17
The next morning, even though I’d gotten home at vampire o’clock, ears still ringing and hair marinated in that unmistakable cocktail of fake smoke, spilled beer, and post-concert adrenaline, I actually found the motivation to wake up early. Eight a.m.
Okay, once upon a time I used to get up at six to write.
Six. In. The. Morning.
Which now feels like pure Norse mythology.
Back then, my job was to invent things: characters, dialogue, punch lines, dramatic endings.
Now my method had evolved. Revolutionized, actually.
All I had to do was observe.
Open my eyes, keep my mouth shut (as much as humanly possible), and write everything down. No need to add irony, rhythm, or pathos—my new heroine was already a natural cocktail of all three. My only job was not to mess her up.
By waking up at eight, I was sure I’d catch her off guard. Maybe still with pillow lines on her face and mascara smudges under her eyes. I wanted to study her mood, her look… see if the night had brought wisdom or just more supervillain schemes. After all, last night she’d declared war on the King.
But nope.
Not this time either.
Did she even sleep? Or was her brain now a steam engine powered entirely by revenge, ambition, and sublimated testosterone?
The truth was simple: Tess was no longer my roommate.
She was an entity.
A seduction-Terminator, programmed for one mission only: to bring Ryder to his knees, panting and begging at her feet. And she wouldn’t stop until it happened. Amen.
Funny to think that before The Manual , she couldn’t even form words in the morning. She’d shuffle into the kitchen like a silent zombie and grunt if you asked, “How’s it going?” Now she looked like she’d just marched out of a war movie—epic soundtrack, sunrise lighting and all.
I found her at the window, back straight, hands clasped behind her back, eyes locked on Manhattan’s Upper East Side.
Motionless. Strategic. Focused.
A statue of pure calculation.
“Well, well… if it isn’t General Patton,” I said from the doorway. “Already awake and in pre-battle mode.”
She didn’t turn. Kept her eyes on the horizon.
“Today we make contact,” she said, solemn as someone predicting an alien encounter.
“Wait—you mean… today I’m going to meet Zane Ryder?”
“Exactly.”
“Holy crap!” I gasped. “I left my notebook in my room!”
“Go get it, scatterbrain,” she ordered, still not turning around. “What you’ll learn today isn’t taught in school.”
I vanished at light speed.
Where the hell had I put it? Ah—next to the typewriter.
The night before, I’d filled page after page: the concert, the bouncer’s stoic resistance to Tess’s charm, the Aura Reflection Theory, our triumphant entrance into Ryder’s Church, her vow of imminent conquest. It had all poured out of me like I was in a trance—or possessed by the spirit of Carrie Bradshaw on amphetamines.
Notebook, pen—got them. Back to the living room.
Tess had finally turned, wearing the expression of a guru .
“Yes, my young apprentice. Today you will meet the target.” She paused. “But we won’t go to him… he’ll come to us.”
“I’m sorry, what?”
“The prey must approach the seductress of its own free will. Even if—in reality—it was the seductress who maneuvered him there with a few subtle psychological devices.”
She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “The queen never leaves her throne. It’s the knight who kneels before her.”
“Okay, but… how exactly are you planning to lure him to this dump?”
“Who said we’re staying here?” She arched an eyebrow, offended. “A real seductress doesn’t believe in miracles, she believes in technique. And logistics. We’ll move closer to his golden kingdom. We’ll infiltrate. Like spies. And once we’re inside… he’ll come to us.”
“And this golden kingdom would be…?”
“The Vellum. Five-star hotel on 57th and Park. Rooftop pool, panoramic suites, white-glove service 24/7. Actors, rockstars, billionaires in disguise.”
“And Ryder’s staying there?”
“Until Friday. Last New York show.”
“But… he travels with bodyguards!”
“You think I don’t know that?” she scoffed. “Please. I’m twenty moves ahead. He’s already in love with me. He just doesn’t know it yet. In two weeks he’ll be so gone he’ll probably propose. On his knees. With the ring in his mouth.”
“Okay, and what’s the plan once we get inside the Vellum?”
She gave me an enigmatic smile, pure undercover Bond girl.
“I’ll explain once we’re there. Get ready. Wear something nice. You don’t want to look like a peasant among men who smell like vanilla and privilege, do you?”
“Wait—you mean we’re going now?”
“When else? A true seductress doesn’t wait for the perfect moment… She creates it.”