“Olivia told me to take care of their plants and mail.”

  “We should probably find new friends.”

  “Finally, something we can agree on.”

  Olivia’s words shoot through my head: ‘We can’t be best friends anymore. Ryker is my best friend now.’

  We look at each other for a while. No one moving, no one saying a word. This is probably what people describe as palpable tension, which should usually make one uncomfortable, but it’s not. If anything, it’s invigorating in the oddest way.

  Sienna certainly is a lot of things. Easily embarrassed is not one of them. She exudes confidence and conviction. Too bad she seems to use it to be disagreeable and rude most of the time.

  “Well,” she finally says and steps towards me, “I’d be mad at them, but I haven’t really eaten anything yet, so….” She reaches for one of the bags and tries to take it from me. I hold tight to the bag, Sienna holds tight to my hand, and the temperature suddenly rises a few degrees.

  “You should probably put on some clothes before you catch something,” I say, and carry everything to the kitchen.

  “If I haven’t caught anything from you yet, I’m probably not going to,” Sienna quips and follows slowly. “Did you fire all of your assistants? Is that why you have to run errands like this yourself now?”

  “What makes you think I have several assistants to take care of things like this for me?”

  “For one, you’re rich, like filthy rich. For two, you did fire one of them at the airport, and for three, your hands are way too soft and dainty. They probably haven’t seen any physical labor since you last disposed of a body.”

  Here we go again. Sienna is like a boxer. Quick on her feet and even quicker to hit you with a combination to your metaphorical liver and jaw. It’s rude and disrespectful and, for whatever reason, incredibly arousing.

  “First of all, I fired her for very good reasons. And, secondly, I assure you, those hands wouldn’t look as dainty wrapped around your neck.”

  “Well, well, well, look at Mr. Handful threatening murder once again.”

  “You just bring it out in me,” I admit.

  “I do tend to bring out the best in people,” Sienna shoots back, grabs the grapes that I just put on the counter and hops off towards the terrace. “And I am not surprised the best you have to offer is murdering innocent women.”

  Innocent is probably the last word any sane person would use to describe Sienna de la Vega.

  I watch her ass shake as she walks away, because, apparently, I have a masochistic streak in me I didn’t know about. How else would you explain me still being here in the first place?

  From the kitchen, I can see how Sienna strips off her panties and glides into the bubbles underneath her. Steam is coming from the hot tub, and only now do I realize that my useless dick has a mind of his own once again. It’s raging against my zipper, asking to go for a swim.

  No, I say out loud to make sure I hear it myself. We will not go out there and we will definitely not repeat the same mistake. Only fools repeat their mistakes.

  I finish stowing away all the groceries and think about what to do next. For the first time in what feels like forever, I don’t have any meetings scheduled. Maybe I should hit a bar and pick up some girl for some noncommittal intercourse.

  Noncommittal intercourse, yes, that’s the best way to describe it. It wouldn’t be sex, there would be no passion, no heat, no nothing. Just taking care of some fundamental physical cravings.

  My empty stomach pipes up and reminds me that I should probably take care of some even more fundamental cravings first. So I open the fridge back up, grab the butter, pancetta, parmesan, and some eggs.

  Sienna is still sitting in the hot tub, her undeniably beautiful hair bouncing in the air as she bobs along to the beat of whatever music she is listening to. It’s probably Death Metal. She seems like someone who enjoys music that makes you want to smash things.

  I put a pot of water salted like the ocean on the stove.

  The sun is about to set behind the skyscrapers in the distance, giving Sienna’s skin a golden shine to it as she lifts her arms out of the water and rests them on the edge of the tub.

  I fry the pancetta and garlic in a pan before adding some butter.

