Page 8 of Take the Wheel

But when you worked for the wealthy, practicality was not usually at the forefront of their agenda. Not unless they were too drunk to know what they were doing and had staggered into the nearest Rest Easy Inn to recover from a heavy night. But if Nancy was on call, she was there to make sure the standards of good living were met.

Sandra Stark had made that clear from the start: ‘I’ve worked hard to get to my position. I want Arianna to live a life that reflects that. I know you’re not her babysitter, and you can’t force her to do anything. Just point her in the right direction. If you’re in doubt about what that direction is, think of how a princess would be treated. Not the kind locked in a tower. This isn’t Disney. But a real, working princess, who is always where she’s supposed to be and makes a show of being in touch with the people.’

Nancy had nodded, keeping her expression neutral. It wasn’t the first time she’d been given a speech like this. The wealthy never liked to think they were hiring glorifiedbabysitters, but they all wanted the same thing: someone to smooth out the rough edges and make sure their reckless, spoiled loved ones didn’t veer too far off course.

Ari would have been sickened to hear herself described in those words, and Nancy never repeated them to her. She had to sit somewhere in the middle of the two people—the one who paid her and the one she drove around—and keep them both happy.

So a place with harsh overhead lighting, scratchy sheets, and a vending machine for dinner wouldn’t do—Sandra wouldn’t like it. What exactly Ari wanted was hard to say. If she wanted to give her opinion, she did and would. But often, she just let things go where they went. And that was wherever Nancy was driving her.

Nancy slowed in front of the entrance, putting the car into park. Ari didn’t move at first. She was still scrolling through her phone, her face lit by its cold glow. Nancy took the opportunity to watch her, half expecting a reaction when she finally noticed where they were. But Ari just sighed, slipped the phone into her coat pocket, and undid her seatbelt with a quiet click.

Inside, the lobby was warm and quiet, all marble and soft lighting, designed to feel expensive without being ostentatious. The concierge greeted them with the kind of detached politeness that Nancy liked: efficient, discreet, no judgment.

Nancy slid the platinum card that Ari’s mother had given her across the desk. The room rate barely registered. The part of her brain that was surprised at the excess had been switched off years ago. Sleep was all Nancy cared about now. It was a long drive. She was ready to go to the smallest room the place had once Ari was settled in the best.

Ari lingered beside her, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. She wasn’t looking at Nancy or the concierge—justthe phone she’d pulled out again, checking something with a frown.

‘You’re booked into two rooms?’ the concierge checked.

Nancy nodded. The key cards slid across the counter. Nancy took them, passing one to Ari as she nodded towards the lift. ‘Come on.’

The ride up was silent except for the soft chime of floor numbers passing. Nancy leaned against the wall, rubbing her thumb over the edge of her key card. She could feel Ari beside her, close but removed, her presence marked only by the occasional flicker of her phone screen.

Nancy didn’t mind. She didn’t need chatter to make her feel comfortable. The quiet was a nice place.

They stepped out into the corridor, their footsteps muffled by the thick carpet. Ari finally spoke, her voice low, like she was half-distracted.

‘Nice place.’

Nancy glanced at her. ‘Thought you wouldn’t want another Rest Easy Inn after last night.’

Ari gave a small laugh, slipping her key card into her door. And she was gone.

Nancy watched the door click shut before turning back to the elevator and heading to a different floor.

Seven

Ari sat cross-legged in the centre of the vast hotel bed, phone in hand, jaw tight with frustration. The room was lovely—exactly the kind of place she liked, with crisp white sheets and a tasteful, modern touch—but she wasn’t enjoying any of it.

She was too busy staring at her messages, waiting for someone to save her. She’d been watching rejections roll in all day, and now she was in the dregs of her contacts.

Last-minute favour, but a fun one. Fancy coming to a wedding with me? She asked Sophie, who was not a good friend, nor one she liked that much, but generally always available.

When’s the wedding?

Saturday.

Oh, babes. That’s in two days.

Yes, she was aware.

She flipped to another thread.

Elliot. Be my wedding date?

Wish I could, but I’m in New York until next week. Bad timing, sorry.

Bad timing. That was one way to put it.

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