10. Sienna
10
SIENNA
“ H e ate it, so it’s unlikely to be poisoned,” I explain to my cat while looking at a plate of pasta that smells like an Italian fairy godmother had just been here. The noodles are twisted to a neat little mound, cheese is carefully sprinkled on top and even the rim is wiped clean. It looks like it was made by a professional.
“Professional assassin? Or chef?”
The Chairman meows in response, probably to say that he’d be happy to try it first.
“Eh, who cares? If I die, you may feast on me until Olivia returns.” I grab the dish and a fork, and rush back outside. The plate is empty within a minute or two (as is the rest of the pan) which confirms what I have been suspecting all along: Ryker Grayson probably made some deal with the devil. How else would you explain that he can cook like this while looking at least equally delicious? In return, he probably had to give up his soul, or heart, or whatever thing he is missing.
A couple hours later, I look like a dried-up peach. I also feel like one; that is, if dried-up peaches feel entirely relaxed from lying around for too long. The sun is all but gone when my phone rings inside the penthouse. Reluctantly, I dry myself off and take the call. It’s an unknown number.
“Hello, is this Sienna… de la Vega?” a woman on the other end asks.
I’m afraid so, I want to answer but leave it at a, “Yup, this is she.”
“Great, well, we saw your CV online and think you might be a good fit for one of our positions. Would you be willing to meet us for an interview?”
Would I? “Uhh, sure. I’d love to.”
“Great,” she repeats as if she really means it. “I will send you all the necessary information via mail.”
“Looking forward to it,” I get out before being cut off by the beeping of an ended call.
Well, this is promising. Maybe I won’t have to dip into my savings to pay rent… by which I mean, I won’t have to work for lousy tips while getting groped or ask Olivia to bail me out. And I definitely won’t have to accept Ryker’s offer, which obviously was never really on the table anyway.
It’s nice and warm inside the penthouse. Nonetheless, I decide to put on some clothes, in case more creepers come in unexpectedly. Then I text my best friend:
Love you :-*
She answers a few minutes later.
What are you scheming now?
Nothing yet, but it will probably involve strange men walking in on you while you’re dancing naked in someone else’s living room.
Hey, he’s not strange! He’s a sweetheart. You just have to get to know him!
PS: I say the exact same thing about you to other people.
Well, don’t, or they won’t be scared when meeting me anymore.
I do want to tell her what’s up with my life, with my (former) job and everything else that’s going on, but I know she’d start worrying too much to be able to relax and enjoy her honeymoon. She’d also try to force me to take her money. So, instead, I change the subject.
How’s the new husband? Did you break him yet?
Not yet, but we’re both giving it our best. I really needed this vacation after three years of working non-stop.
I am thrilled for you. Now go back to whatever or whomever you were doing.
PS: I do indeed love you.
Love you too :-*
The email about the job interview arrives later that evening. Unfortunately, it doesn’t have any information about the job, salary or company, which makes me a little suspicious. It just says to come to a restaurant, that is located down by the river, on Friday at 7 PM. Signed by Barbara Dwyer, assistant to the CEO. That must be the lady from the call.
A quick google search reveals that it is a rather fancy restaurant too. Despite the lack of information, and in the hope of a free dinner at some too-wealthy firm’s expense, I decide to go anyway. Worst-case scenario, they’ll try to sell me on some MLM pyramid scheme and I will have to do the dishes to pay off my meal. It’d be just like your average tinder date.
After spending a couple of days with my cat and taking care of some administrative work, I find myself still at Olivia’s place when the interview comes around. It takes some time to go through my best friend’s closet, but I finally find a skirt and blouse that fit, even if they’re a bit tighter than I’d usually wear. I figure if my interview partner is a man, it’ll probably come in handy.
It’s after 5 PM when I get going, and arguably the second worst time to ride the subway (only surpassed by 5 AM, which is peak getting-stabbed time). It takes over an hour to get to my destination. A destination to which I probably could have walked in about half an hour, but then I would have had to change into a new outfit. This way, at least, I’m only a little sticky from the guy who tried to wipe his peanut-butter-drenched fingers on my coat.