  Olivia’s cat must have smelled what I’m up to and has started sneaking around my feet, making sure I feel his tail smack against my leg every once in a while. Committing probably several health-code violations, I pick him up, give him a kiss and some pancetta for good measure. When my eyes inadvertently look out through the window, they meet Sienna’s annoyed stare. Only she isn’t staring at me, she is staring at the cat and mouths something to the tune of ‘traitor’ or possibly ‘waiter’, though I doubt she is expecting him to serve her food. I scratch him behind his ears, give him another piece of pork, let him know that he’s a very good traitor, and put him back down. When the pasta is done, I incorporate the parmesan, eggs and noodles and some starchy water into a creamy pan of deliciousness.

  As I am forking the noodles onto two plates, my phone rings in my pocket. So much for ‘no more meetings today’ and ‘don’t forward any calls unless it’s an emergency’.

  My brother’s name appears on the screen. Sometimes I wish I could, but ignoring not only your brother, but your brother with whom you are running one of the biggest conglomerates in the country, is not something I can do. Duty first.

  He skips any greetings. “Did you return my jet safely?”

  “Sans whiskey, that is,” I answer and take a bite of the pasta.

  “You don’t even like whiskey.”

  “I’m also not the biggest fan of pink pajama pants,” I say with a full mouth.

  “But you looked so good.”

  “What can I do for you, Bruce?”

  “You can’t do anything for me, but I’m doing something for you. I’m calling to let you know that I have been approached by a few members of the board. They are worried.”

  I swallow the food and put the fork down. “Worried about what? Business is going fine. Revenue is up, dividends are being paid, each quarter has been better than the last one.”

  “It’s not about the performance of the company, Ryker.”

  Right, of course it isn’t. “Well, can’t say I didn’t see it coming.”

  “Yeah, have you seen today’s headline yet? Hold on.” There are clicking sounds in the background. “Here it is: ‘Gropey Grayson — Now Touching Himself In Public’.” Bruce laughs. “I guess that’s better than groping other people in public.”

  I let out an annoyed groan. “News cycle still hasn’t moved on yet?”

  “They just love you too much. What are we going to do about it?”

  “Two options. One: we buy all the media so they’ll stop publishing bullshit like this.”

  “I am afraid we might be short a few billion to buy all the media.”

  “Which leaves us with option number two.” I turn back towards the window. Steam rises from the water and veils Sienna in a magical-looking mist that is illuminated by the setting sun. It looks like a scene from a fantasy movie (and, despite her lack of clothing, definitely nothing like mediocre porn). She averts her gaze as soon as I turn, but I am sure she was staring at me. Probably plotting something nefarious again. Now she is looking up into the dimming afternoon sky, her breath vaporizing in the cold air.

  “Ryker? Still there?” Bruce asks. “When you say stuff like that, you have to elaborate, you know? What’s option number two?”

  “I’ll hire a PR consultant. Let them take care of my image. It’ll send the right message to the board. Proactively solving the issue, yadda, yadda…”

  “I have been saying that for months now! I thought you were against hiring outside people to work on your image?”

  “Well, drastic and continuous scandals call for drastic and probably annoying measures.”

  Bruce laughs. “I think it’s a good idea. It will definitely buy us some time with the board. You just need to make sure we’re seeing results. More scandals like this would certainly complicate things.” An almost silent sigh echoes through the phone and I know what he is thinking.

  “Don’t worry,” I say. “I know the bad press has been a bit of an issue, but I’ve got it under control.” Or at least I will.

  It’s a tricky situation. Even though all those headlines and that social media uproar is nothing but poor reporting and baseless slander, it can still affect morale, reputation, and ultimately the stock of the company, and if those things are tanking, then so will the business at some point, and we can’t afford that. There are too many lives directly tied to our success.

  “Don’t worry, I’m on it,” I reiterate and hang up.

  And I will be. Getting Sienna to work for me can’t be that hard. If push comes to shove, I can always just offer more money. Or hire another PR consultant, though I’d really prefer not to.

  I finish the rest of the pasta and notice Sienna’s laptop. She has one of those job searching sites pulled up on the screen. Our eyes meet again and immediately my dick makes itself known once more. It’s squished against my pants, uncomfortably pointing towards the exit and, for once, I think it has the right idea.

