Ryker

  When I return to the office in the afternoon, Sienna is nowhere to be found. My call goes directly to voice mail and I would be lying if I said I wasn’t at least a little disappointed by not being able to stare at her working. It’s become my favorite thing to do around the office. It’ almost too good to be true.

  When she is still not here twenty minutes later, I am about to call her again just as Barb’s name appears on my screen.

  “Sienna told me to let you know she had to leave real quick.” She waits for an answer. When I don’t say anything, she continues, “I don’t know why or whether she’ll be back today. Seemed like she was in a rush. Do you want me to check her calendar for you?”

  “That’s alright,” I say and walk over to her computer. “I can just check myself.”

  “Okay, don’t forget about your meeting later. Miles will take you there at 7 PM.”

  Sienna’s computer comes to life when I move the mouse. “I won’t. Thank you,” I say, hang up and drop my phone altogether when I look at the screen.

  Sienna

  I try to send Ryker a message but of course my phone dies right before I can get it out. The thing has not been working properly ever since I shattered its screen.

  It has been a couple of hours, and it’s slowly getting dark. So far, we have learned nothing about him other than the fact that, unsurprisingly, being a billionaire looks like a lot of fun. Around 8 PM, his driver takes him to some kind of private club where he is scheduled to have dinner with a business partner of his. Guy and Paige unpack a little picnic for all of us, while Earnest and Robyn argue over the best way to extract information from a prisoner.

  “So,” I try to sort through my own thoughts, “what is our plan then? Same as last time? Does he have a second mistress?”

  Earnest clears his throat. “If he does, he’s a lot smarter about hiding it than he was last time. I couldn’t find anything tangible on his two phones, but he might have a third phone that I haven’t found yet.” He accepts the sandwich that Guy hands him with an appreciative grunt. “We might have to consider other options if we can’t catch him cheating, murdering, or at least kicking some puppies.”

  Baby lions, I think.

  “If all fails, there’s always this little guy.” Robyn pulls her toy gun from what appears to be a garter she’s wearing underneath her coat. She notices my disapproving look. “Paige made it for me,” she explains and shrugs her shoulders.

  “I was done knitting beanies during our Knitwit meeting.” Paige shrugs innocently as well.

  “No,” I say and grab the gun from her hands. “We cannot kidnap an actual person. That’s not an activity a bunch of amateurs should engage in. We can hold a protest, inform the media, sue the company, talk to the⁠—”

  “Did she just call us amateurs?” Guy interrupts, tapping his hearing aid.

  A long sigh emanates from deep within myself. How did I get pulled into the same thing again? How is it possible that we can’t figure out a better way to deal with our problems? And how the hell did those four grow this old without getting themselves killed?

  Ryker

  ‘The Mysterious Double Life of Ryker F. Grayson’ appears in bold letters on her screen.

  The reason I am shocked is not the article itself, but the fact that it’s not a published article on Ryker Rumors… yet.

  The headline, and its corresponding text, are still in the editor. At the bottom right, the mouse hovers over a button that says ‘Publish’.

  It takes a moment for me to process what I’m looking at.

  It can’t be.

  She wouldn’t.

  I sink down in her desk chair.

  I move the mouse, highlight some of the text, and punch a few random letters. It’s real. I just need to click the small grey button to publish another probably scathing, pseudo-psychoanalytic essay about myself.

  I try to focus my eyes on the first line of the text, but they refuse to read a single word. My vision goes blurry, and it feels like my skin is burning up. But it’s not panic that strikes within, it’s more like a sudden emptiness that numbs me, makes me feel dizzy. It’s as if the universe just slapped me in the face with an unexpected pop quiz I know I will not pass.

  ‘You really thought you could trust her?’ is the only question on it.

  I try to take a deep breath, but my lungs rebel against the air.

  I did think that.

  My hands feel numb as I reach for my phone. There has to be an explanation for this.

  She wouldn’t.

  It’s impossible.

  The call goes directly to voice mail again.

  Try to think of this logically. Why would she write stories like this about you? There weren’t any signs, any hints that I should have noticed, were there?

  ‘Whoever is writing this must have an abnormal obsession with you.’

  She did say that.

  What if she was hiding in plain sight all along?

  I skim the article, hoping to find evidence that it couldn’t have been her, that this is not happening. I try to absorb as much information as possible without actually reading it. A few lines down, I scroll upon an image. An image that lets me know beyond a doubt that she is the author of this article.

  Fuck.

  She is the only one who could have taken it. I remember looking at her at that moment. I remember seeing her through what I now realize were rose-colored glasses like some kind of moron. I was like a love-sick puppy that should have been put down for my own good. I let her play me.

  How could I have been this naïve, this blind?

  How could I have ignored my own intuition?

  How could I just let her in like this?

  I smack the laptop shut and swipe it off the desk. It goes flying against the wall and shatters apart.

  Fucking idiot.

  The moment I met her, I knew she was a reporter.

  I should have trusted my gut.

  I have only myself to blame for this.

  Do not let people in or you will get hurt!

  It was like that with Miranda, and it is like that with Sienna de la Vega.

  They always want the same thing.

