Inside the car, watching Shea Thorne flee in disarray, Milo Sinclair had no intention of chasing after her.
He slowly sat in the spot where Shea had just been sitting, gazing through the glass at her hasty retreat. The car's ceiling light was still on, and the tablet beside him was automatically playing information about the musician. Just moments ago, she was here, eyes full of admiration for the person on the screen.
But in an instant, she rejected him.
Milo Sinclair leaned back against the seat, activating the back massage function. He rubbed the top of his head where she had pushed him, having bumped it painfully.
"Mr. Sinclair?" The driver lowered the partition and asked, "Where are we going?"
The driver wasn't very clear about Milo Sinclair being rejected just now. The rear compartment was well soundproofed, so he hadn't heard any conversation.