Stalker Problems - Chapter 35 - My Second Wish
“I can’t believe we didn’t think of that sooner!” said Chastity. “ Of course he’s a genie. That’s why the Society’s logo is a genie lamp. And the whole three wish thing.”
I laughed. “He’s not a genie, Chastity. And whether he is or not has nothing to do with the Society anyway.
It’s not like he owns the whole operation.
He’s just a member. He was definitely just messing with me.
But on the bright side, he liked all of our graphics.
” I opened my laptop to get back to work. That lasted for about three minutes.
Chastity spun my chair around to face her, not caring at all that I was in the middle of typing. “I’ve got it.”
“Got what?”
“Your first genie wish. He said you could have three, right?’
“Society wishes?” I asked. “Or personal genie wishes from Tanner?”
“From Tanner. Did you ever finalize your wish for the magic carpet ride?”
I kind of wanted to get back to work, but my curiosity got the best of me. “Nope. And yes, he said I have three wishes.”
“And are there any rules? Like about not killing people? Or not being able to make people fall in love?”
“We didn’t get that far.” And then something clicked. Rules. Wishes. “Holy shit, Chastity! You’re a genius!”
“I am? But I didn’t even tell you my idea yet.”
I got up and ran to Tanner’s office. Evie had long since stopped trying to prevent me from going into his office whenever I pleased. Tanner looked up as I stormed in.
“Are you stalking me?” he asked.
I was beaming. He was back to messing with me. “Yup.” I closed the door and sat down. “I know what I want for my next wish.”
“Your next wish? I never granted the magic carpet ride, so technically you still have three.”
“Not your fake genie wishes. I mean my Society wishes. I’ve only used one. How do I use another?”
Tanner lowered his eyebrows. “On the app.”
I pulled out my phone and opened the app. “Where do I click?”
“The genie lamp logo, of course.”
“Ah. They really should make that more clear.” I clicked the logo and a new screen popped up:
You have three wishes. What is your second wish?
I typed in my wish and hit submit.
“So what’d you wish for?” asked Tanner.
“None of your business. But if you must know, I wished to learn all of Ryder Storm’s secrets.”
Tanner had no response. He just stared at me as I turned and walked triumphantly out of his office.
Gotcha bitch.
An hour later when I looked up from my computer to stretch, I noticed a little black envelope sitting on my desk. Where did that come from!? The obvious answer was Tanner. But how had he put it there without me knowing? He was so damn sneaky.
For once it was my turn to interrupt Chastity in the middle of work. I spun her chair around. She jumped and almost tossed her laptop on the floor.
“What the…” She squealed with excitement the second she saw the envelope. “Open it!”
I slowly broke the gold wax seal and pulled out the thick white parchment. I cleared my throat and read: "Raven Black, it would be my pleasure to escort you to an exclusive exhibition at the Metropolitan Museum of Art this evening at 8:30. Signed, Ryder Storm.”
YES! But what did this have to do with his secrets? Was he a world-class painter? I’d find out soon enough…
***
I had polished off half a bottle of champagne by the time my limo rolled up to the Met. It was the only way to prevent myself from hyperventilating. My mind was running a mile a minute, second-guessing every decision I’d made since I got the date card.
Is this too much cleavage? Yes.
Are these the right Odegaards? Definitely not.
Choosing one of 74 pairs had been my worst nightmare.
Eventually I had just played eeny, meeny, miny, moe and landed on the snake-skin Medusas.
So I wore them. Ha. Yeah right . I didn’t have the confidence to wear those things in public. Instead I just wore some sparkly pumps.
Here goes nothing. I took a deep breath and got ready to step out of the limo.
I expected to be attacked by paparazzi as I made my way down the red carpet to the doors of the Met…
but there was no red carpet. And no paparazzi.
Because this wasn’t the Met Gala. It was just the Met on a random Tuesday.
Duh. The only person who even looked at me was a hotdog vendor, and that was just to tell me that I looked like I was in the mood for one of his nice juicy wieners.
See? Too much cleavage.
I tugged my top up and rushed up the stairs to the Met.
The view inside took my breath away. And I’m not talking about the view of the great hall.
I’m talking about the view of Ryder in his maroon and gold suit.
