I get up without saying a word and am about to leave when Ryker gently puts his hand on the small of my back. The brief touch is enough to turn me into a deer staring into headlights. He leans in for a kiss but stops short and whispers into my ear instead, “I will tell on you.”

  A huff escapes through my nose. “The last time that worked was in third grade and my parents were still alive to actually be told anything.”

  Ryker, with all his smug Rykerness, takes a seat at the other end of the table and brandishes his phone. Olivia’s contact is open, ready to dial.

  “You wouldn’t…”

  He doesn’t say another word, just leans back into the chair with one arm across his chest, propping the other arm up so his hand can frame his stupid face like some kind of cover model.

  Only seconds go by, but they’re enough for me to think of at least a dozen ways to take revenge on him for this. After all, I’m still missing a bunch of clothing items to complete my collection. Except, for that, I’d have to get him naked again, which no, no. Not even I am that stupid.

  “So,” I say when reluctantly sitting back down, “you found my CV. Are you spying on me? You’re probably breaking a dozen laws by having my internet activity monitored.”

  Ryker leans forward and for a moment I think I can smell my own scent on him. It’s weird.

  “Speaking of breaking the law,” he interrupts my thoughts, “I believe you stole not only my pants but also my phone. Reckon I could get you arrested for that?”

  “I wish you would. I’d prefer prison over being here with you.”

  The guy from the table next to us is still staring, and I am not sure if I close one more button on my blouse because of him or the other creep threatening my arrest. I look at my handbag and notice that it’s the same one I used when going to Olivia’s wedding, so I reach for it and indeed find the phone Ryker is talking about. With all the turmoil of the last couple of days, I must have forgotten all about it. I place it on the table between us.

  “Come and work for me and you can keep it.” He slides the device back using his (maybe not all that) dainty hands.

  “I already have a phone. Plus, mine has a cat with a bloody knife on the case, so…” I produce my phone from my purse and wave it through the air.

  “Fitting,” he acknowledges, “but you don’t have a phone like this.”

  We are interrupted by our server who greets us, hands us the menu and asks what drinks we would like to order.

  “I’ll have a beer and he’ll have some champagne,” I answer before Ryker can say anything.

  The server looks at him questioningly, but Ryker just nods and leans back in his chair again. Next to us, another server is busy getting scolded by Mrs. Baddest Bitch for the temperature of her cocktail, which she has almost finished entirely. To appease her, he offers to bring a new one on the house.

  I reach for the phone and turn it over in my hand. If I had to describe it, I’d say it looks outdated. Almost as if it comes with Snake pre-installed.

  “It’s a genie in a bottle,” Ryker explains and runs his hand through his hair. Hair that looks like a personal stylist spent two hours working on it to make him the picture model for a cologne ad. $ex by Chanel. It’s all very tragic really, because most likely no one spent any time whatsoever doing his hair. “You call the genie and he’ll take care of whatever wish you have.”

  I’m a little dumbfounded. It’s as if I am caught in a poorly directed James Bond knock-off. “So you’re saying, I press the green button on here, tell ‘the genie’ my wish and it’ll come true.”

  “Pretty much.”

  “So I could theoretically use this to hire a hitman to get rid of you?”

  “I might have said this before, but I think it’s concerning that your first thought always goes straight to murder. Furthermore, I’m afraid they stopped doing contract killings some time ago. But as long as it’s within legal boundaries and physical laws…”

  Interesting.

  I take the phone, press the button and before it can even beep, there’s a friendly voice on the other line inquiring how they can be of assistance today.

  “Uhh, hi,” I stutter. “Yeah, I’d like to order a stripper.” My eyes shoot over to Ryker, whose eyebrows appear to have a second configuration in which they express surprise instead of the usual grumpiness. Then my eyes move to the guy at the table to the left who is now making a V with his index and middle finger while running his tongue between them and giving me yet another cartoonish wink.

  “Certainly,” the voice answers.

  “Actually, no, make that ten strippers. For Monday afternoon. Send them to Peter Sake at the Forever Young Foundation. The office is located at… uhhh…”

  A moment later, the anonymous voice states the address of my former workplace.

  “Right. Do you need anything else?” I ask.

  “Not unless you need anything else…”

  “Uh, no… oh, wait. Can you make sure we pay all of them triple their usual fee?”

  “Absolutely. Would there be anything else?”

  “Nope.”

  “Very well. Have a nice day and thank you for using Dreams On Demand.”

  Mindlessly, I put the phone back in my bag and notice that it suddenly has gotten even hotter in here than it already was. Or maybe it’s just the excitement-sweats one gets from exacting revenge on one’s former bosshole.

  “That the guy who fired you recently?” Ryker’s deep voice calls me back to the here and now. He seems a little different today. I’m not sure how, but maybe he’s a little less grumpy than usual, which should probably be cause for concern.

  Before I can explain, there’s more commotion at the table next to us. Now the lady is sending back her almost finished scallops, while her date is demanding a new steak that isn’t ‘as bloody bloody’ as the medium-rare steak he has somehow already gulped down almost entirely.

