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Chapter 827:
June gave a noncommittal hum, unwilling to discuss it further.
Easton didn’t press. Instead, he spoke of the snow, quoting a line of poetry that revealed a surprising literary depth. In her tipsy state, June found that his voice had a strangely calming power.
The elevator doors opened, held by Easton’s waiting assistant. As June stepped inside, Easton raised a hand to shield the top of her head from the doorframe — a small, unhurried gesture of chivalry that sent an unexpected flutter through her.
The Aston Martin DB11 smelled of new leather and a faint, expensive cologne. June sank into the passenger seat, the interior warm as a spring afternoon.
Easton leaned across her. His chest was so close she could feel the heat through his shirt, his jaw inches from her temple. She instinctively drew back, her heart skipping a beat.
𝖯𝗼pul𝘢𝗋 ѕ𝘵𝘰𝘳𝗂𝘦𝘀 𝘰𝘯 galո𝗈𝘃e𝗅𝗌.с𝗈𝗆
The click of the seatbelt. Nothing more.
He withdrew, smooth as mercury. “Safety first p>
June’s heart hammered against her ribs. She blamed the champagne. She did not blame the way his eyes held hers for one second too long before he turned to the wheel.
The engine purred to life. Easton guided them out of the garage, the tires whispering against wet concrete.
The car radio was tuned to a classical station, its soothing melody unwinding the last of June’s tension. Outside, the snow fell harder, Manhattan softening into something quiet and almost unrecognizable.
As the car turned onto a quiet street lined with plane trees, the engine sputtered, coughed, and died. The warmth and music vanished, replaced by the howl of wind and the hiss of snow against the glass.
“What happened?” June asked.
Easton frowned and turned the key. Nothing. A look of practiced, perfectly composed annoyance crossed his face. “My apologies, June. It seems my old friend is throwing a tantrum tonight. Wait here — I’ll take a look p>
He stepped out and lifted the hood. A blast of cold air rushed into the cabin, making June shiver. She watched him examine the engine for a moment before he pulled out his phone, apparently calling for a tow.
Minutes later he slid back in, bringing a gust of freezing air with him, and spread his hands in a gesture of helplessness. “The tow will take at least an hour. Your apartment is a fifteen-minute walk from here. Would you mind p>
June hesitated, but the thought of sitting in the cold for an hour was worse.
Easton twisted toward the back seat and produced a large black umbrella and a brand-new Burberry cashmere scarf, its tag still attached. “Here,” he said, holding it out. “Put this on. Don’t catch a cold p>
She couldn’t refuse the sincerity in his eyes. She wrapped the scarf around her neck and stepped out.