“I believe I ruined that when I puked on my shoes,” I laugh, “All you did was take me out of a situation that probably would have ended badly.”

“Contrary to popular belief, I can be a decent person.”

“I’ve never doubted that.”

“Just don’t get used to it,” he says. “I have a reputation to uphold.”

And believe me, he upholds that reputation the entire drive to East Hampton. He swats my hand away from the radio. He puts the child lock on the window. He makes me wait forty-five minutes for a bathroom break. And then locks the door and pretends he doesn’t hear me banging on the window.

His worst offense? Not the raging control issues or how he rolls through stop signs or the soft rock he insists on listening to.

Asher McGowan is a serial hummer.

Which might be endearing if my head wasn’t ready to explode.

Throwing myself out the window might hurt less.

Unfortunately, it’s locked because I’m a child who can’t be trusted with those sort of privileges, so we’ll never know exactly how much it would hurt.

“Are you about done?”

I’m puking on the side of the road, somewhere between exit fifty-nine and sixty, because Asher kept insisting I was fine and that all I needed was to drink more water. A publicist and a medical professional. His parents must be so proud.

I wipe my mouth with a paper napkin. “Remember when you said you’re capable of being a decent human being?”

“I filled my quota for the day,” he says. “Now will you please hurry up?”

I glare at him for ten very long seconds before I realize it’s freezing and I can’t feel my fingers.

“I’m so sorry,” I say as I slam my door. “Did I interrupt the humming of another John Mellencamp song?”

“Actually, I’ve moved on to Phil Collins.”

“I’m so excited,” I say. “Please, serenade me.”

He takes his eyes off the road for a millisecond to glance at me. “Are you gonna make it?”

“Two more miles before I cut all the wires to your speakers with a plastic knife? Probably not.”

“Because I can turn around,” he continues. “We don’t have to go.”

“Of course we do. It’s not every day you get invited to the Ragnar Estate. This is a life changing moment. Besides, we have a fake relationship to uphold. I’ll be fine once I take a nap and another shower,” I tell him. “But do I really need those three letters of recommendation? And when does the DNA test happen? Did they already do my background check?”

“What?” Asher’s face has turned sour. “What the hell are you talking about? Why would you need a DNA test? I already know you’re a fucking space cadet.”