9. Ryker
9
RYKER
W hen she finally notices my presence, I, for some inexplicable reason, seize up, although I am not the one dancing almost bare naked through someone else’s apartment.
There’s just something about this woman that makes me… confused. I can’t quite put my finger on it. Though wanting to put my fingers on her again seems to be a big part of the problem (and only partially in a murdery sense).
Sienna takes off her headphones and thereby unleashes what can probably best be described as crazy sex hair. Because that’s what I immediately have to think of when seeing her like this. It also seems to be made of medusa’s snakes because I can only stand there, unable to move. My eyes are locked onto hers, which appear to make a 360-degree turn in her head.
She is thrilled to see me. Good.
A towel hangs over her shoulders, barely covering her chest. But instead of shrieking and running away, she crosses her arms in defiance, shifts her stance and opens her mouth, probably to say something snappy and rude.
I cut her off before she can get the first blow in. “Someone stole your pants? And shirt? And bra?”
She huffs and tries to hide a smile. I think I know because that’s what she does to me too.
“It’s almost as if we’re destined to run into each other,” she finally says, only dressed in some emerald green lace panties, the towel, and a hauntingly annoyed gaze.
“Hm,” I grunt, “it’s almost as if someone wants us to run into each other, but I doubt dear old Destiny has anything to do with it.” I lift the heavy bags of food Phoenix made me get to ‘stock their fridge today please, before we get back…’ in about two weeks. “Phoenix told me to bring groceries.” I should have known.
“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.