“Thanks for the ride,” I murmur when we pull into the hospital lot. The crisp cashier’s check is in my hand, but Gio doesn’t let me out in front; he parks and gets out.
I thought the ride was exceptionally generous, especially considering the way things went down between us. But now I wonder what his game is.
“Are you making sure I didn’t lie about what I need the money for?”
One corner of his lips quirk in that knowing smile. “You didn’t lie.” He walks around his beautiful Mercedes G-wagon to my side and settles a hand on my lower back.
“You don’t need to come in,” I tell him. I still can’t figure it out, which makes me uneasy.
“I’m coming in.”
This is the part that worries me. A Tacone does what he wants. There’s no asking. No negotiations. And I just opened the door and let him fi