  I check the time. It’s 6 PM. Too early for my last meeting of the day, but that’s just as well because it is a meeting that I definitely do not want to miss.

  31

  SIENNA

  We have been on his tail for hours now, sitting in this parking lot patiently, and so far there was absolutely nothing suspicious about him, other than the fact that he doesn’t seem to tip. But then again, that appears to be perfectly in line with the kind of person he is.

  Right now he is in some sort of private club having dinner and we can’t get eyes on him.

  “Why not?” Robyn asks impatiently.

  Earnest closes his laptop with a sigh. “Because it’s not how this works. Given more time, sure, I could probably get us into their system, but I can’t just press some buttons on here and access those cameras.”

  “Angry-Amish-Man,” she huffs. “More like Amateurish-Amish-Man.”

  Earnest eyes grow small, but I shut them down before their little quarrel can escalate. “Be nice. Both of you. We already have enough trouble. The last thing we need is to fight amongst ourselves.”

  All four of my friends grumble at the same time. I sigh and lean back in my seat.

  There has to be a better way.

  Guy and Paige suddenly sit up straight and start pointing outside. “What the—” both whisper simultaneously.

  When I see my boyfriend step out of the building and hold the door for Dicky, I chime right in.

  What the hell is he doing here?

  Why would he be meeting Richard Dome?

  We watch as Dicky lights a cigar and takes a deep drag before handing it off to Ryker.

  “Earnest,” I say, but he’s already on his laptop again.

  A few moments later, he’s playing the audio from Ryker’s phone on the speakers of his laptop. It’s a little muffled, but I can clearly make out Ryker’s voice. It’s him alright.

  “Well, you won’t regret it.” Dicky lights another cigar, takes a deep drag and pats Ryker on his shoulder. “I know it’s none of my business, but is there a reason you’re so invested in this property?” Both laugh at his terrible pun.

  “Invested?” Guy asks and is swiftly shushed by the rest of the car.

  “Well, it’s a long story. Let’s just say I need it in order to settle an old score with an old… flame.”

  Dicky grunts with acknowledgment. “That’s a pretty penny to pay, just to settle an old score.”

  Ryker takes another drag and lets the back of his hand glide along his jawline. “Some things are more important than money. I’m sure you understand.”

  “Hm,” it echoes through the speakers, “I once paid a guy to destroy a priceless Van Gogh that my ex-wife owned just because it was her favorite painting, so, yeah, I understand, son. And, by the way, if you happen to know any eligible broads, by which I mean D-cup and up, do send them my way. Little Richard might consider settling down soon. Gotta enjoy all that additional money I just made.”

  Ryker looks down to the ground and nods.

  “What the fuck is happening here?” I say, still confused, or rather not wanting to believe my own eyes and ears.

  “Did you cheat on him?” Robyn asks with a straight face.

  I don’t even know how to answer that.

  “Because it looks like he just bought Haven in order to get back at someone.”

  “There has got to be an explanation.” I reach for the door handle and am about to open it when Robyn and Earnest both push me back into my seat. “I just need to talk to him. Something is… why would he do that?”

  “How did you two meet again?” Paige asks while rubbing her forehead.

  I look at her, then back out to Ryker, who is leaning over a railing, flicking the ash onto the ground.

  “But… he wouldn’t.”

  Earnest pats my shoulder clumsily. “Maybe, but evidence suggests otherwise.”

  “But I’m sure there is a good explanation,” I say, slowly beginning to doubt myself.

  Dicky can be heard over the speaker again, “And you haven’t decided yet what you’re going to do with it?”

  Ryker shakes his head. “For now, I might just proceed with your plan. Clear the place out. Especially one person. The rest I will let my people figure out.”

  “Son of a…” I get up and reach for the door again, ready to show him what I think of this plan.

  How could I have been so wrong about him?

  Was all that happened between us just an elaborate way to get back at me for stealing his fucking pants?

  Tears form in my eyes as all four of my friends keep me from storming out there and giving those two a piece of my mind.

  “Think about it,” Robyn finally breaks through to me. “You have to be smart right now. Screaming at him won’t help anyone here. Think about rule #3. Maybe we can still use your relationship with him to our advantage.”

  “And besides,” Guy adds, “you should never make any decisions when this angry. Not even deciding to physically assault someone.”

  “Especially not physically assaulting someone,” Paige adds.

  I wipe my tears away and look at the four wrinkled faces in front of me. They’re right, of course. We will have to be smart about this. Blackmailing Ryker should be a lot easier than Dicky. I just still can’t believe he would do this.

  Taking a deep breath, I try to clear my mind. “Now what?”

  “Now we go home,” Paige says and nods for Guy to go back to his driver’s seat. “First we sleep, then we eat, then we probably take another nap, and then we make a plan to take our home back from Ryker Fucking Grayson.”

  My hope that I was wrong about Ryker dies when I find myself locked out of the office building the next day. I went in to work thinking that maybe there was a chance this was all a misunderstanding, and that we could just talk about it like grown-ups, but when I try to use my keycard to pass the gates at the entrance, I am denied access. I don’t even try talking to the security guards. I know what’s up.

