Chapter - 14
Justin wiped the dramatic fake tear of his eyes and shook his head like he had heard the funniest joke, "President Clinton, with your status, sitting in that thing is a PR disaster waiting to happen. Come on, stop being stubborn. Get in my Ferrari."
Jasmine's eyes twitched. She clenched her jaw so tight, but she was stubborn, "What's wrong with the car? It has four wheels," she snapped.
"And I don't like riding sports cars," She marched toward the old Honda, refusing to surrender. Her heels echoed in the silent parking lot, "Let's go, Ethan."
But Ethan didn't move, "Uh… President Clinton?"
"What?" she barked, she was about to open the car door and this guy was still standing there like an idiot, "Why aren't you starting it?"
"Well, you are standing by the wrong car." Ethan awkwardly said.
Hearing him, Justin let out a barking laugh, "What, even that isn't your car? Are you going to take her out on a scooter?" He grinned like he just won something.
Ethan ignored him completely. He reached into his pocket and pressed a button on a heavy carbon-fiber key.
Chirp! Chirp!
A deep mechanical hum rolled through the enclosed parking lot. Lights flickered on in parking spot 17… right beside the sad excuse of a sedan.
Jasmine froze mid-grab. Justin stopped mid-smirk.
It wasn't the dumpster-reject sedan.
It was the monster beside it which made the sound that reverberated in the parking lot.
In all this showing off from Justin, all of them had completely ignored the Bugatti Centodieci "Édition Royale." Silver-black, low-slung, beautiful, and dangerous. It had a domineering body, razor-sharp edges, gold trim accents.
The door on the driver and passenger side lifted automatically in a slow and smooth motion like it was spreading its wings.
Justin's jaw dropped so hard it could have reached the floor.
Jasmine blinked, once… twice… then whisper-exhaled, "What the…"
"Holy Shit…" Justin pointed weakly, "T… Th… That's… That's… That's the Centodieci."
"And that's the Édition Royale."
"Fuck me mother! This car is a limited build. Custom line. They only made three of them. Only 3 in the world."
"That car is valued at… fourteen… fourteen fucking MILLION dollars."
His voice cracked like puberty round two.
Ethan casually strolled past him, "Thanks for your info dump, Mr Encyclopedia. That would be enough."
"What the hell you doing, idiot. Get away from it." Justin almost shit his pants when he saw Ethan walk up to the car and almost put his hands on it.
"This is my car," he said, shrugging, "I can do whatever I want with it."
Jasmine blinked again. Her brain clearly needed a firmware update.
"What did you say?" she asked.
"It's mine," Ethan repeated, twirling the key.
"But you… You were here applying for a job," She was losing her mind, "YOU WORK IN THE DAMN SECURITY DEPARTMENT"
Ethan shrugged, "What can I say? I am the richest security guard in the world."
Justin's face twisted like someone shoved a lemon up his nose.
Ethan rested his elbow on the roof of the Bugatti and tilted his head toward Justin's car.
"Oh, by the way…" he nodded at Justin's Ferrari SF90 Spider, still gleaming like it wanted attention, "That's a cute toy. How much is that again? Six hundred grand? five eighty-ninty if you begged the dealer?"
Justin sputtered, "Six hundred twenty-five thousand dollars. And it's not a toy. It's a fucking FERRARI !"
Ethan rolled his eyes, "Yeah… Yeah!"
"But my Bugatti eats Ferraris for breakfast. If it gets hungry, it can digest about twenty-two of yours before needing a nap."
Justin's mouth opened, but no sound came out. His brain was buffering.
Ethan pressed on, like a bully on a playground:
"I mean hey… Don't feel bad. Everyone needs a starter car. Nothing wrong with some training wheels, before you finally buy the big daddy car."
Jasmine covered her mouth to hide her smirk, failing miserably. She had already walked away from the Honda, and was standing beside the Bugatti.
Justin turned to her, "Jasmine, come on. You said you don't like sports cars. You literally said those exact words!"
She didn't look at him. She slid a slow appreciative stare across the Bugatti's interior, the black leather with gold stitching, embroidered crest, digital command dashboard, and seats shaped like they were calling him inside.
"I don't like riding yours," She said, her lips curling up in a smirk, "But I will ride his."
Justin looked like someone had pulled out his soul from his body.
Ethan walked around the front of the Bugatti with the confidence of a man who knew everyone was watching.
Jasmine stepped inside first, but she did it slowly and carefully, not wanting to dirty the spotless, expensive interior of the car.
But Justin wasn't one to give in. He made one last attempt.
"President Clinton. Don't do this. If you get in that Bugatti with him, I am going to…"
But Ethan cut him off with a frown on his face. He didn't mind him pestering her. He didn't care, not like he liked this girl. But to actually threaten her because she rejected him?
"You are gonna what? Cry? Run to your father? Call your therapist and ask why the universe hates you?"
Justin clenched his fists. His ears turned red. His ego was bleeding all over the concrete.
Ethan calmed down, "Relax, buddy. Not everyone gets to be the main character."
Ethan dropped into the driver's seat.
The door lowered with a deep, satisfying THUNK that sounded like money slamming shut on someone else's dignity.
Ethan hit the start switch.
VROOOOOOOOOM.
The Bugatti didn't just start, it roared awake, like a demon pissed about being disturbed.
The concrete of the parking lot vibrated, and Justin stumbled backward.
Inside, Jasmine instinctively clutched the side handle, her eyes opened wide,and her heart was racing with the rush.
Ethan grinned.
He slowly eased the Bugatti out of the spot, the tires gripping sharply. Justin stood behind them, swallowing humiliation like medicine.
Just before the exit, Ethan lowered his window and spoke, "Bro… Next time you wanna flex, at least pick a brand my car can't use as a toothpick."
"Fuck Off!" Justin flipped him off.
Ethan laughed. Jasmine snorted.
As they pulled out onto the road, the rumble of the engine turned smooth and deadly calm, like a beast settling after dinner.
Jasmine glanced at him again, studying him like a puzzle she suddenly wanted to solve.
Normal people don't own Bugattis.
Normal people don't act like this.
Normal people don't walk into a job interview like they are broke and then casually reveal a fourteen-million-dollar hypercar like it's no big deal.
Something was off.
Something big.
Before she could ask, Ethan spoke, "By the way, boss!"
"Since I am using my personal vehicle for your corporate travel…" he tapped the dashboard, "I am sending you a gas reimbursement bill."
"..." She stared at him.
Ethan smirked.
"Premium unleaded, obviously."
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