Page 37 of Filthy Rich

To my utter shock, they actually wander off, muttering, but leaving voluntarily.

“I give the media a lot of access,” he says. “They owe me a little space when I ask for it.”

I can’t help smiling again. He basically just told me that even the media isn’t able to withstand his legendary dimples. “So what are we doing?”

“You’ll just have to wait and see,” he says. “Since I didn’t give you enough warning to work on your outfit, you may as well be surprised.” He releases my hand, slides his hand up my arm to my shoulder, and steers me sharply to the right. Then he lets go of me entirely and opens the door on a beat-up old Nissan.

“Umm, I hate to be the one to point this out, but that’s not your car. You have a Mercedes SUV, or you did when we went to karaoke.”

“I traded cars with one of the set guys for the day.” He winks. “Flying under the radar.”

“Why would you do that?” I glance around the lot, which is clear full of Teslas, Porsches, and Ferraris. “Isn’t this Nissan a bigger anomaly here?”

“Wait.” He frowns. “Did you only agree to this date for the media attention?” He pauses. “To gain more followers on social?”

I roll my eyes. “Right.”

He smiles. “I’m kidding. But it’s not the radar on the movie set I’m hoping to avoid. It’s when we leave and go out into the real world, or at least, as real-world as it gets in LA.”

“You don’t want to be seen?” I don’t add the, ‘with me,’ but I can’t help wondering.

“Trust me—it’s annoying to be noticed. When I’m with you, I’d rather not have people mobbing me and asking me for a signature or a photo.”

“Does that happen a lot?” I try to imagine what it would be like to be noticed for something good, for people who want to see me instead of people who glare or stare awkwardly.

“Enough that it’s annoying. But even when I’m not on a date, I try to blend in.” Jake shrugs. “Hence the plain white SUV. As you noticed, most everyone has something flashy, so driving something like this Nissan almost makes you disappear.”

“Your car back in New York isn’t boring.”

Jake smiles. “Ah, but in New York, I have family and friends to impress. Everyone here’s a total loser.” He winks. “Present company excluded, of course.”

He bends over and clears all the trash off the passenger seat before reaching across and opening the door from the inside. “I’m going to kill Owen, I swear. He failed to warn me that his car smells like moldy Cheetos and is full of trash.”

I’m laughing as I slide in. “This is probably more my speed, honestly. I’m not really a very neat person.”

“Somehow, I doubt that.” Jake’s smirking. “I imagine your Honda Accord is perfectly detailed at all times.”

“Bea told you what I drive?” I arch one eyebrow. “What else did she say?”

“You actually drive a Honda?” Jake slaps the steering wheel. He shakes his head. “I knew it, though.”

“You guessed?”

Jake shrugs. “Reading people’s kind of my thing. Don’t feel bad about it.” He smiles again. “We don’t need any more bad energy, thanks to this disaster of a ride.” He starts the car up, and it does thankfully turn over, and then we’re off, shooting past confused reporters and photographers and heading for the freeway.

“You’re really not telling me where we’re going?”

Jake weaves in and out of traffic like he thinks we’re in a Ferrari, but in between shifting lanes, he whips out his wallet and flips it open. “Tonight’s date will require a small influx of capital.”

“What?”

He peels a twenty-dollar bill out of the stack of money in his wallet and hands it to me. “Here’s yours.”

“What on earth?—”

“And here’s mine.” He pulls another twenty out and drops it in the cupholder. “We’re almost there, and then I’ll explain the rest.”

For the life of me, I have no idea what we’re doing when he pulls into a Target parking lot and cuts the engine. There’s got to be something magical about his dimples, because I don’t even care.