30. Sienna
30
SIENNA
I could say that I am surprised by the fact that the most exhilarating thing during my ‘first’ date with Ryker Grayson was not the elevator ride, the most delicious meal I’ve ever had, or even the skydive, but I’m not. By now, I am well aware of the effect he has on me, so it doesn’t come as much of a surprise that the most exhilarating thing is simply him kissing me. By now, I am not even afraid to admit that, given the chance, I wouldn’t even try to murder him anymore. Quite the opposite, actually. In hindsight, I now realize how very wrong I was about the kind of person Ryker F. Grayson really is.
So, on Monday, I am back to diligently sitting at my desk, trying to do my job, trying to figure out why I can’t shake the feeling that there is something odd about this Ryker Rumors thing, but my mind is still somewhere over the clouds and in that helicopter. Flying over the bustling city at night, while the guy you have a thing for feels you up, is quite something.
On Tuesday and Wednesday, I start aggregating all my work, including a counter-strategy, in a PowerPoint presentation that I plan on showing Ryker by the end of the week.
Our lawyers are still busy trying to get a judge to overrule the eviction notice, which appears to be difficult even for some of the best legal representation in the country. We had our own assessment of the state of the building done that proves that we are in no danger staying at Haven, but so far it seems to have been in vain. Our lead lawyer says it’s not entirely unthinkable that our judge might be in the pocket of Harmony as well.
When the clock hits 3 PM on Thursday, my phone starts ringing and pulls me from my daydream about Ryker and his immaculate everything.
“Yeah?” I answer it a little reluctantly.
“We’re on…” Guy says on the other side.
“…the phone, yes, I know. You called me.”
“No,” he whispers with urgency, “we’re on as in: we’re about to observe our target.”
“Target? We’re going from mark to target? Seems needlessly dramatizing.”
He sighs. “Are you in or not?”
“Of course I’m in. Someone’s gotta watch out that you guys don’t get yoursel?—”
“Stop talking nonsense and get your hindquarters down here,” Guy still whispers hastily.
“You’re already here?”
“Unmarked van outside. Hurry.”
I throw my jacket on, grab my bag, and head for the door to the stairwell when the elevator suddenly opens. For a second I get excited to see Ryker before I have to leave, but instead Barb steps out. She seems a little annoyed at the fact that she can’t find Ryker. I explain that a minor emergency came up and ask whether she could let him know once she does find him. Then I rush to the O-Team who are waiting in a (not quite unmarked) van in front of the office building.
Earnest throws the door open for me to get in.
“So we’re staking out the owner of Haven Life Community in a van with the logo of Haven Life Community on its side?”
Everyone is quiet for a moment before Paige starts rummaging through her oversized bag, produces a black marker, and hands it to Robyn. I watch as Robyn adds the letters U, N, S and a question mark.
Both of us inspect her work. It now says ‘UNSHAVEN?’ in big, bold letters on the side of the van. With a few quick strokes, she also turns the generic-looking illustration of Haven into a big beard and then does the same to the other side of the van.
Upon completion, I am pushed inside the car and we head off. Earnest has done his thing and got us access to Dicky’s calendar, which allows us to track him down easily. Once we do, we follow him from a popular café downtown where he has a banana split for late lunch, to an expensive winery, to a random ice cream shop where he has a giant cone topped with an unhealthy amount of whipped cream. Apparently, the dick head really enjoys his gelato.
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 na?ve, 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.