Page 18 of The Mogul: Leonard

“No, I don’t need your help,” I grumble while trying again—and failing—to start my car.

He raises his judging eyebrow. “Are you sure about that?”

His condescending tone is even more infuriating than his face. But he has a point. Betty won’t start anytime soon.

“Can you give me a jump start with your limo? The battery is dead.” I glimpse past him to his driver, dutifully waiting beside the car.

“No, but I can give you a ride,” he says.

“I don’t want a ride. I want to go home with my car.”

“Why? Are you worried someone will steal it? You’ll find this piece of crap here tomorrow when you come back with a new battery.” He is annoyed.

“Don’t talk like that about Betty!” I scold him, and he fights a smile.

I get out of the car, tired and without any strength left to fight with him.

“Fine!” I accept his help for the second time tonight.

He puts a hand on my back to guide me to the limo, and the feelings from our dance try to resurface in my stomach. I squash them down as fast as they come up.

The drive to my apartment is silent and tense. Neither of us wants to acknowledge what happened tonight on that dance floor. He was affected as much as I was, I saw it in how he was startled by Raphael’s interruption. It seems I’m not the only one who avoids talking about their feelings. Things between us are complicated, to say the least, and maybe the solution is to stay as far as possible from each other.

“Thank you for the ride,” I mutter, grabbing the door handle and trying to get out of the car. He stops me, grabbing my wrist, and I can’t stop comparing his firm but delicate grip to that of the surfer boy.

He looks out of the tinted window, taking in the homeless population in this area.

“I’ll come with you. It’s not safe,” he states in a way that won’t take a no for an answer.

I roll my eyes but avoid fighting back. I step out of the car and walk toward my front door.

“Hi, Sam. How are you doing tonight?” I ask the homeless man sleeping on the concrete next to the entrance.

“Hey, gorgeous! You look stunning tonight.” He winks at me with his head leaning on the rags I think are his spare clothes.

I chuckle. “Thanks! Have a good night.”

He eyes Leonard behind me and grins, showing his yellow teeth. “You too!”

I look back toward my escort and study his frown. He is not completely convinced I’m safer here than among the fancy people at the party.

He walks me to the door, and stands still until I find my keys in my purse.

“Do you think I’m safe now, or do you want to come in to check if there’s someone who wants to kill me?” I joke, but I don’t even want to contemplate the idea of having him in my apartment.

“No, I think you’re safe. Nobody would dare to interact with a pain in the ass like you, not even to kill you,” he fires back.

I open the door, and when I finally close it behind me without looking back, I sigh in relief.

“So this is why you didn’t want me at the party? Because you were going with that asshole? Are you fucking him?”

I was so focused on getting rid of Leonard that I didn’t even notice Spike waiting for me in the dimly lit living room.

Annoyance rises in my chest. “You know what, Spike? Who I fuck or don’t fuck is none of your business. You should spend more time fighting for someone actually interested in you as more than a friend than my personal life.”

I leave him there, confused by my suggestion, and walk to my room, more confused than him by the turn this evening took.

The most unsettling part is that I don’t know if I’m angrier at the fact that I shared an intimate moment with Leonard or the fact that I actually liked it.

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