12. Sienna
12
SIENNA
B abe…
Why?
Why would I even say that?
Get a fucking grip, Sienna.
And, yes, I would definitely be a lot safer with the local axe murderer because it’s highly unlikely I’d be tempted to make out with him as well.
What is it with this jerk that my brain immediately goes into primal-mode when he’s around?
When I take the stairs down into the subway, I can feel his eyes on me. Ryker’s, I mean, not the axe murderer’s. Or maybe I’m just getting paranoid. Being the curious, and apparently slightly masochistic, person I am, I turn around and see him leaning against a street lamp with his arms crossed. Not paranoid then. I take care not to trip and fall down the stairs because the last thing I need right now would be for him to resuscitate me.
I’d like to think he followed me to make sure I’d get to the station safe, but he probably just did it because he knows it annoys me. He annoys me. I even annoy myself right now.
While I wait for the subway, I get out my phone and look at Earnest’s message again:
Shark didn’t bite. Dicky has announced separation from wife. Soft core porn with now former mistress already on social media.
That certainly puts a damper on our Save-Robyn-Banks-Campaign. Figures that someone who has no qualms evicting old ladies, also has no qualms divorcing the mother of his children when it’s more convenient for him.
That means plan A failed spectacularly, which leaves us high and dry, so taking Ryker on as my client makes sense, unfortunately. He was willing to pay me $5000 a week, and if I survive working for him for two or three weeks, I could probably pay off Robyn’s debt and then some. Like they say, sometimes when one door closes, you just have to open another one. Sure, that door might lead to a torture chamber, but if that’s what it takes to keep my friend from getting evicted, then so be it. What’s the worst he can do, anyway? If anything, he should be afraid of me!
It’s okay, I’ve got a pla. Are you home right now? I need your help.
Do you mean ‘plan’?
Well, it’s not fully developed yet. More of a pla than a plan.
Bring prune juice.
Okay. I’ll be there in 40.
After I get to his apartment, Earnest and I spend a couple of hours turning my pla into a plan over a glass of juice. Then we let the others know to meet us the next morning for another riveting stake-out get-together.
Robyn isn’t exactly thrilled at the prospect of getting up at 7 AM, but the next day she still looks as flawless as ever when she arrives (fashionably 10 minutes late) in an elegant, slightly over the top, faux fur coat and her red high heels to the parking lot. Guy, being his usual chipper self, was the first to meet me at the car, along with Paige, who was busy trying to commit suicide by reading the newspaper while walking down the stairs. Earnest had arrived shortly after with the keys to the van that he borrowed from Paul at reception.
On our way, we make a quick stop at Olivia’s place to pick up the Chairman, and some breakfast at a bakery across the street, before we eventually reach our destination: the headquarters of Grayson Holdings. We park with a clear line of sight to the entrance.
Today, instead of candy, Guy has brought an assortment of jams for the croissants that he bought earlier, and while everyone digs into their breakfast, I am busy chewing my nails. I wonder if I will survive working for him. I also wonder what Ryker is having for breakfast right now. If he even eats breakfast. Realistically, it’s probably not babies, but maybe he does have a personal chef who prepares the most intricate dishes which Ryker then throws into a blender so he can consume his nutrients while grouchily muttering something about efficiency. That’s probably what he’s doing up there on the top floor right now.
“Does no one want to know what we’re doing here?” I ask, a little confused when my friends run out of obituaries to discuss.
“Breakfast!” Guy exclaims with glee and ceremoniously raises his jam dipped pastry into the air. “Or as they say: the most important meal of the day.” He takes a bite and continues mumbling, “Though personally, I think it's the most confusing meal of the day. I mean, do I crave eggs or pancakes? Bacon or sausage? Cereal or oatmeal? It's like trying to solve the crossword puzzle before I even had my coffee.”
Everyone nods in unison except for my cat, who is licking some cherry jam right out of a glass that is wedged between two bags.
“And don't even get me started on the whole breakfast for dinner crime you young people commit these days,” Guy takes off his sunglasses, while I stare out the window. “I mean, I get it. It's rebellious, it's exciting, it's breaking all the rules, and breaking things is literally in the name ‘ breakfast’ , but let's be frank here: who actually enjoys eating waffles at 6 PM? It just feels wrong, like I'm betraying my digestive system.”
More silent nodding ensues with some acknowledging grunts and slurps.
“Right,” I answer, not sure what to say to that. I just watch Guy dip his croissant into a yellow jar. When he bites into it, his face cycles through several expressions before settling on a not-so-bad-nod.
“Guy, did you just dip your croissant in mustard?”
“It’s surprisingly good,” he mumbles again with a grin and holds it out for me to try, which I politely decline.
“Okay, anyway,” I begin. “Earnest and I have gathered you here because we have a new plan to save Robyn and hopefully Haven as a whole. Instead of blackmail, we are going to try it the legal way.”
“But we already did that,” Paige interjects. “We don’t have the funds to afford a lawyer, much less a drawn-out legal battle with a multi-million-dollar company.”
“Well, I might have a way,” I explain. “The only drawback is that it involves me selling myself to the devil.” Which will be fine, I tell myself. “We are here to gather information on said devil, my new boss. I want to know everything there is to know about him.”
