“My paint is still on your car.” I point to the streak of black marring the front bumper.

“Maybe you put it there,” Mar says.

“Seriously? Well, if you had bothered to stop and get out of your car to look at what you did instead of driving off, you would know. You fled the scene. That’s a crime,” I point out. “Punishable by law.”

That gets her back up. “I panicked! And obviously you can afford to have it fixed. Look at you.” She motions to my suit. “What is this, an Armani?”

“It’s a Tom Ford, actually, and I could’ve called the cops and reported it. Do you have any idea what the fine is for that?”

Rian holds a hand up in front of her sister’s face. “Can you stop talking and get the insurance card out of the glove box? This is so embarrassing.” She directs her next comment at me. “I appreciate you not calling the police on my sister.”

“Especially since it was an accident,” her sister chimes in.

Rian grabs her sister by the arm and hauls her about fifteen feet away. They have a brief whispered, but heated, conversation. When they return, Rian passes the keys to her sister. “Get in the car, please.”

“What? Why?”

“Because I’d like to avoid making this situation worse.” Rian has a stare down with her sister that lasts all of four seconds. She heads for the driver’s side until Rian stops her. “Passenger side.” There’s a lot of huffing and muttering of profanity as she rounds the hood and throws herself into the passenger seat.

I feel a little bad for Rian as she rummages around in the glove compartment and produces the insurance card and her license since her sister doesn’t have hers, especially considering how stressed she seems to be over the cost of the repairs. I have her number now, which is nice, although it’s come with quite the price tag.

Rian rubs her forehead with a sigh. “If you can forward me the quote and the bill for the repairs, we’ll work something out. I don’t know if it’s possible to avoid going through insurance, but we’ll manage it, however it suits you best, considering the circumstances.”

“I’ll get everything to you in the next couple of days.” I hand her back her purse.

“Great.” She gives me a smile that in no way matches that single affirmative word. “I’ll just wait until you leave before I do, you know, to avoid further potential damage to your very pretty, very expensive car.”

“Your thoughtfulness is much appreciated.” I give her a wink, to which she responds with pursed lips, flushed cheeks, and a muttered right.

I motion for her to get in her car before I get in mine. I even go so far as to hold the door open for her, like the gentleman I can sometimes be. She gives me a strained, slightly frustrated smile as I close her door, then get into my own car.

Her windows aren’t tinted the way mine are. So despite her best efforts, I can clearly see she and her sister are having some kind of tight-lipped argument. Her sister is also flailing her arms all over the place. Which is quite entertaining. I’m only half paying attention to what’s behind me as I back out of my spot, and nearly end up getting hit by a little old lady, also driving a powder-blue Buick.

Rian’s eyes are wide, one hand covering her mouth as I slam on the brakes and narrowly miss losing the back end of my car.

Once the old lady passes, and I’m sure I’m in the clear, I back the rest of the way out and give Rian a jaunty wave as I pass her car.

Her sister is right. I don’t need the money. In fact, if I wanted to, I could replace this Tesla with a brand new one. But that’s not really how I do things. Just because I have access to excessive funds, doesn’t mean I want to fritter them away on unnecessary toys. Well, more than the ones I already have. I secured three quotes for the repair to make sure my dealership wasn’t trying to scam me.

Regardless, it’s the principle that matters. Hitting someone else’s car in a parking lot and driving away is a shitty thing to do. And while I feel bad that Rian seems to be the one taking the heat for it, someone needs to assume ownership for the mistake.

Besides, it’ll give me an opportunity to talk to her again. And despite her prickly demeanor, or maybe because of it, I’m hoping it’s going to be her I deal with.

CHAPTER 3

NEGOTIATIONS

RIAN

“I seriously can’t believe you!” I keep a tight grip on the steering wheel so I don’t end up flailing, as my hands want to do when I’m agitated like this.

“That guy was a total asshole.” Marley slouches down in the passenger seat with her arms crossed over her chest like a petulant teenager. Which isn’t far from reality some days. It’s hard to believe she entered the world before I did, considering her lack of maturity in this current situation. Those three extra minutes of life haven’t made her any more aware of the repercussions of her actions.

“You hit his car! He had every right to be an a-hole.” I’m still going to perseverate on the cleavage comment, and maybe find a way to use that sexist remark to my advantage when it comes to managing paying for the paint job.

“He was parked way too close to me. It’s his own damn fault I hit his stupid, pretentious car.”

“Well, I guess you should’ve waited him out and told him about his subpar parking job instead of ruining his paint job. Like we can afford three thousand dollars in repairs right now!”

“We’ll have the money when we sell those two houses on the beach in a couple of weeks, and the trust comes due soon, so it’s not even really an issue.”

“The commission and the trust aren’t supposed to be for some guy’s paint job.”

“Well, he seems to like your rack. I say you use your boobs to get some kind of Tesla repair discount so we don’t have to use the commission money.” Marley pulls out her phone and taps away on the keypad.

“I’m not using my boobs to get a discount.” I’d like to say it’s odd that my sister and I often have the same train of thought, but it’s not. Being twins means that we frequently already know what the other one is thinking, or planning, before it happens. The more I think about it, the more I consider the validity of her suggestion, regardless of how abhorrent it seems.

She gives me her bitch brow. It’s the expression where she arches a brow evilly, with a knowing look. “Why the hell not? That asshole was hot, which are two of your favorite qualities in a man. And rich. He’s a rich, hot asshole. And he thinks you’re hot.”

“I do not like hot a-holes, and he does not think I’m hot.” The truth is, I have a very bad track record when it comes to dating attractive men; they always turn out to be grade-A jerkfaces. I hit the brakes when the light turns yellow and come to a stop before it changes to red. It annoys the person behind me, but I’m nothing if not a safe driver, unlike my sister.

“I saw the way he was checking you out. You need to capitalize on his hormonal impulses. Use it to get us out of having to pay for his scratched paint.”

“Are you suggesting I sleep with him so we don’t have to pay for the repairs?” I don’t know why I sound appalled. I shouldn’t be the least bit surprised that Marley has intimated this. It’s totally something she would consider.

“I didn’t say anything about sleeping with him, but I find it interesting that’s where your head went.”