About Driving Me Wild:

I never in a million years thought that finding a lost pair of keys would lead to adventure.

All my life, I’ve been perfectly average. Compared to the rest of my high-achieving, type-A family, it feels impossible to stand out. While I’d love to make my big artistic dreams happen, I’m kind of stuck, thanks to a bunch of lame things like “affordable rent” and “keeping the internet on.” Dreaming doesn’t pay the bills. Freelance design work and part-time rideshare driving does. And it’s nice, for the most part. Finding a passenger’s thumb drive usually means reporting, returning, yay-hurrah-good-job-me. Except this time.

This time, I put the thumb drive in my computer. Hey, I’m just trying to be helpful! Suddenly a chat window pops up and the owner of the drive is bribing me to fly halfway across the world. Today. Turns out he's the super hot fare I haven't been able to stop thinking about...who just so happens to be Logan Weiss—the crazy-hot 29-year-old billionaire known as "the most eligible bachelor in tech”. What the hell am I even doing?

Excerpt

Getting ready for dinner is a torture all unto itself. The closest thing to a nice dress that I’ve brought with me is a very cheap, very old black wrap dress. I think I might have bought it while I was a freshman in college, and

it’s been my stalwart, one-size-fits-me-for-now companion since graduation. I tug it on, straightening out the sleeves, then scrunching them to just below my elbows, frowning at my reflection in the mirror. My hair is brushed, I’m less sunburned than I’d feared, and...

And the red lipstick makes me look like an idiot.

With a few squares of toilet paper, I wipe it off.

Cinderella transformation sequence, this isn’t. It’s just me. I fiddle with the neckline of the dress and consider, for a moment, what kind of women someone like Logan Weiss would date. Who would be in his league? Tall, I think. Elegant. Confident. Someone so womanly and refined they’re basically some other type of creature. Like Arwen, condescending to walk among mere mortal men. The kind of person who is soft and gentle, not brash and exuberant and messy like me.

Logan, I decide, would date a woman who wears lipstick. Perfect lipstick, blood-red and elegant. She’d never get it on her teeth.

He’d surely be drawn to the kind of woman who owned more of those shoes with the red soles than she could keep track of. Oh, these old things? I think to myself, simpering in the mirror. Louboutins are just murder on the feet, but oh, the price of fashion is high! Of course I only take my third-favorite pair in my luggage.

Looking down at my own sensible flats, which have no red soles, probably cost me no more than ten bucks at a Payless BOGO event, and do not raise me above my God-given five-foot-six, I sigh.

I can’t even walk in heels like that, let alone afford them. If I had a pair, I’d probably either sell them for rent or just plant some fucking succulents in them and put them by the window.

Inside my purse, I find my plain lip balm. I slick it on over my now red-free lips.

There. That’s my best, for what it’s worth. Just me.

It may not be worth much, but it’s all I have to offer. And this is just his way of saying thank you. Nothing more.

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About Mia:

Mia Carter lives in the beautiful Pacific Northwest and spends her days enjoying nature, dreaming of the next travel adventure, knitting up unraveled plot threads, and playing way too many video games.

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