Taming the Undercover Heir

I book the cheapest ride on the app. A Maserati pulls up.

The rich boy behind the wheel uses me as his personal trash can for forty minutes. Vents. Brags. Asks if my whole salary is really that little.

Then waves off my fare like pocket change.

The next day? The same Maserati accepts my ride request again.

Me. The broke nobody who tips in coins.

CHAPTER 1

"I am the Maserati."

That was the first full sentence the rich boy ever said to me. And honestly? It tracked.

That car cost more than I'd make in a decade. And the guy behind the wheel was about to spend the whole ride making very sure I knew it.

Rewind two minutes. I'd just clocked out, opened the app, booked the cheapest ride home. Somebody accepted in seconds.

"Hey I'm the one in the white sweater," I told them.

A deep-blue Maserati slid out of the river of traffic and stopped dead in front of me.

So I took two steps back.

"Where are you? I don't see you." The voice on the line was young. Male. "I've got my hazards on."

I paced. Looked up, looked down the street. "I don't see you either. There's a Maserati right in front of me. I'm literally standing next to the Maserati."

"I am the Maserati."

????

I opened the door like I was defusing a bomb and climbed into the back. Before I could even shut it, he caught my eye in the rearview. "Why are you sitting back there?"

Uh. To... go home? What else does a person do in the back of a car?

But I scrambled out anyway and slid into the passenger seat, figuring the back probably made him feel like my chauffeur. Rude. I buckled in and sat at attention like I was about to be deposed.

He was young. Sunglasses, a tiny Chanel logo on the arm. The car smelled expensive. Maybe not actual-Chanel expensive. Close.

"You work around here?" Flat. Bored. Like he was interviewing me for a night-shift security gig.

"Oh yeah."

"You make good money?"

I gripped the seatbelt. More nervous than I'd been at the actual interview. "It's fine. I'm still an intern. Twenty-eight hundred a month."

"Huh," he said. "That little?"

"...Yep."

Red light. He rolled the window down, draped an arm over the door, steered one-handed. Tipped his head back, easy.

"You know my stepmom's younger than I am?"

??? How, exactly, would I know that?

"Oh. Wow. That's... rough."

He rubbed his face and sighed. "Ever since I came back, everything's different."

"Right? Things move so fast these days."

Green. He floored it. "They shipped me off to boarding school when I was a teenager. Just wired money. Nobody actually raised me. Now I'm back, and my dad's burned through two wives, my mom's on boyfriend number three, and not one person thought to mention any of it."

I nodded and arranged my face into deep, tragic sympathy. "Tsk. How could they."

"I came back and I don't have a single friend. Still adjusting. I just figured out how to use Venmo. Haven't had a real conversation in a day. Even my English feels rusty."

I shook my head. "No way. You sound totally normal. I understood every word."

He finally turned and looked at me. Raised an eyebrow. "Did you."

...Did I offend him again? Maybe the rich boy doesn't want to sound normal?

"I mean no. Couldn't follow a word. My English isn't great either."

He didn't answer. Just pressed his lips together and started to smile.

Smiled for a second. Then his face fell. "My dad's new girlfriend is my old classmate from middle school. I really don't want to go home."

"...I'm sorry, WHAT?"

And that was the moment I cracked. So this this was what being rich looked like?

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CHAPTER 2

He gunned it past the car ahead of us, almost clipped it. The other driver leaned on the horn, screaming. He stuck his hand out the window and flipped the guy off without even looking.

"That girl used to have a crush on me," he said, like nothing had happened. "Always coming over to hang out. Then I left, and somehow she ended up knowing my dad. She used to call me by my first name. Now she's about to be my stepmom."

I had to turn toward the window so he wouldn't catch me laughing.

"You don't have to hide it. I want to laugh too."

Then, same breath: "My dad wants me to go work the factory floor, learn the business, take over someday. I said no. So he handed me a few hundred grand and told me to go figure myself out. I still don't know what to do with it."

A few hundred grand. To go figure himself out.

I once asked my dad to spot me five hundred bucks and he assumed I'd fallen for some online loan scam. I could work until I'm a hundred years old and never see that kind of money.

He grinned. "You're funny."

We were almost at my building. "As long as the young master is happy, this humble servant is content," I said. "When you launch your company, remember me for the security-guard position."

I figured we were two strangers passing in the night. Never see each other again. So I didn't think too hard before running my mouth.

Then I got home and found out he'd waived my fare.

Classic rich boy. I suck up to my manager for two seconds and he decides I'm into him and insists we work late together. I suck up to a rich boy and save twenty bucks on a ride and just like that, dinner's covered.

