Ivy insisted on getting me an account and linking it to her credit card. She told me to pay her back later if it bothers me to use her money that much, although she added pointedly, “Mi dinero es tu dinero. If you won’t accept it, I’m going to have to seriously rethink our soul-sisterhood.”
How could I say no?
–Court: Why Uber?
–Me: I’m at the Aylster right now.
–Edgar: How did you get there?
–Me: Tony dropped me off.
–Nate: Can he pick you up? Or I will.
–Court: No need, I’m already downtown. Half an hour or less?
–Me: You’re the best! Thank you!
An email from Benedict lands in my inbox with a link to the nondisclosure agreement. I take a plush armchair with a view of the front entrance and read over the NDA, glancing outside every so often to check for Court’s car.
The document seems pretty straightforward, but what do I know about American contracts? Is there a gotcha? Maybe I should have Hae Min’s in-house counsel review it to make sure—
But of course I can’t.
Accepting a job is more complicated than I realized. What if the document’s really asking for my ovaries and kidneys? I doubt “I don’t speak legalese” would be an acceptable defense in court.
On the other hand, Declan said no work without it. Ah, well. Fine. I’ll sign it, and if there’s a problem, have the Hae Min legal team handle it. It’s why they make the big bucks.
I initial every page and sign the document electronically. As I put away my phone, a familiar Maserati pulls up and stops. I trot out and jump inside the car.
“Thank you,” I say to Court.
“My pleasure.” He gives me an easy grin. “Besides, it makes Ivy happy. And when she’s happy, Tony’s happy. And that makes me happy.”
“And it makes me happy, too.”
“That, too.”
He maneuvers through the late-afternoon traffic, which is crappy. I swear, every hour of Los Angeles can be labeled as rush hour, bad traffic, terrible traffic and horrific traffic. Or maybe I’m just unlucky because the cars are crawling like a horde of crippled centipedes. Probably an accident up ahead, since it isn’t raining.
“We really should get you a car,” Court says after a moment.
“Don’t like giving me rides?” I tease.
He gives me a look. “Of course I like giving you rides. It’s just that you basically can’t exist in L.A. without a vehicle of some kind.” He drums his fingertips on the steering wheel. “Tony has a couple extra cars. But if you don’t like Mercedes or Audi, Nate has a garage full of fancy-pants rides.”
I’ve never seen Nate’s collection, but apparently it’s the envy of many. Well…technically, it’s Evie’s collection now, but she lets him play with his toys. I think it’s adorable and awesome, especially since it could only happen because they love and trust each other. My brother would rather jump off a bridge into the Han River than sign over a used washcloth to his wife.
“I appreciate the offer,” I say. “But I don’t drive.”
“Huh?” Court looks absolutely amazed. “You don’t? You never got a license?”
I laugh at the reaction. “I did, when I was twenty. But it’s kind of a…how do you say it in English? A drawer license?”
Court gives me a skeptical squint. “I don’t think so. What’s a drawer license?”
“It’s what Koreans call a driver’s license you hardly ever use. Like you just keep it in a drawer. A lot of Koreans don’t drive much because we have pretty good public transport.”
“Do you ride the subway in Seoul?” he asks. “Because I’ve seen clips on YouTube about how crowded they get during certain times of the day.”