9:48 a.m. — West Hollywood
Ariella Monroe stepped out of the penthouse elevator looking like she'd been hit by a glitter truck. She wasn't exactly a morning person, but the public figure lifestyle won't let her.
Her driver was already waiting by the SUV, looking like he'd stepped out of a men's magazine. All sharp jawlines and pressed uniforms. Great. Another boy scout.
She popped a piece of gum and gave him her best "I dare you to say something" smile.
"You're early," she announced, voice scratchy from too much champagne and pills.
"You're two hours late," he replied, not even looking up from checking his watch.
Oh, this one has an attitude. How refreshing.
Ariella flung the car door open harder than necessary. "Hope you're not too attached to this job, you might quit soon..... or get fired"
Leo Cruz had dealt with insurgents in Afghanistan who were less hostile than this girl.
He'd read her file, of course.
Ariella Monroe: 22, trust fund princess, professional party girl, and apparently dedicated to making every employee's life miserable. The previous drivers' reports painted a picture of someone who treated staff like disposable toys.
He slid into the driver's seat, adjusted the mirror, and caught her staring at him with undisguised challenge.
"Buckle up," he said simply.
"Make me."
Leo started the engine. "I don't get paid enough to babysit."
In the rearview mirror, he saw her eyes flash.
Good. Let her know exactly where they stood from day one.
10:15 a.m. — Mulholland Drive
"I want to stop a bit," Ariella announced, rolling down the window and letting her hair whip around like she was in some kind of music video.
"No."
"Excuse me?"
"You heard me. No stops. You're already late for your appointment."
She leaned forward, breath hitting the back of his neck. "Are you my dad or something?"
"I'm your driver and need to get you to your appointments on time."
Ariella sat back, actually stunned. Nobody talked back at her like that. Not the staff, not her father's business partners, definitely not the help.
"I could have you fired right now," she said, voice dangerously quiet.
"Go ahead." Leo's eyes met hers in the mirror, steady and completely unimpressed.
Her mouth fell open. This guy had actual nerve.*
"You think you're so tough?" she challenged.
"I think I'm doing my job."
"Your job is to drive me where I want to go."
"My job is to drive you where you need to be. Big difference."
Ariella felt her temper spike. "Pull over."
"No."
"I said pull over!"
"And I said no." Leo took a curve smoothly, completely unbothered by her rising voice. "We'll be at the salon in ten minutes. You can survive that long."
She stared at the back of his head, fury building. This wasn't how this was supposed to go. They were supposed to be intimidated by her, desperate to please her, walking on eggshells around Daddy's precious daughter.
Not... whatever this was.
Testing Boundaries
"You saw or heard what happened before you were hired?" Ariella asked, switching tactics.
"Don't care."
"I could make you crash this car and have you blamed for it."
Leo's expression didn't change. "Sounds like what you'd really do."
She blinked. He wasn't shocked, wasn't even paying attention. Just... driving.
Ariella sat back, genuinely frustrated. Nothing was landing. Every weapon in her arsenal was just bouncing off this guy like he was made of armor.
"What's your deal?" she finally asked.
"I don't have a deal. I drive you places and get paid. Simple transaction."
"Nobody's that simple."
"You'd be surprised."
She studied his profile in the mirror. Sharp features, dark hair cut military-short, hands steady on the wheel. There were tiny scars on his knuckles and a tension in his shoulders that spoke of someone who'd seen real trouble.
Beverly Hills — Somehow Still Late
Leo pulled up to the marble-fronted building with its ridiculous valet stand and army of assistants waiting to fawn over her. The whole scene made Ariella's skin crawl.
She sat in the backseat for a moment, not moving.
"This isn't over," she said finally.
Leo looked at her in the mirror, and for the first time, she caught something that might have been amusement in his dark eyes.
"Oh, okay."
She got out, heels clicking on the sidewalk, and turned back to look at him through the passenger window.
"I'm going to make your life hell," she promised.
"Looking forward to it, Miss Monroe."
The way he said her name made something twist in her stomach. Not fear, not anger, but something else entirely.
As she walked toward the salon entrance, she realized she was actually looking forward to the ride home.
As Leo sat outside the salon, he found himself thinking about the girl in his backseat. She was exactly what he'd expected and nothing like he'd prepared for.
Spoilt? Absolutely. Reckless? Without question.
His phone buzzed. A text from his sister:
"Haven't seen you for a while, hope you're good"
He stared at the message for a moment, then typed back:
"I'm okay ,just work."
He put the phone away and settled back to wait.