Casey P.O.V. “After you, ma’am,” Owen said in a terrible attempt at a British accent, holding the car door open for me. He even bowed his head dramatically like some old time chauffeur, his lips twitching with amusement. I stifled a laugh, biting my lip. “Why, thank you, kind sir,” I replied, matching his bad accent with one just as ridiculous. I stepped into his luxurious car, settling into the soft leather seat as we shared a chuckle over our botched accents. Owen closed the door behind me with a flourish, still playing his part, before he hurried around to his side. Once inside, he buckled his seatbelt and started the car. The engine purred to life, a deep, throaty hum that reminded me of the car’s price tag, and we pulled out of the parking lot. “Damn. Tonight was eventful. I felt like I was riding a rollercoaster. Non-stop drama,” Owen muttered, shaking his head slightly as he turned the car and took the other lane. “Uh-huh, and the drama was not even about you,” I sighed, l
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