“Quit it. I’m not joking. Take your money.” I grunted a little, putting more weight into my push, almost futilely.

Those green-brown eyes flicked up to with an even look that had annoyance written all over it. “I said I would pay you—“

“I don’t want your money, you hardheaded ass—“

Oh dear God.

I stopped pushing the second I realized what I said. It must have been so unexpected that he wasn’t paying attention because the next thing that I knew, he was punching me in the shoulder.

It didn’t hurt at all.

But for some reason, instinct had me saying “oww” anyway.

We both looked like we’d violated the other. Like I’d backstabbed him for saying ‘oww’ and I’m sure I looked at him like I couldn’t believe he had the nerve to hit me. Sure it was an accident, and an accident that didn’t hurt on top of that, but…

“I’m sorry,” he said quickly, looking down at his hand like he couldn’t believe what he’d done.

I opened my mouth and then I closed it.

Reiner Kulti had just punched me in the shoulder.

I had driven him home, argued with him over how I didn’t want his money, and then he punched me in the shoulder.

I closed my eyes, pinched my nose and burst out laughing.

“Get outta here,” I said when I started laughing harder.

“I didn’t mean to—“

I threw my head back against the headrest and felt myself shake with how stupid this was. “I know. I know you didn’t. But just get out, it’s fine. I need to get to work before you punch me in the other shoulder.”

“This isn’t funny,” he snapped. “It was an accident.”

Suddenly I stopped laughing and snapped right back at him, “I know it was, jeez. I was just messing with you.” I gave him a wide-eyed look. “A joke, do you know what that is?”

I mean, I’d already gone for calling him a hardheaded ass, and he hadn’t thought twice about it, but that might have been because he’d punched me immediately afterward.

“Yes, I know what a joke is,” he grumbled back.

Whether it was because I was tired of this shit, his shit or whatever, I found myself caring less and less who he was and how I should probably treat him differently. Maybe not totally, but at least a little bit. “I’m happy to hear that.” I scooped the fifty bucks that had fallen on my lap after the meeting of his fist and my shoulder and tossed it at him. “I really do need to get to work though, so…” I tipped my head in the direction of the door at his side, indifferent to how rude I was being.

Did he look confused that I was kicking him out? I think so but he didn’t argue, and he took the wadded-up money and held onto it as he got out of the car. Straightening up, he held the door in one hand and looked inside. “Thank you.”

Finally.

I blinked at him and nodded. “You’re welcome.”

Just like that, he shut the door.

* * *

“Can you confirm that his license is suspended?” the eager man asked.

I rubbed at my eyebrow with the back of my hand and stared at the reporter awkwardly.

What I could confirm was that he had an unreliable driver and I had yet to see him behind the wheel. Then again, didn’t rich people have drivers? I’d met a few who did. It wasn’t an uncommon thing. Hell, if I could afford it, I’d have someone drive me around too. Driving in traffic, in Houston traffic, sucked.

But his question nagged at me, right alongside the incident at the bar. Marc had given me the impression he hadn’t carried around any car keys with him, and I’d just never gotten around to investigating or finding out if Kulti had left a car at the bar or not. It wasn’t like I’d really cared anyway.