Chapter 3 Rachel

"Can't you take another route?" I asked the driver with frustration. "We've been in this same spot for fifteen minutes?"

"I'm checking to see what's going on," the security guard answered in a gruff voice.

I stared at the back of his head. The bald spot budding at the top told me he likely wore a lot of baseball caps. He had a very gruff exterior. I had used security a few times in the past, and every time, they were always burly and gruff. I supposed it was a job requirement.

No one was going to hire a happy-go-lucky skinny dude. It was time to call my dad and let him know I wasn't going to make it on time. I'd given myself an extra hour, and it was getting eaten up in this stupid traffic jam. Damn New York traffic. "Hi, Dad," I said.

"Hey, honey."

"I'm going to be late," I said with disgust. "I'm sorry."

"It's fine," he assured me. "I scheduled the pizza to be delivered later. I suspected this might happen. Take your time."

I groaned. "I don't want to take my time."

His soft laughter warmed my soul. This was what I was waiting for. Although we talked every day, it wasn't the same when I was on a different continent. "I'll be there soon, I hope," I told him. "We're stuck in traffic. If it doesn't move soon, I'll walk."

"Sweetie, I've seen the news," he said. "I don't think that's a good idea."

"You're right. I'm sorry you had to see that."

His snort and the curse under his breath told me he was not happy about what he'd seen.

"You just get yourself here safely. Don't you worry about what those people say. None of

them know you."

"Thanks, Dad. I hope you have beer in the fridge."

He laughed. "Rachel, you're supposed to be a fancy lady drinking cocktails and expensive

wine."

"But I like cold beer and pizza," I said with a fond smile. I so missed being able to be Rachel Lore, the girl who grew up with a single father in a small two bedroom in Staten Island.

"Of course I've got beer," he laughed.

We ended the call, and I found myself staring at the same ad on the same window for the storefront that sold beads. Who the hell could afford to run a store that only sold beads? As a businesswoman, I looked at every business and wondered about their financials. Beads didn't seem like a good choice.

The air felt and smelled stagnant. I hated being cooped up. First the long flight, and now

the car. I knew it was a risk, but I needed air. I didn't see any paparazzi and took the plunge.

My fingertip hovered on the button for the window. I lowered the window just a couple of

inches.

The cool fall air tainted with exhaust, and what smelled like pizza wafted in. I closed my

eyes. "So much better," I breathed.

"Ma'am, you need to roll up the window," the guard said.

The driver slammed his hand on the horn. "They're coming up fast," he said in a low

voice.

"Who's coming up fast?" I asked.

"The paparazzi," the guard snapped. "Your window needs to go up."

"I'll roll it up when they get close," I snapped back. I didn't want to live up to the Billionaire Diva nickname, but I was paying them, and dammit, I wanted fresh air.

I heard a motorcycle engine from behind. They were still a few car lengths back. I could

breathe a little longer.

"We're moving," the driver said, stating the obvious. The limo crept forward and then

stopped. "Now we're not."

My view had changed, which was at least a bonus to the situation. I turned to look to my

right and found myself looking at a very handsome man. He had on stylish Ray-Bans and was

tapping his hands on the steering wheel of his Porsche. He was wearing a white dress shirt

with the sleeves rolled up to just below his elbows.

I imagined his suit jacket was tossed in the passenger seat. It was a Saturday afternoon, which meant Wall Street was closed. He wasn't a salesman. No way an average salesman would afford a car like that. CEO of something, I decided.

He turned his head and caught me staring. I offered a small smile and looked away. I got

a glimpse of the square jaw and full lips. He was clean-shaven, which definitely lent to the

idea he was a CEO. His hair was cut perfectly. It was short, just above the collar. With my

newfound status as a wealthy woman, I knew an expensive haircut when I saw it.

"They're coming up fast," the driver said. "I can't get out of here."

"Get that window up!" the guard barked.

I reached for the button, but it was too late. Flashes went off in my face as questions

were shouted at me. I was blinded with my initial reaction to cover my face. That was stupid

because it left me exposed.

"Do you have anything to say about Brock's tweet?" someone shouted.

"Were you sleeping with his roadie?"

"Miss Lore, are you going to give him back the ring?" another shouted.

Ring ? I didn't get a ring. The window rolled up, and I got a brief reprieve, but the shouts

and questions were still coming my way. I bent forward and tried to hide.

"Hit the gas!" the guard barked.

"They've got us surrounded," the driver answered and blared the horn once again.

