Pride, Prejudice, and Other Flavors (The Rajes #1)(76)

He tamped down on his usual worry reflex. She didn’t need his worry. Maybe she’d fallen asleep again now that he wasn’t there to watch her.

“I think I have all the information I need. I’ll call you if I have questions.”

“Call my assistant,” Mantis said with a stiff smile. “And please let Dr. Raje know it was a pleasure meeting her.”

Despite himself, DJ gave the bastard an amused look. He retrieved his briefcase and it was a good thing that he had the iPad he’d been using to take notes in the other hand, because the idea of shaking the man’s hand was not an appealing one. Nonetheless, he thanked him before heading for the exit. Being angry at people like Mantis was an utter waste of his time. He could deal with them in his sleep. He was an acrobat, a ringmaster, anger his pet beast, the practice of his art so deeply ingrained that the rage barely even registered. Actually, that wasn’t true. It registered well enough. He had just lost his ability to let it transfer into temper.

Unless of course he was dealing with a certain long-legged snob.

He sent up a prayer that they would get through the drive back without any more eruptions or any more heart-to-hearts. He didn’t know which was worse. He was barely halfway to the car when he saw her hurrying toward him. One look at him and she jumped. He had never met anyone who acted quite so shocked every single time they saw him. One would think he arrived places by teleportation.

She held up what looked like a straightened wire hanger, her expression apologetic. “I’m really sorry, but I left your keys inside your car.”

“I beg your pardon?”

She blinked as though he had said something entirely unexpected, then she shook her head. “I grabbed my phone and I thought I’d come back to the ballroom. I realized it wasn’t fair to leave you to suffer Praying Mantis by yourself. I swear I thought I had the keys in my hand, but when I got there I realized that they were missing. I went back to look for them and they’re in the car. It’s the twenty-first century! Who makes cars that let you lock your keys inside?”

“It’s a 1980 Nine Eleven,” he said, feeling, among other things, the need to make a case for Betsy’s beauty.

His indignation was entirely lost on her. “AAA can’t get here for another hour, they’re backed up. And I need to get back to take Nisha to the doctor.” That last part made a panicked look cross her face, but she pulled herself together and pointed the wire at the car. “Let’s hurry.”

He followed her across the street, easily matching her stride. “What’s the hanger for?” And why were they hurrying?

“To slide through the window to open the door,” she said as though it made perfect sense. “The windows are not all the way up.”

He stopped in his tracks. “You’re planning to break into the car?”

She held the hanger out to him. “Actually, I was hoping you would do it.”

He massaged his temples, anger collecting inside him so fast his fingers shook. “Is there a reason why you believe that I can break into cars?”

“What? No! You jump to the most absurd conclusions, you know that?”

“Not that I think I need to say this, but I’ve never broken into a car or stolen anything in my life.”

“I know that! But you seem to know about cars. That’s all I meant.”

He studied her. Even if she hadn’t meant to imply that he was somehow adept at breaking into cars, she had to be crazy not to see the obvious flaw with her plan. “Do you realize what it would look like if someone saw me breaking into a Porsche on these streets?” He wasn’t from around here, but he did watch the bloody news. Didn’t she?

She had the gall to look amused. “Come on. Seriously? You think someone would think you—dressed in that two-hundred-dollar shirt and with that choirboy face—that you would be stealing a car? You need to chill out. This is California!”

Was she for real? That out-of-control roller coaster he’d been riding all afternoon crashed right back into anger. “Has no one ever looked at you and seen nothing but the color of your skin? What the hell is wrong with you? How can you act so . . . so white?”

She balked at that, shock sharpening her features. “I don’t act white. I don’t act anything.”

All he could do was throw up his hands. It was not his job to set every numbskull straight. It was definitely not his job to set some clueless, overprivileged brown girl who had no idea she was brown straight. “I’m just going to wait for the mechanic to get here, if you don’t mind.” He leaned against the car’s bonnet and crossed his arms.

The sun was still high and hot in the sky, and the air was suffused with the smell of the bay mixed with the garlic and soy aroma from the Chinese restaurant behind them.

Her phone buzzed and she looked at the text that had just come through. “It’s Nisha,” she said. “I really have to get home.”

He didn’t care. He wasn’t stupid enough to care.

“Fine.” She slid the hanger through the open gap in the window. “But it’s broad daylight. Nothing is going to happen.” Her eyes narrowed in concentration over the gleaming yellow top of the car.

Being arrogant and feeling as entitled as the bloody Queen was all good and dandy, but he had never expected her to be ignorant, of all things. He watched as she fiddled with the hanger. This was such a bad idea. “Where did you manage to get that from?”