Their Paid Girl

Their Paid Girl - Part 12

          Panting, I heaved the huge bag and flipped the stray curls out of my eyes, pausing to bestow a scowl at Adam. The egotistical bastard hadn’t even offered to help me with my luggage, and instead he was coolly watching me struggle with it.

          May his manhood shrivel and die.

          “How can you possibly need all of that for one night?” he asked, pointing.

          I glared, re-tying my ponytail. “I have to be prepared for just about everything, since you wouldn’t tell me where we were going!”

          Adam smirked. “It’ll just be dinner, and walks in the estates.”

          I fumed. Now he tells me. “Just walks in the estates,” I mimicked under my breath. This kid was so used to rolling in money. Well I hope he drowns in it.

          The elevator gave a ding and slid open. Adam strolled in, not bothering to hold the door open while I wrestled the bag into the lift. The doors nearly closed on me, squashing the life out of my body and it was only a lucky kick that saved me from becoming little bits of Shawna tiling the floor.

          “Tell me,” I growled, bodily manoeuvring in, “Were you born an arrogant jerk, or is it an acquired process?”

          “Tell me,” Adam drawled in return, “Did you idolize Pinocchio when you were a kid?”

          I stared at him in complete confusion until it hit me, that Adam had given me his favourite jab – about me being a liar.

          “Why do you care so much?” I demanded angrily. This was getting really annoying.

          “Babe, I’m a carefree guy,” Adam told me. “I don’t care as long as it’s free. But since you’re not free, that entails certain privileges.”

          Like harassing me.

          I huffed. “You’re such a – lemon.”

          I didn’t know where that came from, but since Adam didn’t know, either, it was awhile before he could respond.

          “Why am I a lemon?” he looked genuinely confused.

          I stared up at the descending numbers and ignored him. We were only on the eighth floor.

          When the doors finally slid open, I reached over to Adam, grabbing his finger and jabbing it on the button that said ‘doors open.’ He gave me an annoyed look, but kept it there.

          Chin held high, I marched out of the elevator, dragging my suitcase and set off to towards the garage. It occurred to me sometime later that I didn’t know what kind of car Adam drove, but I didn’t let that bother me.

          I kept right on marching to the brightest, most expensive car in the lot: a silver Porsche Carrera GT.

          Adam followed leisurely behind, flicking his remote button and lounging against his hood as I heaved, trying to stuff my things into his trunk.

          “How did you know this one was mine?”

          I finally managed it, slamming the trunk down and successfully making Adam wince.

          “Because it’s loud and obnoxious, and screams money, just like its owner,” I snapped.

          “Ouch,” he muttered sarcastically.

“Let’s go.”

          I slid into the passenger seat and moments later, Adam was beside me, now looking amused. He revved the engine and we peeled out smoothly. I desperately tried not to like his car, but it was proving really difficult.

          What a gorgeous car. Imagine riding in this every frickin’ day. Whoever became Adam’s girlfriend would be one lucky girl.

          I froze. Blasphemy. What had I just thought? I should be pitying the poor girl, instead of envying her. A thousand Porsches wouldn’t make Adam any more tolerable.

          I think I said the last bit out loud, because Adam gave me an irked glance. “You’re insufferable,” he muttered under his breath.

          “Then in the future, how about staying away from me?” I suggested, glad to help.

          “I’ve been staying away from you all week! You think I enjoy running into you?”

          I thought about how much I would enjoy running into him. With a car. The thought of squashing Adam flat cheered me up hugely, and I spent several happy minutes picturing his funeral.

          Only in Adam’s case, we’d have to bury him face-down. So he could see where he was going.

          Chuckling at the expression Adam would make if I’d said that out loud, I turned around to see him glaring at me.

          Oh. That had been out loud. I clamped a hand over my mouth, terrified of what he could do to me, even with both hands on the wheel.

          See, this is what happens when I’m not properly awake. I lose track of what I say and what I think. It’s like I lose control of keeping my thoughts to myself, and---

          “Would you just shut up already? You’ve got, like, word diarrhoea or something!” a pained Adam finally demanded.

          I sighed.

          I turned to watch the scenery flashing by as Adam effortlessly guided the car along winding, secluded roads. A placid lake rose on our left, and I noticed just how this looked like a perfect Porsche commercial.

          Appearances can be deceiving, because I wasn’t here on a romantic getaway with Adam. Though I certainly wouldn’t have minded getting away.