Page 39 of The Mogul: Leonard

“We’re going to a place that can help us focus on work again. I don’t know about you, but I’m completely spent, and I’m not able to think about anything at all,” I explain.

“And you have a magic place to do that?” There is amusement in her voice.

At least I distracted her from her bad mood.

“Sort of.”

When we reach the garage, she is smiling, and when I approach the old Porsche, she has a grin on her face.

“So, you can drive after all,” she taunts me.

I open the door for her and walk around the car to get in.

“It’s midnight; I can’t keep my driver on stand-by all day. He has a family,” I explain.

“He does?” She fakes surprise. “I thought he was a robot. Does he smile sometimes?”

I chuckle. I have the same question too, but apparently, he has a wife and kids, and he is pretty damn smiley with them.

We drive in silence in the less chaotic traffic of the night until we reach our destination.

“What is this place?” she asks, peeking up at the anonymous warehouse in the commercial area.

“Jesus, it’s a surprise. Can you wait literally one minute until we’re inside?” I chuckle as she rolls her eyes.

I grab the keys from my pocket and walk to the side of the building. The door opens with a squeaky noise, and when we step inside it’s completely dark. The smell of dust and spray paint is particularly strong, but Roxanne doesn’t complain.

I grab her hand and drag her with me until I find the light switch on the wall where I know it is.

“You must come here often if you know where to find the lights,” she observes, and I nod.

“The owner is a friend, and he gave me a key to come here after hours,” I explain while I guide her to another door.

“Why?” she asks.

I answer, opening the door. “It’s a rage room. If people knew I came here to smash things, they’d think I’ve lost my mind, and my company stocks would drop.”

She looks at me with pity in her eyes. “With all the money you got, you’re not even free to live. Is it really worth it?”

Her words are a punch to the gut. Not because she said them in an offensive way but because they are true. Sometimes I want to disappear and live a normal life, but even that is impossible because everybody knows my face.

I don’t answer, and fortunately, she doesn’t push the subject. “We need to put these on before we start smashing things.” I hand her coveralls, a helmet, and glasses.

“You willingly put these on over your tailored suit?” She chuckles.

“I know it sounds blasphemous, but yes. I do.” I remove my jacket and put it on a chair in the hallway.

She starts to dress in the clothes I got for her and they are clearly not her size. They are huge on her, and I lower to roll her pant legs just above her ankles.

When I look up at her, I find her wide-eyed. “What?” I frown.

“You just dropped on your knees to help me.”

“Yeah, so?” What did I do wrong?

“How do you even know how to do that? Don’t you have someone doing that for you every morning?” she asks.

“What? Dressing me? I’m capable of putting on my clothes without assistance,” I answer, a bit pissed over this ridiculous idea she has of me. Like I have someone to take care of even the most stupid tasks just because I have money. For Pete’s sake, I’m an independent adult.

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