Page 27 of My Big Fat Fake Alien

"You're not seriously going to that, are you?" Madison leans against my doorframe, her arms crossed. "I mean, washing cars in a bikini for tips seems beneath someone worth ten million dollars."

I sit up, rubbing sleep from my eyes. "I haven't touched the money."

"What? Why not?"

"It doesn't feel real." I pull my knees to my chest. "Like any minute now someone's going to tell me it was all a mistake. Besides, if I suddenly quit, Giscard will know something's up. He thinks Kirk and I are actually engaged."

Madison's face softens. She crosses the room and wraps me in a tight hug. "You're an idiot, you know that?"

"Yeah, well..." I squeeze her back. "Takes one to know one."

"Come on." She pulls away, heading for the kitchen. "I'm making poached eggs on toast, and you're going to eat something before you go shake your money maker for Manhattan's elite."

"You don't have to-"

"Shut up and let me feed you." The sound of pots clanking punctuates her words. "That's what friends are for."

After breakfast, I pull on yoga pants and a t-shirt over my skimpy G-string bikini, the one required uniform for the charity car wash. My fingers hover over my phone as I open the banking app where the money Karc had transferred sat untouched, a string of zeroes that made my head spin.

"Guess I’m not materialistic or greedy," I mutter, tapping the screen to make a donation to the homeless shelter hosting the car wash. The payment goes through without a hiccup. I check the balance again, half-expecting it to have disappeared like some cruel joke. Nope. Still there. Still real.

I take a cab to the car wash, my stomach in knots. The driver’s radio blares some pop song I can’t focus on. My mind keeps drifting back to last night, to the way Karc had looked at me, to the way he’d touched me. And then, to the way I’d shut him down. I flinch at the memory.

When I arrive, the parking lot is buzzing with volunteers in tiny swimsuits, hoses in hand, laughing as they soap up luxury cars. I head to the check-in table, but my manager cuts me off before I can grab a sponge.

“Raven,” she says, her tone clipped. “Your services have been purchased. For the day. All day.”

I blink. “What? By who?”

“Some VIP. He’s in spot twelve.”

My blood boils. This reeks of some rich creep trying to buy me like I’m a damn commodity. My fists clench as I storm over to spot twelve, ready to give whoever it is a piece of my mind. But when I see the McLaren, my anger falters.

Karc’s leaning against the hood, a massive bouquet of roses in one hand. He’s in a crisp white shirt and dark jeans, his golden eyes locking onto mine as I approach. The smirk on his face is infuriating. And irresistible.

“What are you doing here?” I demand, crossing my arms.

“Purchasing your services,” he says, his voice smooth, like he’s savoring every word. “For the day.”

“And what exactly do you think you’re getting for that?”

His smirk widens. “Your company. Maybe a car wash if you’re feeling generous.”

I glare at him, but I don’t really mean it.

He holds out the roses. “For you.”

I hesitate, then take them, the scent of roses wrapping around me like his arms had the night before. “You’re not just trying to buy me, are you?”

His expression softens, the smirk fading into something more sincere. “No, Raven. I’m trying to earn you.”

My heart skips a beat, but I force myself to stay grounded. “And what if I’m not for sale?”

“Good thing I’m not shopping.” He steps closer, his voice dropping. “I’m courting.”

I swallow hard, my resolve wavering. “You’re playing a dangerous game.”

“Only because you’re worth the risk.” He reaches out, his fingers brushing mine. “So, what’ll it be? Are you washing my car, or am I washing yours?”

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