  10

  SIENNA

  “He ate it, so it’s unlikely to be poisoned,” I explain to my cat while looking at a plate of pasta that smells like an Italian fairy godmother had just been here. The noodles are twisted to a neat little mound, cheese is carefully sprinkled on top and even the rim is wiped clean. It looks like it was made by a professional.

  “Professional assassin? Or chef?”

  The Chairman meows in response, probably to say that he’d be happy to try it first.

  “Eh, who cares? If I die, you may feast on me until Olivia returns.” I grab the dish and a fork, and rush back outside. The plate is empty within a minute or two (as is the rest of the pan) which confirms what I have been suspecting all along: Ryker Grayson probably made some deal with the devil. How else would you explain that he can cook like this while looking at least equally delicious? In return, he probably had to give up his soul, or heart, or whatever thing he is missing.

  A couple hours later, I look like a dried-up peach. I also feel like one; that is, if dried-up peaches feel entirely relaxed from lying around for too long. The sun is all but gone when my phone rings inside the penthouse. Reluctantly, I dry myself off and take the call. It’s an unknown number.

  “Hello, is this Sienna… de la Vega?” a woman on the other end asks.

  I’m afraid so, I want to answer but leave it at a, “Yup, this is she.”

  “Great, well, we saw your CV online and think you might be a good fit for one of our positions. Would you be willing to meet us for an interview?”

  Would I? “Uhh, sure. I’d love to.”

  “Great,” she repeats as if she really means it. “I will send you all the necessary information via mail.”

  “Looking forward to it,” I get out before being cut off by the beeping of an ended call.

  Well, this is promising. Maybe I won’t have to dip into my savings to pay rent… by which I mean, I won’t have to work for lousy tips while getting groped or ask Olivia to bail me out. And I definitely won’t have to accept Ryker’s offer, which obviously was never really on the table anyway.

  It’s nice and warm inside the penthouse. Nonetheless, I decide to put on some clothes, in case more creepers come in unexpectedly. Then I text my best friend:

  Love you :-*

  She answers a few minutes later.

  What are you scheming now?

  Nothing yet, but it will probably involve strange men walking in on you while you’re dancing naked in someone else’s living room.

  Hey, he’s not strange! He’s a sweetheart. You just have to get to know him!

  PS: I say the exact same thing about you to other people.

  Well, don’t, or they won’t be scared when meeting me anymore.

  I do want to tell her what’s up with my life, with my (former) job and everything else that’s going on, but I know she’d start worrying too much to be able to relax and enjoy her honeymoon. She’d also try to force me to take her money. So, instead, I change the subject.

  How’s the new husband? Did you break him yet?

  Not yet, but we’re both giving it our best. I really needed this vacation after three years of working non-stop.

  I am thrilled for you. Now go back to whatever or whomever you were doing.

  PS: I do indeed love you.

  Love you too :-*

  The email about the job interview arrives later that evening. Unfortunately, it doesn’t have any information about the job, salary or company, which makes me a little suspicious. It just says to come to a restaurant, that is located down by the river, on Friday at 7 PM. Signed by Barbara Dwyer, assistant to the CEO. That must be the lady from the call.

  A quick google search reveals that it is a rather fancy restaurant too. Despite the lack of information, and in the hope of a free dinner at some too-wealthy firm’s expense, I decide to go anyway. Worst-case scenario, they’ll try to sell me on some MLM pyramid scheme and I will have to do the dishes to pay off my meal. It’d be just like your average tinder date.

  After spending a couple of days with my cat and taking care of some administrative work, I find myself still at Olivia’s place when the interview comes around. It takes some time to go through my best friend’s closet, but I finally find a skirt and blouse that fit, even if they’re a bit tighter than I’d usually wear. I figure if my interview partner is a man, it’ll probably come in handy.

  It’s after 5 PM when I get going, and arguably the second worst time to ride the subway (only surpassed by 5 AM, which is peak getting-stabbed time). It takes over an hour to get to my destination. A destination to which I probably could have walked in about half an hour, but then I would have had to change into a new outfit. This way, at least, I’m only a little sticky from the guy who tried to wipe his peanut-butter-drenched fingers on my coat.

