Until April (Until Her/Him #10)(62)

No thank you.

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SITTING IN A private office at the Tesla dealership three hours later, I stare at a tiny die cast Model X on the desk in front of me. With my arms crossed over my chest, I don’t even attempt to hide the sour look on my face as the salesman goes on and on about the car Maxim just purchased. Even as annoyed as I am, being here against my will, I can still admit it is a very cool car, and not having to pay for gas or maintenance is huge when owning a car. And if I could afford to spend a small fortune on a vehicle, I’d buy one for myself.

That said, I don’t want to be here, and as soon as Maxim gives me my cell phone and keys, which he took before he physically carried me from my house, I’m escaping and going to one of my sisters’ houses for the night. And hopefully no one will tell him where I am.

“So,” our salesman Johnny says, placing his hands on his desk before he stands. “Your car should be ready for pickup in a few weeks, depending on shipping, and I’ll call you as soon as it arrives.” He holds out his hand to Maxim, who takes it when he stands and mutters something before he looks down at me. I glare at him as he reaches for me and fight the urge to kick him when his lips twitch.

I don’t take his hand. Instead, I push up out of my chair and pick up my cup of coffee, which is actually really good coffee for a car dealership, then grab my half-eaten candy bar and the two bags of chips I picked up from the waiting room. Johnny, like he’s done since we arrived, gives me a wide berth as I pass him, saying a quiet goodbye, and I muster up a smile as we leave the office.

When we get outside to the parking lot, Maxim opens the door for me to get in, and I do, then watch him walk around the hood to the driver side. As soon as he gets inside, I hold my hand out toward him.

“Can I have my keys and phone please?” I ask.

“No.” He starts his car, and I think about attacking him to get them back, but he backs out of his parking spot, leaving me no choice but to stay safely buckled in my seat.

“Are you hungry?” He glances over at me quickly before pulling out on the main street. “I was thinking we could have lunch at Restoration Hardware, then look around.”

Not wanting to give in to him, but also not wanting to miss out on eating at the café in Restoration Hardware, which has amazing food—plus, shopping there after—I give a noncommittal grunt, and he laughs. “Don’t gloat.”

“Never, baby.” He places his hand on my thigh, and without thinking, I cover his hand with mine, and he flips his hand over, lacing our fingers together.

When we get to the parking garage near Restoration, we park on the second floor, and as I get out, I notice a familiar-looking guy slam the door of a brand-new cherry red Mercedes across from us. His eyes lock with mine as he walks past me, and I register why I know him. He hasn’t changed one bit since the night he called Harris that disgusting name, and even if he doesn’t remember me, I for sure remember him. As he heads for the elevator, I feel Maxim get close and his hand come to rest against my lower back.

“Who’s that?” he asks, but I don’t answer. I take my bag off my shoulder and walk to the hood of Maxim’s car, set it down, and start to dig through it. “What are you looking for?” he questions, and that’s when my hand wraps around the cool piece of metal—a gift from Uncle Nico when I turned sixteen.

Maybe not the most traditional gift for a teenage girl, but it’s one I always have with me, and one that has come in handy more than once. Pulling out the multitool, I leave my bag where it is, then flip out the largest knife and walk to the red Benz.

“April,” Maxim calls as he follows, but I ignore him as I lean down just enough to slam my hand into one of the tires, then jerk it back, hearing a hiss. “What the fuck?” he mutters, and again, I ignore him and walk to the next tire and start to do the same thing. But before I can make contact with the tire, his hand wraps around my wrist, stopping me. “Talk to me.” I look up at him, and his eyes scan over my face. “Who was that?”

“The guy who called Harris a—”

“Right,” he cuts me off before I can say the word, then with one move, he takes the tool from my hand and slams it into the tire before leaving me where I’m standing and doing the same thing to the other two on the opposite side of the car. Looking at me over the roof, he orders, “Get in the car. We’re leaving.”

I don’t argue; I hustle to his car, grab my bag, get in, then wait for him to join me. As soon as he’s behind the wheel, he hands me the multitool, and I drop it in my purse.

“He deserved that,” I tell him, with my heart beating a million miles a minute.

“Yeah, he did, but next time we’re going to commit a felony, at least give me a heads up.”

“I hope there isn’t a next time,” I tell him, not trying to be funny, but he laughs anyway. “Do you think they got us on camera?”

“I’ll make a call as soon as we get out of the parking garage and make sure we’re covered.”

“Okay,” I whisper, feeling freaked out and a tad bit guilty now that I’m no longer riding on a vengeance and adrenaline high.

“At least you gave me a valid reason to get out of shopping,” he mutters, and I laugh, resting my head back against my seat. Then I turn my gaze his way, and he looks over at me and shakes his head. “Love you, crazy woman.”