Page 105 of How to Train Your Billionaire

“That’s what I was hoping for.”

She looks up at me, and for a second her walls drop completely. I see the girl who used to eat gas station snacks and name Wi-Fi networks after terrible puns.

“So,” she says, closing the bag carefully. “Where are we going?”

“It’s a surprise.”

“I hate surprises.”

“No, you don’t.”

“How would you know?”

“Because you spent months traveling with Charles, never knowing where you’d wake up. And you loved every minute of it.”

She opens her mouth to argue, then closes it. Point to me.

My car’s waiting at the curb. A black Tesla, because I didn’t want to hire a driver tonight. I wanted her all to myself without anyone eavesdropping.

“Nice ride,” she says as I open her door.

“Thanks.”

I programmed the GPS this morning, double-checked the route, called ahead to confirm reservations. I have everything planned down to the minute.

Except for the traffic jam on the FDR that adds forty minutes to our drive.

“Where exactly are we going?” Frankie asks as we crawl through Midtown.

“Patience.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“It’s the only answer you’re getting.”

She huffs and opens her Swedish Fish, popping one in her mouth. The smell fills the car—artificial cherry and childhood memories.

“Want one?”

“I’m good.”

“More for me.”

We inch forward another few feet. At this rate, we’ll miss our reservation entirely.

“You’re stressed,” Frankie observes.

“I’m fine.”

“Your jaw’s doing that ticcing thing.”

I consciously relax my face. “What ticcing thing?”

“The thing where you clench your teeth when you’re trying not to lose your shit.”

She knows me too well.

“Traffic happens. It’s fine.”