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“What?” he asks, scanning again.
“Nothing,” I say.
We drive into a storage area that’s the size of the building. He gets out of the car and opens the door for me, and my jaw hits the floor when I see handfuls of vintage cars in every color—some with racing stripes, others not.
I run my hand across the hood of a black Chevelle SS. “A 454?”
He nods. “Impressed.”
I walk around to the back of it, and all the emblems are shiny, not a smudge on them. “Four hundred fifty horsepower. Why didn’t your brother choose this one?”
He chuckles. “He chose correctly.”
I know that means something. “Do you name them? Is that what it is?”
“No, and you’re not driving it,” he says, leaning against a vintage Aston Martin. Next to him is a Mercedes-Benz 300SLR. All of this is unbelievable, especially being here with him like this.
I bend over, peeking inside to see the Benz with light-tan leather and wood grain accents. “I told your clone this earlier, but my dad was into restoring old cars. We used to go to car shows on the weekends. It was a good time.”
“You saidwas,” he says.
“Yeah, he passed away four years ago,” I explain, checking out the Aston Martin he’s modeling for me with his arms crossed.
“I’m sorry.” He gives me a sad smile, not taking his eyes off me.
“Thanks.” I don’t know why I feel the emotions begin to bubble, so I change the subject. “You’ve never letanyonedrive these?”
“Only me and my mechanics. Well, I can now add Weston and you to that list.” His mouth tilts into a sideways grin.
I walk back over to him. “This was great. You have anything newer than a 1970?”
“Ah,” he says.
Then, he clicks on the lights in the other half of the building. Motorcycles galore. Half looks like a vintage museum, and the other half looks like a luxury car lot.
My mouth falls open when I see several Lamborghinis and Rolls-Royces parked beside one another. The only difference is the color. “Are you kidding me? One wasn’t enough?”
“Depends on my mood,” he says, and I notice he smiles.
I give him my full attention. “Really? So, what mood do you have to be in to drive the Mustang?”
A smile lingers on his lips. “Do you play chess?”
“Not since my dad died,” I admit. “But I used to be pretty good.”
“Well, I look forward to learning how strategic you are,” Easton quips, leading me to the private elevator.
He scans his phone across it and the doors slide open. We get inside and I lean against the wall with my thumbs tucked into my pockets, focusing on the floor numbers and how fast we zoom upward.
I feel him watching me, so I glance at him, and he shakes his head.
“You’re too trusting, Alexis.”
I don’t correct him because he expects me to. “And why would you say that? Do you plan on luring me to your billion-dollar dungeon?”
He chuckles. “The one located inside the Red Room.”
“Wait, you’ve readFifty Shades?” I do a quick memory scan through scenes and snort, covering my mouth.