  My calls last night already went straight to voicemail, and I suspect he must have blocked my number. I feel like an idiot for letting myself get fooled like this.

  How could I have been so naïve?

  Feeling dejected and surprisingly hurt, I turn around and decide to go back home. The O-Team is probably already scheming and, for once, I fully support what they’re doing.

  Ryker

  After signing the deal with Richard, I went back to the office, had Sienna thrown out of our system, and, most importantly, had IT make sure that her shitty blog would be gone forever. They were adamant about not being able to actually delete all of it entirely, but I guess now that I know who is behind this, it will be easy enough to take legal action if this site should pop up under a different domain again. Maybe I should take legal action either way.

  I spend all day locked up in my office, getting angrier and angrier, first with myself, then with Sienna, then with the fucking universe. Legal brought in some paperwork that now makes me the official owner of Haven Lifespace Community. Buying the whole thing didn’t take nearly as much convincing as I had assumed. Dicky was happy to sell it to the first bidder, since he needed some cash to buy himself a bigger yacht. I had initially set the appointment to buy the whole thing for Sienna and her friends, but I guess now I will have to think of other options.

  By late afternoon, I have pondered over what to do next for the thousandth time and I am still undecided. As it stands now, I have several options:

  Option #1: Do as I said, stick to Dicky’s plan and get rid of all inhabitants. It’s probably what my business analysts will recommend anyway. I could rebuild it into gigantic office buildings or upscale apartments and in the long term turn a decent profit.

  Option #2: Do nothing. Be the bigger man. Move on. Who cares?

  Well, I do. I fucking do. And I will not let her get away with this. Again. Being too nice is how I ended up like this in the first place.

  Option #3: Follow my initial plan of getting back at Sienna. Kick her out of the building complex but allow everyone else to stay. She’d be sad about getting split up from her friends. Olivia would take care of her in any case, but at least it would be some kind of retribution.

  Option #4: Kidnap Sienna, lock her up in some basement, steal all her pants, and then…

  “No, no,” Miles warns preemptively when I sit down in the passenger seat next to him that evening. “I know that face and: No! Not in my car!”

  “This is my car,” I grunt, and buckle in.

  “Irrelevant. You’re not having more kimchi in here, especially not the extra potent stuff. I didn’t do anything this time.”

  “Kimchi is life, you ignorant philistine. But you’re in luck. I am not angry at you.”

  “Oh, good.” He frowns. “Then why the face? She dump you? What did you do?”

  “Why the fuck would you assume I did anything?”

  The car begins to move, and we are on our drive back home.

  “The nickname ‘Ryker the Recluse’ doesn’t come from nowhere. You push people away as soon as they get close to you. Scratch that. You push them away before they can get close to you.”

  “First of all, no one calls me that. And secondly, unfortunately, not true.” I motion at him. “Exhibit A is sitting right next to me.” Then I let my head fall back against the headrest and look out the window. The sky is a nice orange hue hinting at warmer days ahead. Better days where I won’t feel like someone scooped out my insides with a fucking melon baller.

  “I mean, for fuck’s sake,” he jolts me out of my depressing daydreams, “she was obsessed with you. I literally saw her steal a picture of your smug face from your wall. Who does something like that, unless they’re seriously smitten? And you know what? I think you are too. So you need to talk. Talk it out. If I have learned anything from all the books that I read while I wait for you in here, it’s that almost any problem can be solved with proper communication. Unless she wanted to take revenge on you for stealing her magic powers and therefore banged your step dadd⁠—”

  “Do not finish that sentence,” I try to interrupt him, but it only takes a second before he goes on about me and my defunct relationships and how it’s apparently time to finally grow up.

  Almost any problem can be solved with proper communication.

  I try to tune him out. I just want to sit down in my grandma’s rocking chair, embroider some handkerchiefs, and be left the fuck alone. Unfortunately, his words keep repeating in my mind. I recline my seat and close my eyes. Rays of sun intermittently shine through the tall buildings lining the horizon.

  Fuck.

  I don’t open my eyes until the car finally comes to a halt.

  “Turn around,” I command, and sit straight up. “I need to go scream at her.”

  “Talk to her. You need to go talk to her,” Miles says with insistence. “But good, because we’re already here.”

  I rub my eyes and look outside. The weathered facade of Haven hovers over us.

  “I should fire you.”

  “And when you say ‘fire’, you mean raise my salary by another 10%, right?”

  I grunt, grab my briefcase, step out, and throw the door shut. My (already overpaid) driver peels out of the driveway with squealing tires.

  When I think about Sienna being inside, dreaming up fantastical stories, and, for whatever fucked up reason, publishing them on the internet to hurt me or my career, a shudder runs down my back, and my resolution to speak with her weakens. I walk over to the little seating area that is surrounded by a few trees and shrubs. No one is there and the only noise I hear is from the cars down the block. A candy wrapper is lying next to a bench.

  Maybe she had a good reason for doing what she did?

  I slap myself, pick up the wrapper, and throw it into the trash can.

  There are no good reasons for what she did. None.

  I sit down and watch my feet bob up and down impatiently.