Page 96 of The Stranger

He barks out a laugh. “Relax, sweetheart. It’s at the mechanics getting a complete overhaul.”

“Oh.”

“I found a local charity called Cars for Cause. They donate vehicles to families in need as a way of helping them find their feet.”

“Oh,” I repeat. “I just spent all my savings getting it registered.”

“If you don’t want to donate it, you can sell it once it’s roadworthy, and keep the money.”

“I like your idea better, but it was already roadworthy … it wouldn’t have passed registration if it wasn’t.”

“Hmm,” is his only reply as he pulls a key fob out of the pocket of his jeans and hands it to me. “The keys to your new car.”

“I can’t accept it,” I say, pushing his outstretched hand back towards him. “It would take me the rest of my life to pay you back.”

“It’s a gift, Delilah. I’m not asking for reimbursement.”

“Spencer.”

“Please,” he pleads. “It will give me peace of mind knowing you’re safe.”

“Is this why you left work early?”

“Partly. I spent the afternoon getting rid of two liabilities. That death trap that you were driving, and my father.”

My eyes widen. “Your father?”

“I bought him out of the company. The handover was today. I’m now the sole owner of Prescott Enterprises.”

“Wow.”

“You were the catalyst.”

“Me?”

“Yes, he’ll no longer be able to bother you, or any of my female employees again.”

Spencer tried to get me to drive the BMW to dinner, but there was no way I was getting behind the wheel of a brand-new car while trying to manoeuvre us safely through what can only be described as hellish city traffic. Especially at this time of night. I grew up in the less congested suburbs, so that would have been an accident waiting to happen.

“Since you claim not towingthings, can I ask where we’re having dinner?”

“My mother’s.”

“Oh.”

“Don’t worry, she has her chef cooking for us.”

“That’s good to know. The last time she was at our apartment and wanted to help me prepare dinner, I gave her a potato peeler and she looked at it like it was a foreign object.”

He looks over at me and smiles. “I like that you referred to the apartment as ours.”

“I meant yours.”

“What’s mine is yours, Delilah.”

I shift around in my seat because the topic of our conversation is making me uncomfortable. “Can we change the subject? And for the record, I’m not interested in your money, Spencer.”

“Fair enough,” he chuckles. “I recently found out that my father’s new wife is expecting. I want to be the one who breaks the news to my mother before the media gets wind of it.”