The stiff wind hits my cheeks when I exit the subway, and I regret spending an excessive amount of time applying rouge to them. They’d probably look peachy enough just from the frosty breeze.
The restaurant appears even fancier than one would have gathered from their website, but apart from a valet outside, there aren’t many people around. I am a little early for the interview.
“Is this Hangry?” I ask the guy dressed in an official-looking uniform.
“It is,” he answers and smiles back.
“You must be freezing out here, especially with the wind.”
“I probably would be, but the vodka helps.” He taps against the inside pocket of his jacket.
I laugh and hand him the hand warmers I stole from Olivia’s place. “This doesn’t taste quite as good, but hopefully it’ll feel warm for a bit.”
Joseph, as it says on his name tag, accepts the pouches with a thank you and stuffs them in his pockets, sealing the warmth in with his hands.
“Anything you can recommend from the menu?” I inquire, trying to keep the poor guy some company even if just for a bit.
“Oh, depends on what you like. My personal favorite are the jackfruit tacos, but honestly, it’s all superb. Except for the vegan mac ’n’ cheese. They say it’s an acquired taste, but if you ask me, it tastes like my old socks after I’ve worn them for three days so I can sell them on Craigslist to some foot fetishist.” Joseph laughs and then assures me that the rest is indeed very good, when next to us, a heavy yellow car pulls up. It’s a brand that I don’t recognize, but I assume it must be expensive. The woman who exits when Joseph opens the door confirms my suspicions. She is wearing a long dress that looks like she is about to attend a gala. Only her necklace that says ‘ Baddest Bitch’ gives away that it would be a very interesting kind of gala. The driver, also dressed in a fine-looking suit, walks around the car, adjusts his greasy hair, sticks the sunglasses he was sporting in his collar, and tosses the keys vaguely in our direction. I duck so they don’t hit me in the head. There’s no chance for Joseph to catch them, so he has to walk a few steps to pick them up.
The driver, instead of apologizing, laughs, then extends his arm for his date to hold on to. They pass both of us without even acknowledging our existence.
Joseph closes the passenger door and shrugs. When he sees the anger in my eyes, he says, “Yeah, that happens sometimes. As long as they don’t hit you, it’s okay though. I usually just move all their mirrors, so they have to spend dozens of seconds readjusting them. Plus, once in a while, I get a good tip as reparation.”
“That’s still not okay,” I say and stare after the rude couple.
“You should head inside.” Joseph circles the car. “I have to park this monstrosity. Enjoy your dinner and have a nice evening…”
“Sienna,” I say, and give him my best smile.
“Have a nice evening, Sienna. And let me know if you need a getaway car. I’ve got you covered.” He winks, slaps the top of the car and hops inside, then parks it in an underground garage around the corner.
It’s 6:45 PM, which means I still have a few minutes. The usher at the reception takes my coat and shows me to my seat. In fact, it’s not just any seat. It’s a seat right in front of a gigantic glass panel with a magnificent view of the river and the skyline behind it. We must have gotten really lucky because these are the best seats in the house. Unfortunately, they’re also next to the couple from earlier, but I try to ignore that fact. The setting is almost a little too romantic for a job interview.
I glance around to check if my appointment is already on its way, but it seems like I have a few more minutes, so I use the spoon to check my makeup and for any lipstick on my teeth.
As I put the spoon back down, an unfortunately all too familiar voice echoes behind me. “$5000 a week.”
The hair in my neck stands up immediately. I close my eyes and try not to reach for the knife on the table.
Breathe, just breathe.
That getaway car sounds awfully tempting right now. I open my eyes back up and look around the room, painfully aware that it must sound like my services are up for sale. The guy with the yellow car, and equally fashionable hair, gives me his most disgustingly inappropriate smile and wink. His date/girlfriend/baddest bitch seems not to notice or if she does, she must be used to his antics and ignores them.
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.