Zeke waited, certain he was about to witness a show.
Sure enough, the white sedan started up.
Ten seconds later, it crept cautiously around Celestine, as if terrified that even a speck of dust from its tires might brush her coat.
Zeke's grin froze on his face.
What the hell is Bob doing?!
The Lincoln, finally freed from the blockade, pulled up beside Celestine and whisked her away from the narrow street.
As it passed Zeke's car, the driver honked—a sharp, unmistakably taunting blast—before speeding off down the road.
In that moment, Zeke felt like someone had grabbed his face and rubbed it straight into the pavement.
"Unbelievable!"
Lance, unsurprised, let out a mocking laugh. "What a waste of time. We could've been at the theater by now if you hadn't insisted on dragging us along for this little spectacle."
The only reason Joanna had bothered to come at all was not to dampen Zeke's enthusiasm.
He'd always known Zeke was dumb, but this was a new level of stupidity.
Expressionless, he watched the departing van. One of the windows was half-open, and he caught a glimpse of Mirabelle inside, still wrapped in her white winter coat.
Just as he'd predicted.
That made things simpler.
Zeke, seeing Lance's smug look, boiled over. "Lance, would you quit running your mouth? The only thing you're good for is designing those tacky clothes everyone's already sick of—what else have you ever done for Joanna?!"
Lance crossed his legs, eyelids half-lowered, and drawled, "Just wait and see. And do try to hurry up, Driver Sterling. If you make Joanna late again, your record of incompetence will only grow longer."
Zeke's mouth worked, ready to hurl another insult.
"Okay, okay, that's enough," Joanna cut in, feigning disappointment. "I know you both mean well. Zeke, since they've already left, let's just go."
Zeke really was useless.
Last time, he failed to humiliate Mirabelle. Now he couldn't even handle something this simple.
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