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***
    Simone Jenkins bopped her head from left to
right as she reversed her Corolla, pulling from the parking space
in front of Lada Thai House. It was Saturday night and she was set:
she had a bottle of chardonnay chilling in the fridge, a plate full
of pad thai, and a marathon on Lifetime, stuffed full of taboo
romance.
    She pulled to the exit of the shopping
center, clicking on her turn signal. She shot her head to the left.
The coast was clear except for a black car that was at least a
hundred feet away. With three lanes for traffic flow, she eased
onto the road, her mind on her evening and-
    THWOK .
    Her car lurched forward with a metallic
crunch.
    Holy shit. She’d just been rear ended.
    She cast a look of disgust at her rearview
and saw the black car she’d seen a couple of blocks away glaring
back at her.
    “Great,” she muttered, petering down the road
and pulling into the next shopping center on her right. “Just
great.”
    She braked after she maneuvered next to the
side curb and put her car in park, killing the engine with a groan.
She tossed a sad look at her carton of thai food, her mind already
calculating. When she stepped out of her car and got a hold of her
rear bumper, punched in a perfect impression of the black sedan’s
front, she seethed, the numbers ticking away.
    Simone was an accountant, so numbers were
kind of her thing. $11.98 for a plate of noodles was gonna end up
costing her a new rear bumper, not to mention the fun experience of
dialing up Nationwide and sitting on hold before going through the
lengthy claim process.
    She put her hands on her hips, boring holes
into the tinted windshield of the car behind hers. Was the prick
gonna even get out of their car?
    She took stock of it, noting the signature
contours and insignia of a BMW. It was sleek and dangerous, the
kind of car that Simone salivated over but could never quite
justify on her entry level salary. What she would give to have a
car like that parked outside her condo…
    She gave her head a shake. She was 23, fresh
out of college. Over half of the graduating class from Sacramento
State was headed to the security of their parents’ couches. While
her job didn’t afford her a five figure salary, at least she had a job. And insurance. And the joker behind the wheel of
the Beamer better have some too.
    She opened her mouth to call out whoever was
behind the wheel, but words failed her as she got a hold of the
driver. The man that eased out of the driver side was just that—all
man. Even in his sharp two piece suit she could tell that he spent
hours at the gym, perfecting every ounce of his body. His skin was
golden, tanned without the Donald Trump orange nonsense. His hair
was cut short, the dark strands coifed and gently spiked, giving
him a playful, yet conservative edge. He stepped closer and she got
a better look at his face: youthful, attractive features. He looked
about late twenties, maybe just shy of thirty. Deep blue eyes took
in her ebony ones and his apologetic smile plucked at her heart
strings.
    Damn it. Of course he was hot.
    “Christ,” he said, wincing beautifully as he
took in the damage on her car. “I am so sorry.”
    The erratic beat in her chest, the romantic
inside her that got her into trouble, wanted to tell him that it
was okay. She silently pinched herself, hoping the flash of pain
would allow common sense to take over. It most definitely was not okay. The back of her car was fucked and she needed to
do something other than drool. “What the hell happened?”
    He let out a chuckle. “Just got a hell of a
commission. 50,000 dollars.” He tilted his head to the side. Simone
saw a Bluetooth blinking in his ear. He held up a finger. “One
second.”
    Rich people , Simone thought with an
eye roll. It was suddenly real easy to stop fantasizing about what
he looked like underneath his clothes. He’d rear ended her, putting
a wrench in her plans, and he had the nerve to put her on
hold? “Excuse me-” She