  The stiff wind hits my cheeks when I exit the subway, and I regret spending an excessive amount of time applying rouge to them. They’d probably look peachy enough just from the frosty breeze.

  The restaurant appears even fancier than one would have gathered from their website, but apart from a valet outside, there aren’t many people around. I am a little early for the interview.

  “Is this Hangry?” I ask the guy dressed in an official-looking uniform.

  “It is,” he answers and smiles back.

  “You must be freezing out here, especially with the wind.”

  “I probably would be, but the vodka helps.” He taps against the inside pocket of his jacket.

  I laugh and hand him the hand warmers I stole from Olivia’s place. “This doesn’t taste quite as good, but hopefully it’ll feel warm for a bit.”

  Joseph, as it says on his name tag, accepts the pouches with a thank you and stuffs them in his pockets, sealing the warmth in with his hands.

  “Anything you can recommend from the menu?” I inquire, trying to keep the poor guy some company even if just for a bit.

  “Oh, depends on what you like. My personal favorite are the jackfruit tacos, but honestly, it’s all superb. Except for the vegan mac ’n’ cheese. They say it’s an acquired taste, but if you ask me, it tastes like my old socks after I’ve worn them for three days so I can sell them on Craigslist to some foot fetishist.” Joseph laughs and then assures me that the rest is indeed very good, when next to us, a heavy yellow car pulls up. It’s a brand that I don’t recognize, but I assume it must be expensive. The woman who exits when Joseph opens the door confirms my suspicions. She is wearing a long dress that looks like she is about to attend a gala. Only her necklace that says ‘Baddest Bitch’ gives away that it would be a very interesting kind of gala. The driver, also dressed in a fine-looking suit, walks around the car, adjusts his greasy hair, sticks the sunglasses he was sporting in his collar, and tosses the keys vaguely in our direction. I duck so they don’t hit me in the head. There’s no chance for Joseph to catch them, so he has to walk a few steps to pick them up.

  The driver, instead of apologizing, laughs, then extends his arm for his date to hold on to. They pass both of us without even acknowledging our existence.

  Joseph closes the passenger door and shrugs. When he sees the anger in my eyes, he says, “Yeah, that happens sometimes. As long as they don’t hit you, it’s okay though. I usually just move all their mirrors, so they have to spend dozens of seconds readjusting them. Plus, once in a while, I get a good tip as reparation.”

  “That’s still not okay,” I say and stare after the rude couple.

  “You should head inside.” Joseph circles the car. “I have to park this monstrosity. Enjoy your dinner and have a nice evening…”

  “Sienna,” I say, and give him my best smile.

  “Have a nice evening, Sienna. And let me know if you need a getaway car. I’ve got you covered.” He winks, slaps the top of the car and hops inside, then parks it in an underground garage around the corner.

  It’s 6:45 PM, which means I still have a few minutes. The usher at the reception takes my coat and shows me to my seat. In fact, it’s not just any seat. It’s a seat right in front of a gigantic glass panel with a magnificent view of the river and the skyline behind it. We must have gotten really lucky because these are the best seats in the house. Unfortunately, they’re also next to the couple from earlier, but I try to ignore that fact. The setting is almost a little too romantic for a job interview.

  I glance around to check if my appointment is already on its way, but it seems like I have a few more minutes, so I use the spoon to check my makeup and for any lipstick on my teeth.

  As I put the spoon back down, an unfortunately all too familiar voice echoes behind me. “$5000 a week.”

  The hair in my neck stands up immediately. I close my eyes and try not to reach for the knife on the table.

  Breathe, just breathe.

  That getaway car sounds awfully tempting right now. I open my eyes back up and look around the room, painfully aware that it must sound like my services are up for sale. The guy with the yellow car, and equally fashionable hair, gives me his most disgustingly inappropriate smile and wink. His date/girlfriend/baddest bitch seems not to notice or if she does, she must be used to his antics and ignores them.