  Even Ryker is shaking his head with disapproval, when a moment later, our own server puts the beer down in front of him and the champagne by my plate. Ryker thanks him with unusual politeness, then swaps the drinks.

  “Oh, right,” the server apologiezes. “Do you know what it’ll be already?”

  Before he can answer, I jump at the opportunity. “I’ll have the jackfruit tacos and my… Mr. Grayson over here will have the vegan mac ’n’ cheese.”

  The server looks again to check in with My Mr. Grayson Kill Me Now Please, who seems even more amused than he did before. Instead of pushing back, he decides to play along, nods politely and sends the server off with a thank you.

  The guy from the next table uses a cough to thinly cover up an insult that is clearly meant to emasculate Ryker. I am somewhat impressed by him not jumping the guy’s throat in return. Instead, he turns his head, looks him straight in the eye and retorts in a low, grumbling voice, “I’ve been called worse things by much better people…”

  I can’t help but laugh and watch as the guy takes a few seconds to process the insult, while his date starts making eyes at my—at Ryker.

  Hitting that guy’s pride was definitely a good start, though clearly not enough. So I get up and try to think of a good explanation of why I have to leave the table. When I can’t come up with anything plausible, I imitate Arnold Schwarzenegger, say ‘I’ll be back’, and then walk towards what I assume to be a side exit.

  11

  RYKER

  When the food arrives, Sienna is still nowhere to be seen. I consider having a waitress check the bathroom in case something happened, but I think it’s safe to say she bolted.

  A low grumble involuntarily echoes from my throat as I look at the food on our plates.

  It is unfortunate… about the food, I mean.

  So, instead of leaving as well, I dig into the mac ’n’ cheese, which does not taste like something a restaurant of this reputation should serve, and much less charge an almost three-digit amount for. I swallow the bite and switch my plate with the one sitting abandoned on the opposite side.

  The awful couple next to us —or rather me— is being served the same course once again. I’m almost glad Sienna is gone because if I had to watch him stare at my… soon to be new employee for much longer, I would have had to turn that guy into dessert.

  The tacos she ordered are actually delicious, and I have finished almost all of them when Sienna, unexpectedly, drops down in her chair again. Her hair is in disarray and if I had to take a guess, I’d say she just had sex in the broom closet. Probably with the valet she was flirting with earlier.

  Is that what she does? Random sex with random strangers?

  “Hey,” she draws her full eyebrows into one angry line that makes something in my chest flutter and my throat seize up. “That’s not my food! You thief!”

  “You’re one to talk,” I reply after swallowing the last bit of taco. “Thought you’d run out on me… again.”

  “You still have your pants, don’t you?”

  An ‘uhhuuhuu’ echoes from the table next to us, followed by what sounds like a rather vulgar proposition to take off his pants instead, which is when I’ve had enough. I’ve had it with this guy. I get up and am about to force feed him my fist when I hear Sienna quietly instructing me to sit back down. Somehow that only makes me even more aggravated. My eyes dart back to the woman across the table, who insistently nods for me to take a seat.

  Who the fuck does she think she is?

  “I don’t know which one I should teach some manners first, him or you,” I grunt through clenched teeth, trying to remain calm.

  “Tough call, though I do think he’d quite like a spanking from you. Have you noticed how he’s been checking you out all evening?” Sienna takes the cutlery and I notice dark smudges on her hands. “Now, please, sit.”

  Has she been… working in the broom closet?

  What the hell has she been up to?

  Reluctantly, I comply and choose not to make a scene. The couple next to us flag down their server once more, and make him pack up their second round of the main course to go, then they complain about the quality of the food and threaten never to return. Although, for everyone else in the establishment, it’s probably more of a promise than a threat.

  After they’re gone, I finally have the chance to find out what Sienna was doing earlier. “What happened to your⁠—”

  “Come on,” she cuts me off, gets up, empties her beer in one go and slowly follows the couple that is now paying the bill. Their server seems more than relieved when he clears their table.

  “No tip,” Sienna mumbles. “Figures.” Then she turns to me and whispers in my ear, “Do you have a driver with you, or are you alone?” Her breath feels nice and warm against my skin.

  As exhaled air usually does. Nothing special about it.

  “Driver,” I reply with a lump in my throat, not sure what she is up to.

  We wait behind the couple from hell for a minute, then receive our coats. I take care of the check, leaving a tip big enough for us and the demonic duo, who are now on their way out.

  When we join them in front of the entrance, the valet pulls up their car and exits with an apologetic expression on his face.

  “I don’t know how this could happen,” he begins to explain, “but I’m afraid you have a flat tire.”

  The guy, whose hair looks like he probably swam here, checks his rear wheel and then, with an increasingly red head, wags his finger at the valet. “Are you shitting me, dude? You did this on purpose, didn’t you?” He grabs the poor guy by his uniform’s lapels and shakes him a little.

  “Well, this is unacceptable,” his date chimes in. “We want to speak to your⁠—”

  “Oh, I don’t think that will be necessary,” Sienna interrupts, trying to calm the wife, while I grab the husband by his neck and pull him off the unlucky employee. For someone of his frail stature, that guy is a lot more aggressive than is safe for him.