I figured the whole luxury-car encounter was a one-off. A weird little blip in an otherwise broke existence.

Then the next evening, I booked a ride home and the same rich boy accepted my order.

I climbed in, deeply suspicious. "Ha. Small world."

No sunglasses today. Different clothes. Clean-cut, pale, couldn't have been more than twenty-two.

He nodded at me to shut the door, then went straight for the jugular, same as always.

"I had a fight with my dad. I'm done talking to him. I'm moving out."

When you've taken a man's twenty bucks, you owe him. So today I doubled down. "Yeah. I support you."

He hit the brakes to avoid a pedestrian, then turned to look at me. "How? How do you support me?"

...Okay. You got me there.

"Verbally. I support you verbally."

He made a face. Noncommittal. "At least you're honest."

I mean. What else was I supposed to say?

Obviously couldn't say that, so I just clammed up and grinned like an idiot. "Heh. Heh heh."

The car went quiet. Rush hour. Traffic thickening, about to lock up completely.

I started to get antsy. He just leaned against the window, watching the sunset, calm as anything. "We barely had traffic abroad. I always drove fast."

Nothing I could say to that. "Yeah? I've never left the country."

He glanced back at me, something almost innocent in his face. "Why not? You don't like to?"

??? Did I not get into an Ivy because I didn't like to? Did I not marry a movie star because I just wasn't feeling it???

I looked him dead in the eye. "Because I'm broke."

He wasn't embarrassed. Didn't even register that he might've said something rude. Just went "huh" and looked back out at the sunset.

"It's all pretty much the same out there anyway," he said. "Honestly? More interesting back here."

===================================================

CHAPTER 3

Traffic crawled. Another jam, and I was about ready to claw out of my own skin.

He noticed me staring out the window, face going red, and asked, genuinely curious, "Are you mad?"

"Huh?" The question came out of nowhere and threw me. "No. I just get antsy in traffic. Probably been in the city too long. Makes me twitchy."

He studied me, thoughtful, quiet for a beat. Then, out of nowhere: "You want to take the long way? Loop around the city before I drop you? On the house."

Honestly, I didn't especially want to joyride. I wanted to go home and sleep. But free?

"Sure."

He slid through the light and hung a right onto a road I'd never seen.

The second he changed direction, I started to regret it.

What if this guy's a psycho? What if the car's a rental?

But we'd already turned. Too late to take it back.

Thankfully he didn't head anywhere sketchy stayed up on the highway, GPS running, and bit by bit my heart settled.

The road opened up. We passed a long stretch of lake, the water glittering, and he asked, "You got friends here?"

Wind on my face. My mood had lifted. "Coworkers. No friends."

"Why? You don't click with people?"

"It's not that. Coworkers are coworkers, friends are friends. Some people you can work beside, but you'll never really let them in."

He sighed. "Yeah. I guess. But don't you get lonely? Nobody to actually talk to?"

I looked at him the watch on his wrist that probably cost more than my car, the jacket with a logo I couldn't place, those soft hands that had clearly never scrubbed a dish in their life.

"People like me, from normal families we're too busy making rent to get poetic about it. No friends is fine. A social life costs money too."

He didn't answer. His knuckles just tightened on the wheel, nails going faintly pink.

"It's my birthday, actually. Haven't gotten a single 'happy birthday' yet."

I sat there in the passenger seat, suddenly awkward, but I plastered on a smile and clapped. "Then, may your years be long and your fortune vast, may you"

"That's awful."

I stuffed my hands back in my lap and turned to the window. "...Okay."

He watched me for a second, then snorted out a laugh. "We're here."

I unbuckled, spotted the little bakery by my building. "Hang on. Give me one sec."

I ran in and grabbed a small cake off the shelf twenty bucks, just about exactly what the ride would've cost.

"Excuse me could I get one candle? Just one."

Cake in hand, I ran back out.

He was gone.

I stood there holding the cake, a little lost, and muttered, "That little jerk. Gone in two seconds flat. What a waste of money. Fine. I'll eat it my"

===================================================

CHAPTER 4

and then I turned around and he plucked the cake right out of my hands. "You can't park there. I just went to find a spot."

"Oh. Ha. Um. Happy birthday."

He smiled, held the cake up, examined it. "It's small."

Thanks. If you've got nothing nice to say, you're allowed to say nothing.

"Okay. I'm gonna head out. Bye."

He didn't move. "You want to swap numbers? I'm Reid Mercer. You?"

I thought about it, then waved him off. We weren't from the same world. No point leaving my name.

"We probably won't run into each other again. Bye! Have a great life!"

He didn't get mad. Just murmured, almost to himself, "Says who."

