"You're crazy," Lydia told him and he laughed.
"Only in front of you," Weston told her.
Weston grabbed her hand and began pulling her outside. Weston was always buried in his books to care too much about women.
Weston felt the same towards all of them. They were either annoying, impressive, or neutral. He didn't feel any difference towards any of them until he met his match in the form of Lydia Claymore. Thus, he had rarely touched women unless it was necessary. Now, holding Lydia's hand, he felt a strange sense of protection towards her.
"My car," Weston nodded in the vehicle's direction.
"How much do politicians make?" Lydia wondered out loud, staring at his impressive sleek, black car. She could tell it was the latest model of the brand, but didn't want to comment how remarkable the design was.
Weston simply smiled. "Let's just say I come from generational wealth."
"So old money," Lydia deadpanned.