  “They can just take our car, can’t they…” Sienna looks at me with a forced smile and gears turning in her head, “babe?”

  A shiver runs down my spine and then all the way up again, causing the corners of my mouth to lift involuntarily. It seems like she looked for the pet name that would annoy me the most. Unsuccessfully. It’s an odd sensation and I’m not entirely sure what’s happening here, but I do immediately get what she is planning. “Well, yes, absolutely,” I say and straighten the guy’s suit, then put my arm around him. “Here comes Miles, my driver,” I motion toward the black limousine that is pulling up next to the yellow accident that is this guy’s car. “He will take you anywhere you want.”

  Wet Hair looks over at his date, apparently uncertain what to do.

  “There’s champagne inside,” I say and watch her light up.

  “Well, if you wanna see the show…” she croons and is already on her way in.

  The guy makes a threatening head bop towards our valet and reluctantly walks towards my car as well. “Get it fixed,” he threatens. “I will send someone to pick it up tomorrow.”

  “What show are you going to see?” I ask, pretending to be interested.

  “None of your business now, is it?”

  Charming guy.

  I nod and open the door for him while grinding my teeth a little. “Of course,” I answer. “I hope you have a very pleasant night.” Hopefully, about as pleasant as you are, I think to myself, then tap on my driver’s window, lean down to Miles and, for everyone to hear, tell him, “Take them wherever they want to go.” Then I move in closer and whisper, “But make sure you take the longest route and hit every single traffic jam you can find on the way.”

  Miles nods with a grin on his face and off they go. Sienna has a similar devious grin when she walks back to me. The valet is busy calling someone to repair the tire.

  “We need to call your driver to let him know to⁠—”

  “Take the longest route through every traffic jam he can find? Already took care of it.”

  Sienna nods approvingly, apparently not expecting me to be capable of the same level of pettiness as her. “And you should give⁠—”

  “My business card to… Joseph, is it?” I pull out my card, add a nice tip, and let him know to call me in case he runs into any trouble with this douche or his boss so I can straighten it out.

  Sienna gives me a suspicious side-eye, reluctantly (and then a little too enthusiastically) bids farewell to Joseph, and we start walking through the chilly night air.

  “Some people.” She shakes her head. “Can you believe it?”

  My mind automatically adds a ‘babe’ at the end of that sentence.

  Can you believe it, babe?

  I have never been a fan of pet names. They are a waste of time, if you ask me, and ‘babe’ is the most generic one there is, but it feels different when she’s saying it. Sienna has a way of making even the most mundane things sound… special. But, truth be told, I would probably get aroused just by her reading my grocery list out loud. Another sign that something is profoundly wrong with me. I try to clear my mind of the intrusive thoughts that are about to take hold.

  “So you vanished from dinner to stab their tire? That’s quite…” I am looking for the right words to describe someone who defies simple definitions. “That’s quite…”

  “Necessary,” she says flatly. “Both of them were being impossible. They were rude to the valet, rude to the server, they were gaming the restaurant and most importantly⁠—”

  “Neither of them should have been driving a car after all the cocktails and whiskey they had.”

  Sienna glances over at me, stuffs her hands in her pockets and nods. “Also, I didn’t stab their tire. I took a tiny pebble, put it into the cap on the valve and screwed that back on to deflate it. Worked like a charm.”

  “Resourceful,” I admit as we walk next to the gently flowing water of the river. “Remind me not to get on your bad side,” I joke, which elicits a little laugh from the woman next to me. It’s hard not to stare at her bobbing hair, her red nose, or that beautiful smile. “Where do you think they’re going now?”

  Sienna climbs up a small boulder on one side, then jumps down the other side, using my shoulder as a rail to hold on to. “Well, I’m hoping hell, but realistically I’d say to some locale called The Pearl Necklace, probably.”

  I laugh. “The Pearl Necklace sounds a little too classy. They’re more of a Holes & Poles kind of crowd, if you ask me.”

  Sienna laughs again, now louder, but quickly chokes it off. “Do you think Miles is going to be fine? They might not go to hell, but they’re sure going to give him a taste of it.”

  “Have you already forgotten who he’s working for? He’s used to much worse. Besides, Miles is a trained bodyguard with combat experience. He will be able to take care of that little prick, no problem.”

  Sienna seems to be content with that answer and so we continue walking through the dimly lit street. It’s nice out tonight. It’s nice walking by the river at night… even with Sienna. And there’s a slew of questions queued in my mind, waiting to be asked. I start with the most obvious one.

  “So, what’s the deal with that?”

  “Deal with what?”

  “Your compulsive streak of questionable righteousness.”

  To my surprise, Sienna doesn’t have a quick comeback the way she usually does. Her eyes flicker over to me and I’m not entirely certain what she might be thinking. She’s quiet and I wonder what to make of that. Does she feel insulted by something that seems rather obvious? Did something else happen? Did I do something to upset her even more than she usually seems to be around me?

  “Someone has to do it,” she answers eventually, without further explanation, as we close in on a more populated area. “That reminds me: you’re back on top of my list,” she tries to change the subject and I let her.

  “What list?” I answer, intending to come back to this topic another time.