The third time I ended up in the rich boy's car, I'll be honest it didn't feel romantic. It was starting to feel a little alarming.

"So... you've got all this money and you're out here driving rideshare?"

He made a face. "It's not on my way. I just wanted someone to talk to. Wanted to meet a different kind of person. You're interesting."

I clicked my seatbelt in, puzzled. "What's interesting about me?"

"You're really poor."

???? Wow. So special.

He held the deadpan, did a little fake lightbulb-moment face, then cracked up. "Kidding."

"I've driven a lot of people. Guys, girls. Half the guys are pawing at the car the second they get in, touching everything. The girls take photos to send their friends, get very interested in me personally, ask for my number. You're the only one who just... sits there. Quiet."

I checked myself out in the rearview, my deeply unremarkable reflection, and rubbed at a pilling cuff.

Cinderella at least got a pumpkin carriage and glass slippers. What've I got? Pilling sleeves and a maxed-out Klarna account?

"Listen, Reid you've really got to stop accepting my rides. Three days straight now. People at work saw. They think I've landed myself a sugar daddy, and they will not let it go."

It was true. A blue Maserati pulling up outside the office, dead on time at quitting hour, three days running way too conspicuous.

The second I walked in, the gossips swarmed.

I told them it was just a rideshare. Not one person believed me. They figured I was putting on airs.

After explaining a few times, I gave up and let them talk.

By now there was a rumor going around that some sixty-five-year-old exec in the building was keeping me as his sugar baby and it had details. People even claimed they'd seen it with their own eyes.

You'd think the whole office had been hiding in the man's trunk.

His brow creased. He grunted. "Then I'll switch cars tomorrow."

????

That was not my point.

I waved my hands, pleading. "Reid. I'm an intern. No money, no power. Our manager still drives a beat-up Honda. Some fresh grad getting picked up from work in a car like this? It's basically rubbing his face in it. He already has it out for me."

I'm begging you. Reel it in.

In this economy, do you have any idea how hard it is to land a job with weekends and benefits?!

But the rich boy's focus was, as always, deeply off-center. "Why does he have it out for you?"

I mean. Having it out for people is a manager's entire personality. Does there need to be a reason?

"Small team. He booked me for a pile of work trips just me and him. I didn't want to go. So now he can't stand the sight of me."

The rich boy slammed the brakes hard enough to nearly send me through the windshield.

===================================================

CHAPTER 5

"He's mid-thirties, balding, kind of jowly, and he's handsy with every woman on staff. You think I want to be stuck in a car with him? And the per diem's a joke. No comp time, either."

One hand on the wheel, the other resting against his cheek. "That's garbage. You can't just not go?"

I sighed.

"My team's mostly older women. The younger ones one's pregnant, one's got little kids, one's about to get married and drowning in wedding stuff. I'm the only single, able-bodied warm body in the group. So please don't make this harder. My life's rough enough."

"So tell him you're getting married too."

I genuinely couldn't tell if being this rich, rich enough that no problem exists that money can't smooth over, had worn his brain so frictionless he'd come out the other side... innocent.

"They run a background check when you're hired. Relationship status included. Where am I supposed to conjure a fianc? And even if I announced a wedding out of nowhere, you think he'd buy it?"

He rubbed his chin. Went "huh." Drove on, lips pressed together.

"Speaking of weddings. My dad says he's marrying her."

"He's WHAT?"

I nearly choked on my own spit. "How old is he? What's the point? Just date her?"

His face stayed flat. "Probably wants another kid."

"At his age? Can he even okay. Maybe it's true love."

The corner of his mouth curled into a cold little smirk. "Who knows. Though she? Doesn't exactly seem to be in it for love."

"No way. If it's not love, why stay with a guy that much older? Why agree to have his kid?"

His eyes went cold. "You have any idea how much my dad's worth? Even I don't and I'm his son. She showed up at my place last night. Midnight. Cried for a solid hour."

My jaw hit the floor. My whole face came unhinged. Buddy. Are you even allowed to be telling me this?

Getting out, I drilled it into him: "Do not pick me up in this car tomorrow. Do me this one favor. Please."

He tipped his chin up. "Got it."

The next evening, clocking out, my stomach knotted. I kept checking the street below, bracing for that familiar flash of blue.

My coworkers clocked my face and drifted over, dripping fake concern.

"Aww, no Maserati today? What happened? Lovers' quarrel?"

Even the manager wandered to the window, making a show of peering down.

"Well. Some of us just can't compete. Young thing like her, already riding around in a Maserati. Must be nice being a girl youth really is a currency, isn't it."

My scalp caught fire. But I swallowed it and grinned along, telling myself they'd forget in a few days.

