The CEO and Her Driver

Chapter 9

Two things were wrong. One, Tate had found a backup singer for his clownish singing style. And two, I cared.

Have you ever been irritated at yourself for being irritated? So it just spirals until you are so frustrated, you can barely form words? That was me, sitting in the back seat of the car while Tate and Susan sang songs in the front seat like idiots. Who should I kill first? I asked myself as I rubbed my temples, trying to push away a sudden headache from their unholy volume.

Tate turned down the music. "You okay back there?" he asked, seeing my poor attempt to keep a headache at bay.

"She hates singing," Susan answered for me like a freaking translator I hadn't asked for.

"Really?" Tate asked sarcastically. His green eyes found mine in the review mirror, a glint of amusement sparking to life. "I had no idea."

The evening lights filtered through the car, casting all of us in shadow. But his bright eyes were unaffected, still clear in the dark as he looked at me. I could feel them on my face. Being seen when it was the last thing I wanted. It did things to my brain. Made me believe in things I had sworn to never believe in again. Gosh, I sound like a drama queen.

I looked out the window, pretending to be bored. I didn't like that he already knew that about me. That he knew a few of my pet peeves and tics. But...

The way he had sung "Classic" to me at the photoshoot sent a wave of pleasure through my body. His voice going from one of jest to one of tenderness. Just the thought of it made my heart take an extra beat against my protest. He knew the words, he just wanted to make me laugh. And that smile that he gave me when I sang it back was straight-up illegal.

But it was all pretend. Two people joking to get the best shot for a photo shoot. So why does it hurt watching him butcher words for someone else? It shouldn't have mattered. 

"Let's hope that secret admirer of hers isn't a singer," Susan threw in, making it crystal clear that I was potentially involved with someone.

That was the thing about girls... We could be the best wing women in the WORLD or we could be the WORST. And sometimes something would come across as just basic information to the untrained ear. A boy could be oblivious to the double meaning if he wasn't looking for it.

The key was to listen to the tone. The tone betrayed you. Made it clear to the rival girl that a guy was up for grabs even if you had called dibs.

Allie... you didn't call dibs.

I had called him "just my driver," when Susan had asked and I only had myself to blame for the consequences of that. I didn't like how torn I felt about the entire situation. I needed to clear my head. To get fresh air. To eat several pints of ice cream.

"Gonna kick him to the curb like Uggo?" Tate asked, receiving a confused look from Susan.

"I can't possibly expect you to adopt all my throw-aways," I replied as we turned the corner to my apartment building. "Thanks for the ride," I muttered as I bolted out of the car, eager to get away. 

I wasn't even fully out of the car when I heard Susan ask Tate if he was hungry. "I know a great Thai place."

"Oh, I love Thai—"

I slammed the car door so hard that I half expected Tate to stick his head out the window and tell me to stop wrecking his cars.

But he drove away without a word and I was left feeling childish for taking out my anger on a door. Nice work, Allie. Very mature.

I chucked my purse down on the couch as soon as I was through the door to my apartment, shoes following a beat later. I was tempted to crawl under the covers and pretend the world didn't exist for a few hours but I knew better. If I allowed myself to stop moving, all I would be able to do was think and thinking was the last thing I could afford to do.