“Idiot,” I mumbled, circling around the hood of his Bugatti to take the driver’s seat. “Hello, darling,” I whispered to the car as I stroked the leather steering wheel. “Stop dirty-talking my car, Squirrel,” Royce complained as he strapped himself in and blasted the heat. “It’s making me jealous.” I grinned and jokingly moaned when the engine roared to life. The panicked stare Royce shot my way made me laugh out loud, but I focused on not crashing his three-million-dollar car as I eased out of the parking space.
