I almost don't want to ask, but we're going to be stuck with each other for a while, so I might as well keep the conversation flowing. "How's that?"
"Work for me," he tells me. "Be my private driver. I'll put you on salary."
Salary? Driver? Is he kidding? The only people I could imagine having a driver would be some super rich businessman or a mafia boss, and Michael doesn't look like either.
"You think I'm joking," he says. My thoughts must be written all over my face. "I am not joking. How's ten grand a month sound?"
I can't even stop myself from glancing quickly over at him for signs that he's messing with me. But he looks...like he's telling the truth.
"Seriously?" I ask. "Come on. Don't mess with me."
"I'm not messing with you," he says.
"So...you're some rich guy?"
He shifts
