My Driver Stole My Car Then Called Me a Gold Digger Chapter 02

My Driver Stole My Car Then Called Me a Gold Digger Chapter 02

The so-called favor became a fixed daily arrangement.

Every morning, Dean picked up Tiffany first, then came for me. At first, Tiffany just took selfies in the passenger seat, posting videos online, showing off that she was riding in a Cadillac Escalade. Fine. A little vanity. I understood that.

What I couldn’t understand was the way she looked at me.

Pure contempt. Like I owed her millions. A few times she even sprayed perfume directly toward me after I got in, complaining loudly, “God, this is so annoying. Why does a car this nice always smell like cheap loser?”

I assumed she’d caught some actual odor and told Dean to get the car detailed. Instead, she escalated. She started sanitizing my seat the second I got out. Then she put down disposable seat covers just for me.

When I confronted Dean about it, he gave me the same sheepish excuse. “Miss Shaw, Tiffany’s just worried the car might get dirty. She’s really on top of the whole cleanliness thing. She just doesn’t want anything getting on your clothes.”

I let it go. I had billion-dollar deals in motion. I didn’t have the bandwidth to fight with some girl over seat covers.

Then came this morning.

I saw the note taped to my seat and it all clicked. Tiffany thought I was the freeloader.

I’d planned to teach them both a lesson. But now Dean stood there begging. “I swear, Miss Shaw, it won’t ever happen again. I’ll clear everything up with Tiffany tonight. No more rides for her. Please, for my father’s health, let this go.”

I thought of Hank. I exhaled. “Fine. I’m letting this one go.”

After the deputies left, Dean sagged with relief, thanking me over and over. His attitude couldn’t have been better. I got in and let him drive me to the office.

For a while after that, Dean actually straightened up. The passenger seat stayed empty. The car was pristine, every trace of that note gone.

He drove smoothly. No real issues.

Except for one thing: he was always late.

He had an excuse every time. “Miss Shaw, sorry, nasty wreck on the freeway. Traffic was backed up for miles.”

“Miss Shaw, really sorry. My alarm didn’t go off. I just slept through it.”

“Miss Shaw, a pipe burst in my apartment. I had to deal with the downstairs neighbor the whole morning.”

The excuses were flimsy, but his attitude seemed decent, so I let it slide. I thought that was the end of it.

Then came the weekend I decided on a whim to spend a couple of days at my lakeside estate. I called Dean. “Where are you right now? I need to go somewhere. Come pick me up.”

He stammered on the other end. “Miss Shaw, I… well, I woke up this morning and found a flat tire. It’s at the shop now, and they said it won’t be ready until tomorrow. Where did you need to go? I can call you a ride.”

I frowned, not wanting the hassle. “Forget it. I’ll just take a cab.”

I hung up and called a rideshare to my estate. When I arrived at the gate, I froze.

My Escalade was parked right outside. Perfectly intact.

I stared at it for several seconds, confirming it was definitely my car. Then I strode toward the front door. It was slightly ajar. I pushed it open and couldn’t process what I saw.