***
I cranked up the punk tune on my Maserati's sound system as I pulled out of the Sinclair Building’s parking garage, nodding my head in time with the driving beat. While I usually played classical music on my drive home to relax my mind after a hard day at work, s
ince finding out that Lilah’s brother was in a band I'd been into since I was a teenager, I'd searched through my collection and added a few tracks by the Razor's Edge to my playlist.
I weaved through the early evening traffic as the track raged. I was barely two blocks from the office when I noticed a familiar figure walking along the sidewalk.
Lilah. I would recognize her curves anywhere.
I pulled up to the curb and rolled down my window.
“Lilah!”
She glanced over her shoulder, looking surprised to hear my voice. She saw me in the car and smiled.
“Hi, Asher!” she said as she stopped and turned to acknowledge me.
“Do you need a ride?”
She hesitated before responding. “I suppose I could use one, if you don't mind.”
“Not at all. Come on, hop in.”
She hurredly climbed into the passenger seat of my car.
“Nice ride,” she said. “I do love a Maserati.”
I grinned and gave the engine a rev. “She is a beauty, huh? I have a soft spot for fast cars. Guy thing, I guess. You should come check out my collection sometime.”
“Sure. I'm not exactly a gearhead, but I can appreciate a well-built machine,” she revealed, her undertone just enough to send a touch of warmth rushing through me. “And, I happen to know a thing or two about engines,” she added.
I tried not to sound surprised as I replied. “Oh, you do?”
“I grew up an only girl in family of older brothers, two of whom are motorcycle fanatics, and no mom. My dad was a mechanic who had his own garage, and he spent most of his waking hours there working on engines. Being in the garage was pretty much the only way I could spend time with him, so I learned a thing or two about engines while I was growing up.”
“Wow. Sounds like a unique childhood.”
“I suppose in some ways, it was. As yours was, I imagine.”
“Yeah, I guess it was,” I replied. I wasn't quite ready to discuss my childhood with her, even though talking to her did feel like the most comfortable and natural thing in the world, so I decided to switch the topic.
“So, why were you walking home from work? It's a good 45 minute walk from the office to your place, if I remember correctly.”
“My car's at the mechanic's,” she replied. “And, since it was a nice evening, I just thought I’d walk instead of taking the bus.”
“Couldn't fix it yourself, huh?” I joked with a wink.
“I could have, quite easily, but I don't have the time—not with the current schedule being what it is. Not that I'm complaining,” she added hastily.
“Oh, well, good thing I drove past you when I did, then.”
“And why is it you're driving this car today and not being ferried around by Alfred?”
“I prefer driving myself,” I replied. “I often have to use Alfred, though, just because of the volume of work I have. I can get quite a bit done in the commute if I'm sitting in the car working on my tablet instead of having to actually drive. Today's workload wasn't supposed to be too intense, so I decided I didn't really need to be driven around by someone else.”
She smiled and I couldn’t help stealing glances at her as I drove. The woman was breathtaking. I wondered if she realized just how much. I almost suggested that, instead of heading straight to her place, we could drive over to the beach and take a walk on the promenade.
I stopped myself before I said it, though; she had just made it clear that morning that she wasn’t interested in anything aside from focusing on the Harry Winston campaigns. Instead, I decided to just make light conversation until we reached her building. And so, I did. Though, I was tempted to take the long way just to keep the conversation going.