He was sexy when he was Tanner, but when he transformed into Ryder, when he showed his confidence with his man bun and wild tuxedos…
that was when I really found him irresistible.
I tried to do my sexiest walk towards him, but I only managed to trip and nearly break my ankle. Fuck! I threw my hands out to catch myself, but there was no need. Because Ryder caught me in his strong arms.
“Are you stalking me?” he asked, while still balancing me in his arms.
If I hadn’t been before, I definitely would have been now. Because this would have been an epic meet-cute. “Technically you’re the one that happened to show up when I fell. I believe that means you’re stalking me.” I patted his chest. All I wanted to do was rip his shirt off.
He smiled as he steadied me back on my feet. “Your dress is stunning.”
“You too.” His dress is stunning? I coughed to try to distract him from my stupid comment.
And I shouldn’t have said something nice, anyway.
I was supposed to be playing hard to get.
I took a deep breath and reminded myself of the plan.
I wasn’t interested in him. We were boss and employee.
Nothing more. I tried to think of a way to change my compliment into an insult.
I pointed at his tux. “I know this is an art exhibit, but I didn’t realize we were supposed to wear the art. ”
“You look like a work of art as well,” he said.
No! I wasn’t complimenting you. It was supposed to be a sick burn. Why did he have to be so dense? “Are you stalking me?” I used his own line against him.
But he wasn’t fazed at all. He just grabbed my hand and twirled me. The way he looked at me as my dress flared out made me feel like the most beautiful woman in the world. If he had finished it off with a dip, I would have lost all control and made out with him right then and there.
“You’re just in time for the tour. Shall we?
” He put his hand on the small of my back and led me to one of the smaller rooms of the gallery.
A dozen couples were milling around admiring the paintings.
Based on their appearances - all super attractive, dressed to the nines, and wearing black wristbands - I assumed they were all Society members.
The docent cleared her throat and asked for our attention. Everyone gathered around and she started describing some ugly Jacques Louis David painting that was apparently worth millions.
“What do you think?” asked Ryder.
“Of the painting? It’s fine.”
He nodded. “Insightful critique. Want to know what I think of it?”
“Sure.”
“I thought you’d be more excited. You wanted to know all my secrets, did you not?”
I just stared at him.
“Unfortunately telling secrets is strictly forbidden by the Society. But you’d be surprised by how much you can learn about a person based on their art critiques.”
“Oh yeah? What did my critique reveal about my soul?”
“That you’re too shy to say what you really think. That you’re scared of embarrassing yourself and saying the wrong thing.”
I opened my mouth to protest. Nothing came out. He had gotten me exactly right. I was always worried about saying the wrong thing. So I usually overthought everything and somehow ended up saying something way worse than the original thing in my head.
“See?”
“Okay, Mr. Smarty Pants. What do you think of the painting?”
Ryder ran his fingers along his five o’clock shadow as he stared at the painting. It looked like he was really studying it.
And I was studying him. Because all I wanted was to feel that stubble against my face again. God, why did he have to be so devastatingly handsome? The fact that he’d been an ass for weeks just melted away when I was looking at him. I bit my lip.
“This is actually one of my favorite paintings,” he said. “Do you know what it’s about?”
“No.”
“It depicts the death of Socrates. Politicians accused him of corrupting the youth and gave him the choice of renouncing his beliefs or drinking hemlock. He chose the hemlock.”
“Ah, well it’s clear what your critique says about you. You’re a showoff.”
Ryder laughed. “That wasn’t even my critique. I was just giving you some context so that you’d understand why the use of negative space in the piece was so bold. And why the harmonious palette is so evocative.”
“Yup, you’re definitely a showoff. Do you even know what those words mean?”
“No clue. I just heard some douche use them last time I was here.”
Now it was my turn to laugh.
“Really though, I think the message behind this painting is so important. Imagine if everyone was so willing to stand up for what they believe in.”
“It’s not that simple.”
“Sure it is. Take my colorful tuxedos.” He pulled the jacket open to reveal the gold lining. “Do you know how many insults I’ve gotten about them?”
“Depends on how long you’ve been wearing them.”