Suddenly, there was the sound of a high-powered engine revving. I immediately looked to

the Porsche. The sound of the engine was joined by the high-pitched squeal of screeching

Tires.

The hot driver had his foot on the brake and was creating a literal smoke screen. White

smoke drifted around his car and ours.

The photographers scattered, coughing and cursing. I saw an out. I didn't know if it was the right thing to do, but I was going for it.

"I'm making a run for it!" I said to my guard and driver.

"What the hell are you talking about?" the guard snapped.

I grabbed my purse and opened the door. "Get back in here!" my driver shouted.

The guy in the Porsche looked at me and grinned. "If you're coming, you better hurry. I'm

ten feet away from my escape from this mess."

"Thanks, guys," I said to the two men in the front seat, who were making all kinds of

noises of frustration and irritation.

"It isn't safe!" I heard just before I slammed the door.

I rushed around the back of the Porsche. I heard the paparazzi yelling my name and knew they were taking pictures. This was not going to play out well in the tabloids. I didn't care. I was not living my life for the tabloids. I didn't care what anyone else thought.

I opened the car door and slid into the passenger seat. This was nuts. I could have just

put myself in serious danger.

My father would kill me if he knew I got into a car with a total stranger. It was Safety 101. Not to mention, I was persona non grata in the city. He could be a Brock sympathizer. He could be a serial killer. This was probably a really, really dumb move.

"Buckle up," he said with that same sexy grin.

"You're not going to kill me, right?"

"Why would I want to kill a beautiful woman?" he teased.

I put on my seat belt. "Because you might want to wear my skin or something."

"You have nice skin, beautiful skin, but I kind of like my own, thank you," he said with a laugh.

"Your skin is very nice as well," I said in a perfectly haughty tone that seemed a little out of place given the conversation.

"Ready to do this?" he asked as the car nudged forward.

I looked over at my security guy in the front seat. He was on the phone and gesturing wildly. "I am."

"I think that dude is pissed."

"He's a very high-paid security guard." I waved at the man glaring at me.

"And you don't trust him to protect your body?"

"I can protect my body just fine," I shot back. "I want to go home. The tank they brought to take me home doesn't exactly navigate traffic very well."

"Ah, so you hopped in because of my car," he said and started to move his car around the truck in front of us.

"Yes. Got a problem with that?"

"Nope," he answered. "Hold on."

I wasn't sure what I was supposed to hold on to, but I did my best to brace myself. He inched so close to the truck I thought for sure he was going to scratch his pretty car that probably cost a small fortune. I found myself holding my breath.

"You're going to hit the-"

He whipped the wheel, hit the gas, and sped around the truck. A moment later, we were speeding down a narrow alley. This move would have been impossible in the limo. If I stuck my hand out the window, I would hit one of the brick buildings that lined both sides of the alley. If someone opened one of the doors to the buildings, it was going to get very ugly.

The car paused and then pulled into a street that was less clogged. "There," he said with satisfaction.

"Uh, are you a race car driver?" I asked.

"No, but my brother thinks he is," he replied with a laugh. "If he had just seen that move, he would have been very impressed."

"I'm certainly impressed," I said with a laugh. "My poor security team is going to fire me."

"They'll be sitting in that traffic for a while. They'll have to fire you later."

I turned to look behind us. "I think you lost them."

"Damn straight I did," he said. "Paparazzies are a menace to society. Someone could have been hurt. They could have been hurt."

"They're so obnoxious," I said. "Thank you for saving me. I rolled down my window because I wanted fresh air. My security warned me not to do it. They snuck up on me. I was not expecting them to cut through traffic like that."

"Most of them were on foot," he said.

"Stupid. All to get a picture of me sitting in a car. It's not exactly newsworthy."

"Ah, but aren't you a celebrity?" he teased.

I looked over at the man and studied his profile from the other side. He really was attractive. There was a quiet confidence about him, but he was definitely not cocky. He just seemed comfortable with himself. I would say he wasn't trying to impress anyone, but he was driving around in a flashy Porsche.

"I'm not a celebrity," I said. "I'm just a girl that owns a few businesses." He smirked but said nothing.

"I take it you know who I am?" I said with a sigh.

"I've seen your face around," he said.

"I'm surprised you let me in your car."

He glanced over at me. "I'm not afraid of a girl."

He said it with such seriousness. It was obvious he was joking. He was trying to put me at ease, which I appreciated. "You might want to be careful with me," I teased. "According to the latest headlines, I'm right up there with man-eaters."

"I guess I'll have to take my chances."