Page 28 of The Renegade Billionaire

“That bad, huh?” she asks, resting her folded arms on the door. The truck is so high, or she’s so small that she’s able to rest her chin on her forearms without bending much. She pats theinside of the door. “Old Fender here is still pretty loud. I heard you pull in, and everyone’s been watching you for the last fifteen minutes.”

Leaning over the steering wheel, I see no less than six heads that immediately duck when they notice I’ve caught them staring.

“Fender?” I ask, choosing to focus on that and not my embarrassment about hiding in my truck.

“Yup.” She laughs. “Pops taught me to drive in this thing, but I could hardly see over the wheel. I had a homemade booster seat, but I still left my mark all over town. The locals started calling him Fender Bender, and they cleared the streets when I got my license.”

Madison’s expression lightens.

“That’s a great story,” I admit. “My mother hired someone to teach me after my grandfather pressured her to spend time with me.”

She scans my face as if she’ll find what she’s looking for if she only searches hard enough.

“Is that how you grew up? Raised by other people?” There’s no judgment in her tone—if anything, there’s understanding there.

I shrug, feeling hot under the collar. “Pretty much. I was an oops baby, and my parents really couldn’t be bothered with me.”

I shouldn’t be telling her this. My whole reason for being here is to accomplish Ace’s mission and get home, but she’s too easy to talk to.

“I know how that feels.” Her words are soft and full of understanding. “So, you ready for dinner? I should’ve warned you that Pops was probably setting you up. The entire town is on Braxton watch. I’m sure the trip to the packy was interesting.”

“The packy?”

“The package store. Where you bought the beer.”

“Oh, yeah.” I drop my hand to my lap when I notice I’m scratching at my chest. It’s a tell of mine that I’ve never been able to shake. “Is it normal to have your height measured in a liquor store? Or—or asked your blood type? What my intentions are? Why I paid for a six-month stay? How did they even know that one? It hadn’t even been an hour.”

She opens my door. “We will discuss that, by the way. You seriously overpaid, and I won’t accept it. And to answer your question, yes, it’s normal around here. This town loves hard. They protect even harder. For newbies, they put you through your paces before you’re accepted. And those of us who have been here a while, well, we always know we’re safe. Come on inside.”

“Is that what this is tonight?” I point to the window, where all the spying eyes once again duck away, while pointedly ignoring her comment on money because I’m not budging on that.

“Pops likes you more than most. I’m sure this is his hazing plan to get it all out in one go so you two can be friends.” She nervously tugs on the elastic around her wrist.

“Hazing? I thought that was illegal now.” I laugh as I exit the truck, dragging the box of beer and wine with me.

“You’d be surprised what you can get away with here in the South.”

“Why don’t you have an accent?” The question comes out of nowhere, but now that I think about it, her friends don’t either.

“I didn’t move here until I was ten. I lived with my parents before that in New York, Maine, and Massachusetts. I guess I missed my chance for a Southern drawl.”

I heft the box, and she shuts my door. “And your friends?”

She pauses on the porch steps. “I met Savvy and Clover in college. They both followed me home when…when I transferred home for my sophomore year, and you haven’t spent enough time with Elle because she’s as Southern as they come.”

“Huh.” There’s more to that sophomore-year transfer, but I’m not going to push her for details.

“Dinner will be an inquisition for sure. Just take everything in stride, and you’ll be all right. If it gets too out of control, I’ll hit the breaker in the basement to cut the power. That’ll be enough to get people moving.”

She opens the door but pauses and smiles at me—and the impact is like being shot out of a cannon. “Just remember, Pops likes you.”

“Should I be nervous?”

“I guess that depends on how honest you are.”

I trip over the threshold. I can be honest about everything except who I really am—that ruins everything. It always has.

“Should be easy then.”