Ravenplume Peak wasn’t nearly as menacing in the daylight as it was at night, but the winding mountain roads were still a nightmare to drive.
“Come on, Mr. Winslow–are you being serious right now?” Niamh leaned out her window, her voice carrying across the gap between her and Preston Winslow.
She was sitting in a sunset–orange BMW coupe, courtesy of Preston himself.
He was driving an identical model, except his was a sleek matte gray.
Truth be told, if you asked Niamh, their personalities would suit the colors swapped–she was more of the matte gray type, and Preston, with his brash energy, was made for sunset orange.
“A man’s word is his bond!” Preston grinned and shot her a dramatic thumbs–up.
They used an app to set the start signal, and the two cars shot off in unison.
For a moment, they were neck and neck. But it wasn’t long before Niamh’s orange coupe surged ahead, leaving Preston’s gray BMW in the dust.
By the time Niamh reached the finish, she’d been waiting by her car so long her legs were starting to ache before Preston finally rolled up.
He climbed out, feigning disappointment. “Honestly, I thought with everything you’ve had going on lately, your driving would suffer. I figured maybe, just maybe, I’d have a chance at beating you this time!”
Niamh couldn’t help but laugh. “Maybe mood does affect driving, but… who says I’ve been in a bad mood lately?”
Preston started to answer, then caught himself and clamped a hand over his
mouth.
Everyone in their business circle knew about Niamh’s scandals. Preston had wanted to reach out for ages, but his father had forbidden it. Now, with the rumor mill painting Niamh as a walking disaster–someone you’d be insane to get involved with–Preston had waited and waited, hoping things would blow over. When her name finally dropped off the trending list, he’d wasted no time in calling her up and inviting her out for a race.
“Forget all that,” Preston said, forcing a smile. “Let’s talk about our little contest.”
Niamh managed a wry smile. What was there to say? She’d wiped the floor with
him.
20-27?
Preston cleared his throat, trying to look serious. “Alright. I lost, you won, so as promised, I owe you half a million dollars.”
Niamh stared at him, taken aback. “We never agreed to that.”
“I agreed to it in my head,” Preston insisted, pressing a bank card into her hand. “Doesn’t matter. You won, you get the prize.”
She dodged the card, refusing to take it.
It hit her then–this whole race had been an excuse. What Preston really wanted was to give her money.
“What’s the big deal? You won, just take the prize,” Preston’s cheeks reddened. “Or… just think of it as me making up for being a jerk before.”
It was obvious that Preston wasn’t going to give this up.
“Fine, call it a personal investment,” he said, flustered as Niamh continued to refuse. “When you’re back on your feet and making a fortune, you can pay me dividends or whatever.”
He was earnest, his face burning with embarrassment, yet clearly worried about her. This was his own allowance–he couldn’t touch any family or company money, so this was all he could offer.
“Is it not enough?” he blurted.
“No, no, it’s not that.” Niamh shook her head quickly, worried he’d take it the wrong
way.
She just didn’t want Preston’s charity.
Because Preston… was Jonathan’s friend.
She could tell Preston was acting on his own, not at Jonathan’s behest. But she couldn’t get past the nagging feeling that if she accepted his help, Jonathan would find out and she’d never hear the end of it.
Preston watched her intently, searching her face for any sign of what she was really thinking.