“Doesn’t matter how long. Because the answer is zero. Not a single insult. But I’ve gotten a ton of compliments. And they got you to stalk me, so I’d say that’s a win…”
I shoved his arm. “Uh, excuse me. But if I recall, you were the one stalking me . #StalkerProblems.” I almost squealed. I’d used that hashtag perfectly! It was definitely the best I’d ever done. #Ever. Eh, I ruined it. But #StalkerProblems would go down in history as my best use ever.
“If you say so. Speaking of stalking, you’re going to need your stalking skills to find our tour group. It appears we’ve been left behind.”
I looked around. Yup, we were alone. How had I not noticed them leave? Was Ryder really that distracting?
A phone ringing startled me.
“Whoops,” said Ryder as he fished his phone out of his breast pocket. Then he narrowed his eyes. “I have to take this. I’ll be right back. Don’t get into too much trouble while I’m gone.” He winked at me and walked out of the room.
I took a few minutes to admire some of the other art in the room.
But after I had looked at every piece and read all the placards twice, I started to get antsy.
Where was he? Did he think I was going to go find the group?
For all I knew, Ryder was with the tour group wondering where the heck I had gone.
I decided to go find him. But the room he’d gone into was empty and the lights were off. Same story for the next room. And the next.
A chill ran down my spine. Tanner had warned me that he’d messed with bad people.
Had they taken him? Were they coming for me next?
I tried to think of an escape plan, which was super easy.
I had lots of practice making escape plans.
I’d started making them when I was four years old.
I saw something on TV about a home invasion and convinced myself that it was 100% going to happen to my family.
After that, before bed every night I’d practiced taking the curtain rod down and swinging it around like a spear.
I even taught Rosalie to do it when she was old enough.
If only I’d taught her a little better, maybe she could have defended herself from whoever took her…
A footstep behind me made me jump.
Shit! I had gotten so distracted thinking about Rosalie that I hadn’t gotten close enough to the display of swords in order to protect myself.
“Everything okay, Miss?” asked a gruff voice.
I spun around, looking for anything within reach that might be a suitable weapon.
Pushing a solid marble statue onto my attacker’s head felt like a decent option…
But then I realized that it was just a security guard.
And he didn’t look very threatening with his cute bald head and bulging waistline.
His eyes wandered down to my black bracelet. “You’re with that tour group, right?”
“Yeah. And my very big, strong friend will be back in just a second. He uh…went to the bathroom.” So don’t try to murder me.
He gave me a funny look and then grabbed his radio. “Hey Mike, you seen that tour group?”
A staticky voice replied, “Yup. They’re in room 538.”
“You hear that? Room 538.” He pulled a map out of his waistband and flicked it open.
Okay, so he was definitely just a helpful security guard. Good thing I didn’t murder him with a 900-pound statue. And then I had an idea. If he could find the tour group with his fancy little radio, maybe he could find Ryder. “I’m actually looking for Ryder Storm.”
“Hmm…doesn’t sound familiar.” He picked up his radio again. “Mike, it’s Steve again. I’ve got a girl here looking for Ryder Storm?”
“I bet you do,” came the reply with a laugh. “Tell her she can find him in that new exhibit…Exhibit Hall D.”
Why did he laugh? Was it because Ryder is so sexy? Was some other girl flirting with Ryder in Exhibit Hall D?!
“Ah, of course,” said the guard. “That’s over in the modern and contemporary section. Room 913.” He handed me the map and pointed to my destination with his big, completely unthreatening, sausage finger.
“Thanks.” I snatched the map and hurried off. He didn’t look like a cartel assassin, but I couldn’t be too cautious.
It took me like ten minutes to get all the way to the other side of the Met. In normal heels, my feet would have been aching after such a long trek. But I felt fine in my Odegaards. Thank you, Ryder.
A guard was standing outside of the heavy double doors that led to Exhibit Hall D. I thought his biceps might rip right out of his black V-neck as he crossed his arms and stepped to block the door.
“Hey, I’m looking for Ryder Storm.”
“May I see your left wrist, please?” he asked. His voice was even more intimidating than his appearance, if that was possible.
I held up my wrist with the black bracelet.
“Thank you.” He stepped aside and opened the door in one fluid motion.
I stepped through the heavy wooden doors. The guard closed them behind me, leaving me in a pitch-black room.
And this is where I’m going to die.