They always found someone new to chew on.

Five minutes to quitting time, the manager dropped a folder on my desk, hands on his hips, gut out.

"Memorize this. Be sharp on the trip. Since the Maserati's gone, maybe settle down and do your actual job. Quit dreaming so big. Nobody climbs to the top in one leap."

I held the folder, looked at the spray of spit he'd left on my desk, and physically restrained myself from whipping it across his face.

"No Maserati. Would a Ferrari work for you, sir?"

And there, standing in the doorway, holding the work badge I'd dropped, raising it in one hand, was the rich boy.

"I'm here to pick you up."

===================================================

CHAPTER 6

Heads swiveled to the window on instinct. And where the deep-blue Maserati used to sit, there was now a gleaming, blazing-red convertible Ferrari.

I froze solid, marinating in my coworkers' hungry, scandalized stares. My face went up in flames.

I scrambled up, ducked my head, hurried over, and hissed, "What are you doing here? I haven't clocked out. Wait just wait."

The manager, freshly humiliated, naturally needed to claw back some dignity. He tipped his head back and coughed, stiff.

"A Ferrari, so what? You still have to work, don't you? Is it quitting time yet? And you're running off? Did you memorize the trip materials?"

I went right back to bowing and scraping at my desk. "Yes, yes, of course, I'll start right now, I'll take it home if I have to."

The manager looked pleased. Gut back out.

Probably thinking: A Ferrari? So what? She still answers to me, the guy in the Honda. I say east, she'd better not say west.

"A little humility wouldn't kill someone your age. You really think you can ride a man forever? And honestly this young? It's all Mommy and Daddy's money anyway. Some of us just weren't born to rich parents, that's all. Must be nice. Some people just fall right into it."

The office went dead silent everyone pretending to work, everyone sneaking looks.

It wasn't just sour. It crossed a line.

Humiliating me was one thing. But now the rich boy was catching strays too, and what had he done?

I flipped the folder open. Oh, fantastic. Six work trips a month?

"Six trips a month? I'm an intern. That's not a load I can carry."

It was exactly quitting time. I clapped the folder shut and tossed it on the desk.

Around me, everyone's footsteps stopped. Nobody moved. They were all locked onto the standoff, waiting to see how I'd dig myself out.

The manager was used to me with my head down whatever he handed me, always yes sir, of course, right away. He did not expect me to grow a spine and embarrass him three times running.

He stormed over, hands on his hips, finger in my face. "You do the job or you get out! Who taught you this attitude?!"

Working himself up, deciding he still didn't look intimidating enough, he grabbed the folder to hurl it at me.

I flinched on reflex but nothing landed.

The rich boy had stepped in front of me, caught the folder mid-air, and flicked it aside. Paper scattered everywhere.

He didn't raise his voice. "She came here to work. Not to be your punching bag." A beat. "Throw something at her again go ahead. Throw it at someone who can't have you fired by Friday."

He had a clean head on the manager, six-three easy, looking down at him almost lazily. Flat tone, flat face, which somehow only made the manager's snarl uglier by comparison.

He didn't look angry. That was the part that scared people.

I could feel the whole thing tipping toward an actual fight, so I stepped out and smoothed it over.

"Sorry my friend's got a bit of a temper. Sir, I can't do this job. You'll want to find someone better."

===================================================

CHAPTER 7

The manager was so furious you could practically see the steam coming off him but he didn't dare actually lay a hand on the rich boy.

Anyone with eyes could see that if it came to blows, the manager would lose control of his own bowels inside three seconds.

So he ground his teeth, pushed his glasses up, backed off a few steps, found a chair, and sat down. Voice suddenly softer. "If you're going to work, then work. Show some effort."

The rich boy gave him one look, made a face, then took my wrist and walked me out.

"The pay's a joke. My housekeeper makes more than this. She's done."

And just like that, my first job was dead.

Sitting in the Ferrari, I felt a profound, bottomless despair. My future: pitch black.

People like me, broke nobodies, we'd only ever seen convertibles in movies. I'd pictured us cracking a bottle of champagne, standing up, belting out a song, the wind whipping through my hair.

Reality: city traffic, no room to accelerate, and a chassis so low we ate exhaust and grit the whole way. The entire car tasted like gasoline and storm drain.

"So, hey," I said. "Should I report to your place tomorrow? Clock in? Maybe show me the housekeeper's quarters, let me get the lay of the land."

He'd swept me out of there a minute ago, all swagger, driving off like the closing shot of a movie. Now he glanced back at me, vaguely lost. "Huh?"

Sure. You don't need the money. I do!

