Page 62 of Hottie on Her Shelf
Chapter Thirteen
Hallie tucked her feet underneath her to curl her toes into the soft leather because the seats were heated—a luxury she didn’t have in her ancient Honda. Yes, it was a beautiful, warm spring day out, but she’d never been in a Jaguar before and wanted to appreciate every tiny bit of luxury in its sleek, beetle-green body.
“Isn’t this car horribly inappropriate for our winters?”
“Oh, it’s useless,” Fitz said with a surprising amount of cheer. “Barely clears the ground. A dusting of snow takes it out of commission.”
“So you’ve got a seasonal car, the way I switch out my closets?”
“Yep. It was a reward from my grandfather when I finished grad school.”
Aww. Sweet, if still surprising that the gift would be quite so significant, but maybe when you had Montgomery level money, a pricey sportscar wasn’t significant. “I guess if it’s a present, it isn’t outrageously extravagant. It’s pure sentiment.”
“Half sentiment, because I really was crazy about the old guy, and half feeling like I’m in a James Bond movie when I drive it.” He looked her way, then back at the solid corridor of pines that lined the road. “You can tell me if you think it’s stupid. If you think that I should sell it and donate the proceeds to a worthwhile charity.”
Interesting. Hallie doubted his father would’ve batted an eye at the thought of multiple cars. Mostly, because she’d seen Preston Montgomery driving no less than three different cars around town. Everyone recognized them, because he’d sit at stoplights once they turned green and keep talking to whoever had waved at him on the sidewalk.
“Ah. Is that because of the backlash against that billionaire space race last year? Feeling guilty about enjoying your wealth, rather than spreading it around?”
Fitz poked her knee. “Huh-uh. I asked you the question. I want to know if all this”—he gestured at the gleaming dashboard with its wood inlays—“seems selfish and wasteful. To you.”
“Honestly? No. Not if it makes you genuinely happy. If it were me, I probably wouldn’t have two cars, but I would splurge on a bathroom with heated floors and a shower with twelve jets.”
“That’s specific.”
Indeed. “I saw it on a travel show about the world’s greatest resorts.” She’d practically crawled across the rug to plaster her face to the screen and absorb its full glory. “Haven’t been able to get it out of my mind since then. Bucket list, you know?”
“Worthy goal. I was in an eight-jet one in Switzerland, and, if you were wondering, it’s as mind-blowing as you’d imagine.”
“Mmm. Thanks for the verification.” Hallie looked at his expensive watch, the haircut that probably cost more than her last five put together. He’d opened the door to discussing his wealth. She’d shove through it a bit more. “I answered. Now it’s your turn. Do you feel guilty about your wealth?”
“Are you asking because you resent it? Or do you really want to know?”
Hallie wasn’t sure of the answer, but she felt like she was suddenly the one under the spotlight rather than Fitz. Having the tables turned on her wasn’t what she’d expected. “Yikes. We’re going there?”
“It’s the elephant in the room between us. Would rather clear the air and move past it.”
Hallie appreciated his willingness to communicate, to engage, to not sidestep uncomfortable things. And yes, the, ah, disparity in their fortunes probably did need to be addressed. No doubt Fitz had dealt with fortune hunters more than once.
But they had a bigger issue to discuss first. Or this surprise overnight getaway might fizzle out before they even parked the car. “See, I don’t think your family owning the town is the elephant wedged behind your gear shift. I think it’s what happened at the campaign event four days ago.”
“What happened to our sharp division between being candidates and being Hallie and Fitz?” He reached over to rub the ruffled hem of her pink dress between his fingers. It rode high up her thigh, so the rough scrape of his touch shot chills up and down her leg. “I don’t think Ms. Scott, the candidate, would wear this.”
She was delighted he’d noticed. “Correct. This is a dress intended to flirt and inveigle, not articulate long-range planning and steadfastness.” Since Fitz had picked her up with only twenty minutes’ notice and asked if he could whisk her away. The word whisk had extreme romantic connotations to Hallie. She’d only packed frivolous, flirty things.
Including underwear.
“Flirting—and what comes after—that’s the whole plan. We’re off the campaign trail tonight, Hallie.”
“I know.”
She’d debated with herself about whether to bring it up at all. If this was just a frantic one-night stand at, say, a convention, no way. But whatever this evolution between them was? It was predicated on the fact that she and Fitz had somehow become friends. Friends who wanted to lock lips, but friends first.
And friends deserved honesty. “But…what I don’t know is if you’re mad at me. I don’t want to keep treading on eggshells.”
“What?” Spraying gravel, Fitz swerved onto the shoulder and stopped. “First off, I don’t play those games—pretending everything’s fine for the sake of appearances. If I was mad at you, you’d know, because we’d be back in your driveway, finishing the argument.”
That dissolved the weight that had been tightening her chest for several days now. “Good. Not good that we’d be arguing, but I’m glad that’s your approach.”
