Page 2 of His Weekend Girl
Grant looked up at his father and read the worry in his eyes. “Don’t worry, Dad.” He got up. “It already did.”
CHAPTER TWO
PRESENT…
I bet you are one pretentious fuck.
As Trixie Flowers pulled up to the Pasadena estate, which was the biggest home she’d ever seen in her entire life, she wondered if she was even in the same city.
As a rideshare driver, Trixie had seen it all. Big homes, tiny homes. Sprawling estates, poor villages. Places where Trixie knew there were cameras on her at any given moment and places where Trixie had to make sure her knife was on her just the same.
She sighed, waiting for the gate to open. The person on the other side was watching her, as they all do in neighborhoods like that. She was only in the neighborhood for a short while to know it was a rich one.
Every home had a sprawling lawn and bright lights. She saw some hidden, three-story homes behind walls that were impossible to climb without getting shot. If she had to guess, Trixie thought every home was probablyat leastfive million.
The worst customers always seemed to be the rich ones and she could never figure out why. They have all the money in the world and they still thought giving a paltry tip was doing someone a service. Oh, Trixie thought about serving her foot up someone’s a—
The gate suddenly opened and Trixie pulled in. She saw parked foreign cars. They’d cost more than she’d ever earn. The ride promised her base pay with a huge tip, but Trixie knew better than to expect one. Those types of customers rarely kept their promises.
She pulled up in the cul-de-sac and parked. She then turned down Mac Ayres to a quiet level and she rolled down the window. The front door suddenly opened and an older man with white hair, and a matching beard appeared.
Tall and broad. Sharp jaw, and strong nose. He wore a black business suit with an open collar and looked every bit of fine. It was worse – he was distractingly fine. The type of fine who made a woman stutter and lose all sorts of sense, going as far as letting a man put the tip in. “Trixie?”
“Yes,” she greeted with a smile.
“Amazing.” He got in the backseat and buckled up. He looked around the interior and appreciated how clean the car was. “Thank you for picking me up.”
“Not a problem,” Trixie pulled out and waited for the electronic gate to open. She had never been at home where there was one gate to enter and a separate one to exit. This was a different type of wealth. “Are you having a good night so far?”
The man had to think about his answer. Was it a good night? It was about as good as it was going to get. “So far, so good. You?”
Trixie nodded. It was a relatively good day of driving, she could admit. “It is.”
“So, your name on the app is Trixie,” the man began, “I’m Grant McGinnis.”
It was weird for Trixie to hear someone use both names to introduce themselves. He spoke with an authoritative, slightly bass tone. It was as if he was used to telling people not to try him. “Nice to meet you, Grant McGinnis.”
“Pleasure, likewise.” He greeted.
A small silence passed between them before Trixie continued. “So, what do you do, Grant? What’s your profession?”
“I’m a financial advisor to wealthy clients,” Grant stated with a bit of exasperation.
Trixie immediately picked up on the tone. “Sounds like an interesting career.”
“It most definitely is not,” Grant harrumphed, “a bunch of privileged trust fund babies, who call me up in the middle of the night after a weeklong cocaine bender and wonder if they can still afford that four hundred thousand Lambo they saw somewhere on vacation five years back?” He shook his head. “Bunch of privileged fucks, if you ask me.”
Trixie smiled. Grant was already becoming one of her favorite rides. “I take it you’re not wealthy?”
“Oh, I am. More so than my clients.” He dismissed her. “I just know the value of a dollar and I count every cent of it. So many people come into wealth and immediately want to show it off. Then, it becomes a competition – Keeping Up with the Joneses headasses. She has a Birkin, well, the other one needs two. He has a McMansion, well, the other needs a bigger one. It. Never. Fucking. Ends.”
Trixie smiled. It was something she would never know. “First-world problems.”
“Very much,” Grant looked around at Trixie’s modest Camry. “What about you? What are your ambitions?”
Trixie noticed Grant looking around at her car, and she wondered when was the last time he was actually in a car like hers. She had pleather seats and was meaning to upgrade, but had enough trouble keeping up with the payments. She briefly wondered when Shein and TikTok were going to go into the autoindustry. “Being a graphic designer.” Trixie smiled. “I just need time to sit down and focus on it.”
“What’s stopping you, may I ask?” Grant inquired.