His face slowly migrated from confident-and-handsome into something faintly guilty though he kept up the unbothered act.

I slumped in the passenger seat, dead inside, already scrambling for some overnight gig to cover next month's rent.

And then, without my noticing, the rich boy drove us straight into a neighborhood of mansions.

"Oh my God. Where ARE we???"

His brow creased. He said, breezy as anything, "Switched cars. Forgot the GPS was off. We're home."

??? Are you okay?!?!

"You know what never mind, don't trouble yourself. I'll just grab another ride."

Before I could get out, the front door opened, and a beaming young woman swept out. "Oh! Reid, you're home!"

The second she saw me, her face collapsed like she'd spotted a personal enemy.

I was still busy being confused. Who is this, I've never met her, why does she despise me on sight

when the rich boy patted my shoulder and introduced her. "Tiffani."

She was undeniably attractive. Soft-figured, lush, young, full of charm exactly the kind of beautiful woman who could land an aging tycoon.

I dipped my head, polite. "Hi. Nice to meet you."

She rolled her eyes at me, then poured every ounce of attention onto the rich boy practically reaching out to take his arm.

Behind a second-floor window I caught an old man, seventy-percent a copy of the rich boy. Had to be the dad.

Buddy. Right under the old man's nose, and the girlfriend's already lunging for the son?

I took two quick steps back, getting clear of the bloodbath, trying not to get any on me.

But the rich boy stepped back too, dodging her, grabbed my hand and yanked me forward.

"Tiffani, Dad. Let me introduce my girlfriend"

A few seconds of sudden, total silence. None of us had any idea what was happening.

Then the rich boy blinked his big eyes, turned to me, and asked:

"What's your name again?"

===================================================

CHAPTER 8

Sitting in their palatial living room, I was still cross-examining myself: I'd just been trying to catch a ride home. How had this become Meet the Parents?

"Hi I'm Sadie Fang. Just graduated. State school."

I perched on the sofa. The rich boy sat beside me. Tiffani and his dad sat across from us.

Tiffani had looped her arm through the dad's, but her eyes kept drifting, soft and lingering, to the rich boy, who, pinned under the look, could only stare at the floor.

The dad was every inch the tycoon. I'll give him this: the man could wear slippers and gym shorts and still radiate menace. The gold chain on his wrist was thicker than any rapper's.

"So. You have a job? What do your parents do?"

I started to give my employer's name, then thought better of it. "I did. As of about an hour ago I don't."

Curiosity flickered across his round face. "Oh? What happened?"

I looked at the rich boy. "Yeah. What did happen?"

He cleared his throat, stiff. "Uh Dad, I won't be home for dinner. I'm taking Sadie to go work on the apartment. I booked a cleaning lady, she's probably almost there."

He took my arm and stood, ready to bolt.

Before the dad could get a word out, Tiffani was already on her feet, frowning. "Reid you're leaving? Already?"

Then, maybe catching how that looked, she turned and grabbed the old man's arm. "Your father's missed you so much. You're finally back won't you stay a few days? Keep him company?"

The rich boy looked at her. Then at his dad.

"Dad's got you for company. I just get in his way at home. He's never been able to stand the sight of me anyway."

That, apparently, was the line that set the old man off. He slapped his thigh and shot to his feet.

"If he wants to go, let him go! I never should've brought him back comes home just to fight me at every turn! The job I lined up? Won't take it. Money to start a business? Won't touch it. God knows what goes on in that head all day. When I die, every cent goes to charity. You won't see a dime!"

I watched the rich boy's smooth forehead and jaw go tight, the color draining and then flushing dark along his jaw. He was furious, obviously, but he kept his voice pressed flat and level.

"Why did you ship me overseas? You think I never figured it out? You were too busy with the divorce to deal with me. Nobody wanted the hassle. You're my parents I owe you for raising me, so I've never said a word about the revolving door of people in your lives. But you and Mom were a flawless match on paper. Did the power-merger marriage make either of you happy? And now you want to force me down the same road. Marry a stranger I've never met?"

Tiffani saw it going sideways and jumped in to play peacemaker, soothing the dad.

"Come on Reid's a grown man, why push him? Look at you, getting worked up again. You know your heart can't take it."

The dad dropped back into his chair, wheezing, a hand pressed to his chest.

"If you'd just make something of yourself, carry the weight, why would I have to push? But look at you. Drifting around all day. And now you want to drag home some clueless, useless wife who can't lift a finger? When I'm gone, the hundreds of families on that factory floor are going to starve and it'll be on you."

CHAPTER 9

I'd been keeping my head down, playing dead like a good little possum but the second I heard clueless, useless wife, my head snapped up. Wait. Is he talking about me