a fucking turn on,” I whisper as I rub the dashboard. “I hope you do that on all your first dates with women. That, dear sir, is a legitimate deal closer.”

He throws his head back and laughs freely. “I don’t need a car to close my deals, Miss Brielle.”

I smile as butterflies dance in my stomach, my eyes lingering on his handsome face. I bet he doesn’t. A tiny part of me wonders what it would be like to go on a date with him—to get that deal sealed. He’s so controlled and powerful, but I just saw a tiny glimmer of his naughty side.

Fucking hot is an understatement.

We pull into town, and for some reason, I don’t really want to get out of the car now. I want to drive around at high speed in this pimp car with Mr. Masters.

The car roars into the parking spot, and he turns to me. “The restaurant is just across the road.”

I look up and see the packed, trendy restaurant, and I know Emerson is inside. She’s already text me three times since I left. “Thanks.” I smile.

His hand is resting on the steering wheel. "Have a great night. Be safe."

I stay seated in the car, and he looks over and raises an impatient eyebrow.

Oh shit! Get out, you idiot.

I climb out of the car and lean in through the window. “I’m glad the cab company couldn’t bring me. That was way more fun.”

He smiles sexily and revs the engine.

I laugh and shake my head. “See you in the morning.”

The car pulls out and roars up the street as I watch on.

Wow, that was unexpected. Who knew?

I walk into the crowded restaurant to see Emerson waving from her table at the back. I laugh and almost run to meet her. “Oh God, it’s so good to see you.” I smile into her hair, hugging her tight. It feels like so much has happened since I saw her last.

“Look at us being all hot and grown up in London.”

“I know.” I giggle as I fall into my seat opposite her. “Can you believe we are actually here?”

“Yes.” She smiles broadly as a waiter comes over with two margaritas and puts them in front of us.

I hunch my shoulders together. “Are we are drinking cocktails?”

“Why not? It’s our opening night. Screw it.”

I pick up my drink and take a sip. Heaven in a glass. “Ah, that’s the stuff.” I eye my glass suspiciously. “How much are these babies?”

“More than we can afford, but who cares?” She holds her drink up and we clink our glasses together. “To London.” She smiles proudly.

“To London.” I giggle.

“Tell me everything.” She widens her eyes.

I shake my head and hold up my hand. “You wouldn’t believe the three days I’ve had.”

“Try me.”

“Well, Mr. Masters picks me up, and you saw what he was like…”

“Cranky. Has he got any better?”

I shrug. “I don’t know, but get this... I think he jacked off to my photo.”

Emerson spits out her drink and nearly chokes. “What the fuck?” She then goes into a full on coughing fit as she tries to deal with margarita up her nose.

“He showed me to my room and wouldn’t come in, and then later that night, when I was spying on him—”

She scowls hard. “Wait, what? You were spying on him?” she interrupts.

I put my hands over my face. “Long story, but he’s kind of hot.”

“He’s old, Brell.”

“He’s thirty eight… or nine. I’m not actually sure, to be honest,” I reply dryly.

“Either one is still old.”

I roll my eyes. “Anyway, I was spying on him and I saw him take my photo off the fridge. Then he put his hands down his boxer shorts and played with himself.”

Emerson’s eyes widen, and her mouth falls open.

“Then he took the photo and went upstairs to his bedroom.”

“Fuck off.”

“I’ve still got it.” I giggle, and we clink our glasses together.

We smile at each other as we sip our drinks. This is so much fun.