“It’s small and pretty easy to drive.”
He started it up. “This is no 1971 Jeep Renegade,” he said as he
listened to it hum before we started off. I debated telling him he
could have it.
“So how do you usually get around?” he asked as he smoothly
pulled out onto the busy street.
“I usually have a driver,” I admitted.
He gave me a sideways glance. “Did I just elect to be the hired
help?”
I laughed.
“At least you aren’t flying into church I guess. Do you have a
helicopter too?”
I shook my head. “Just a little four-seater, that only seats two.”
Christian laughed. “I’m looking to buy a jet though. I’m
qualified to fly an aircraft that size and it would be nice to be
able to fly my family with me.”
“That’s cute,” he offered as he flicked his blinker on in a
manner that could only be described as graceful. Everything he did
was fluid and musical. He was like a living breathing poem. “It’s
strange to me how you and your family interact. I guess I can’t
wrap my mind around the whole mobster thing. It seems so outlandish.”
“I guess.”
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