Page 31 of Trailer Park Billionaire
Better.
Ben watches me in the mirror on the wall. It’s hard to read his face. Usually, it’s sporting a trained smile that oozes charm. Now, his brow is furrowed. But I guess that’s better than the angry stare from before.
With my heartbeat back to almost a normal speed and sound, I sling my bag over my shoulder. “Now, pray tell—what are you doing here? We didn’t have an appointment to look at more paintings, did we?”
Ben runs a hand through his hair and shakes his head. “No, no. I was just in the area and figured I’d drop by and see if you had time. But now I’m thinking I’ll take you home instead. Or maybe to the ER. Has a doctor taken a look at you yet?”
“That won’t be necessary,” I say, then pause at the doorway. Trying not to let him know what I’m doing, I listen for any footsteps in the hallway before slipping out of the classroom. Then I quickly head for the door, before Elaine or any of my colleagues can spot me.
Ben follows right along.
“We’ll have to postpone looking at the paintings. I’m afraid I’ve got plans today. I need to go through my grandpa’s belongings to see what I want to keep.”
It’s Friday, which means my routine allows for an evening of doing nothing. Which means I have time to clear out my grandpa’s apartment. If I could avoid it, I would, but I’m hoping to find some clues as to what he’s gotten himself mixed up in.
“Well, if you’re afraid of your plans,” Ben says, “then you should let me help. I’ll take you to your grandpa’s. I’m an excellent bodyguard and an even better driver.” He hurries to open the staff entrance for me. “And doorman,” he adds with that damned smile of his.
I consider my options for a moment, and even though I’m not thrilled about breaking my personal no-associating-(with-strangers) rule, letting him drive me does make a lot of sense. It’d be quicker. And maybe—just maybe—it’d be good to have someone as strong as Ben around, in case a gang of violent men is waiting for me there too.
“You sure?” I ask as he gestures toward the parking lot already. “You’re probably busy doing… whatever it is you do on a Friday evening.”
“Candlelit dinner. Moonlit stroll. Intense, smoldering eye contact. The usual. But that can wait, don’t you worry.” He winks at me as he smoothly reaches his hand around my waist and maneuvers me over to his right side, away from the traffic in the street.
“Well, I wouldn’t want to ruin your date…”
“Oh, no. Not a date,” he interjects. “Just a meeting with my accountant.”
“Over candlelit dinner, moonlit strolls and intense, smoldering eye contact?”
Ben shrugs. “It’s important to keep your financial advisors emotionally invested in your success. But like we established already?—”
“You’re very rich and powerful,” I finish his joke, deadpan. “Which is why you can take the evening off to save a damsel in distress?”
“Can’t allow gravity to get the upper hand now, can we?” he quips and points at the big RV parked in the corner of the lot.
I think about it for another second, then decide that I can’t just accept his help for free. Him helping me should at least be transactional—just so he doesn’t get the wrong idea of me being interested in him, or what other dumb ideas men usually get. “Fine,” I say, “but I’m going to pay you back for the gas and your time.”
$100,000…
I can’t even pay for dinner anymore.
“If you insist,” Ben agrees with a shrug. “Now, if you’d please follow me this way.”
We cross the street and eventually make it to our ride. It’s the same vehicle that took me to my grandpa’s last time.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone rich and powerful drive an RV before,” I observe out loud.
Ben laughs, opens the door, and waits for me to get in. “That’s because people are bad at being rich and powerful. See, why would I waste money on an expensive sports car if I’d just bang my head every time I got in and could never even hit sixty since most of my driving is in the city anyway?” He closes the door behind me, rounds the vehicle, and gets in himself. “Real luxury is this.” Ben smacks the wheel, accidentally setting off the horn, startling me with the loud sound. “It’s having as much legroom as you want, a kitchen for when you’re hungry, your own bathroom, and even a bed if you get tired. Try fitting all those amenities into a Porsche.”
I slowly nod as he starts the engine. Weirdly enough, that all makes sense to me. I guess when you’re actually rich, status symbols don’t mean nearly as much as actual comfort.
“By the way,” Ben brushes some imaginary dust off my shoulder before pointing at my back, “I love your jacket.”
“Oh, thanks,” I say, glancing at it—only to see little blue and brown handprints all over. “It’s a collaboration piece. My grandpa, Ed, sewed it together and painted it, and the highlights were added by an upcoming new artist called Sketchy Ryan.”
Ben smiles, grabs the headrest behind me, and begins reversing the car. “Tell me about that. Iris called it ‘Ooops, I Arted’ class?”
I nod and check to make sure the little handprints on my back are actually dry. “There’s not much to tell. I thought itwould be a good idea to have art classes for kids. So I started teaching art classes for kids. That’s about it.”
