"I'll call the car," Nathaniel said, already pulling out his phone. "Ten minutes."
"Go inside," she told him. "I'll wait."
"You're sure?"
"I'm sure. Go."
He went. Nathaniel always trusted her word. He disappeared back through the restaurant doors, and Sophia stood alone under the canopy with the rain drumming the awning above her.
A white BMW pulled up to the curb.
She squinted through the rain. Right make, right color, appeared at exactly the moment she'd expected Nathaniel's car. She pulled her coat tight, ducked her head, and ran for it.
She yanked the passenger door open and threw herself inside, shaking water off her sleeves, reaching back to pull the door shut.
"Thank God, it is absolutely pouring-"
She looked up.
The man behind the wheel was not Nathaniel's driver.
He was the man from the restaurant. The one who'd gotten water thrown at him. Up close, without the frosted glass between them, she got the full picture: dark hair, sharp jaw, an easy posture in the driver's seat that somehow suggested he'd been expecting her. He was looking at her with the same expression he'd worn while wiping his face - that slow, deeply entertained smile.
"Wrong car," he said.
Her hand flew to the door handle. "I'm so sorry-"
She pulled. Nothing. Pulled again. "The handle-"
"Child lock," he said pleasantly. "Front passenger. You have to pull up and then out at the same time."
"I'll do it myself." She tried the motion he'd described. The door didn't move. She tried again.
"Or," he said, "you could sit down."
"I don't want to sit down, I want to get out of your car-"
"You got in."
"By accident."
"I didn't say on purpose." He reached past her to turn down the stereo. She yanked back against the seat to avoid his arm, but he was only adjusting the volume. "Where were you headed?"
"That's none of your business."
"You're in my car in a downpour," he said. "It's a little bit my business."
She looked through the windshield. She could see the restaurant canopy, but not Nathaniel - he was inside, waiting for the car, blissfully unaware. She needed to get out and walk back. She tried the handle a third time.
He put the car in drive.
"What are you doing-"
"Going to the highway." He checked the mirror. Calm. Unhurried. "You can get out when we get there, or you can come along."
"Stop the car." Her voice went sharp. "Right now."
"No good place to stop on this block."
"I don't care about a good-"
He accelerated.
The BMW slid into traffic with the ease of a car built to make its driver feel the world was designed for him. City lights blurred past - wet storefronts, pedestrians with umbrellas, the orange smear of a traffic light - and Sophia sat rigid in the passenger seat with her hands in her lap and her pulse in her throat, cataloging her options.