“When you say devil, you mean the guy you have a thing for, correct?” Robyn butts in and takes a sip from her steaming cup of coffee. “And when you say you want to know everything there is to know about him, it’s because you want to determine whether you want to carry his babies, yes? Is it the same guy you had amorous relations with at the wedding?”
Goddamn it, Robyn. “First of all, I did not have relations with that man. Secondly, it’s nothing like that. He is hiring me as a PR consultant to fix his image and I want to know what kind of person he is so that I can properly do my job.”
“So staking out the person whose image you’re supposed to fix is normal procedure for a PR consultant?” Robyn asks and raises both her eyebrows.
Fine, maybe this is a bit unusual, but it is a good idea. All those scandals must come from somewhere, so finding out who I am really dealing with just makes sense. The biggest problem will be how to stop him from being such a soulless prick to prevent more bad press in the future.
“Yes, very common, actually,” I answer deadpan.
Robyn blows on her hot cup of coffee and nods, letting me know she knows I’m full of shit.
“We’re in,” Earnest thankfully interrupts.
“A car?” Guy asks, a little confused.
Earnest shakes his head. “Ryker Grayson’s computer.”
“Ryker Grayson?” Paige and Guy ask simultaneously and sit up straight. Looks like they are much better informed about the current gossip of D-list celebrities than I am. “What are we doing with Ryker Grayson’s computer?”
“That’s my new boss,” I explain. “He wants me to come and work for him, so last night Earnest and I sent him a contract that defines the parameters of my employment. Except that PDF file included a computer virus thingy. Right, Earn?”
Earnest grumbles. “Sure, let’s call it that.”
Outside, the sun slowly rises, lifting the fog off us and revealing a strangely phallic looking skyscraper with two domes at the ground floor. It's so pointy and erect, one might think it's compensating for something on someone’s behalf. The locals call it The Cloud Tickler and given the thrusting spire that penetrates the fog above, I can see why. Once again, I wonder what Mr. Handsome With His Big Building is doing at the moment, until I notice everyone is still looking at me.
“Right, so here’s the deal: As long as I work for Mr. Graysonofabitch?—”
“Language!” Paige interjects.
“As long as I work for that man, I get paid $5000 per week. If he signs the contract we sent him, that is. That money, minus my living expenses, will pay for your debt, Robyn, and legal fees. All the additional money I hopefully accumulate, until I inevitably get fired or murdered, will serve as an emergency fund for any future issues that might occur.”
Robyn turns towards me and reaches for my hands. “You would do that for me?”
“Well, duh, of course I would.” I nod.
“You don’t know what that means to me, darling.” She kisses my hand and gives me a tight hug before sitting back down. “But I still have to ask: why you? Why does he want to commission you? I’d wager he could hire anyone, no? He could hire an entire fleet of consultants to clean up his image.”
“Because I’m good at what I do?” I answer.
“Oh, no. I would never doubt that for a second. It just seems a little strange, doesn’t it? Plus, $5000 is a hefty amount of money.” Robyn’s head tilts to the side, her eyes boring into me.
“Fine! Fine, whatever. If you must know,” I exhale deeply, not only because I am slightly on edge but also because memories of luscious lips and stupid six-packs appear before my eyes, “it’s because I did have relations with that man. I stole his pants after we had sex in an airport bathroom, which lead to his arrest and him almost missing his best friend’s wedding. But when I say it like this, it sounds much worse than it actually was.”
Silence spreads out in the small interior of the cramped van, until Robyn leans forward and extends her palm before Paige, who in response rolls her eyes, rummages through her handbag and puts a butterscotch in Robyn’s hand.
“I don’t bet for money,” Paige explains as Robyn unwraps her prize. “But pray continue, spill the rest of the English breakfast!”
“I mean, it’s a whole thing. I don’t really have time to get into it. Also, did you guys really have a bet going about whether I slept with someone at the wedding?”
“We like to live vicariously through you, darling. And, I guess, Robyn, you’re right, she does seem a little different since she’s come back. But more importantly, is your lover as good looking as his pictures suggest?” Paige grabs the newspaper, displaying an article about Ryker being led away by the police in his boxer briefs.
Naturally, he has a nice butt in that picture as well. Very unfair.
Robyn answers on my behalf, “Absolutely. He must be.”
“I’ve seen better,” I interject.
“And is he really as rich as they say he is?” Guy chimes in as well.
“Exceptionally rich,” Robyn answers.
“But he only uses it for evil,” I add, and am promptly ignored by everyone else in the car.
“Is he single?” Paige continues.
“Pretty sure,” Earnest says while staring at his screen and whatever private information he has already found about Mr. Handsome With A Nice Butt Who Is Exceptionally Rich And Most Likely Single.
“If he’s single, it’s because he scares everyone away with his off-putting personality,” I say.
“Isn’t that why you’re single too?” Earnest betrays me without thinking about it twice.
The conversation stops, and it’s quiet for a second before all four of them break out in laughter. I take a deep breath.
This is why I should have worked alone.
We spend the next couple of hours sifting through the information that our computer virus thingy has gotten us. We look through his (extremely boring) emails, his contacts, and his calendar to see if he has met or is going to meet any potentially shifty business partners, but we come up woefully short. His meetings probably do include shifty people, but all of them seem to run some legitimate company or another. Until we find one appointment that just says: Brotherhood.
“That’s not what I think it is, is it?” Earnest’s head flinches back slightly.
“Noooo,” I shake my head, “it can’t be. I mean, I could see him being an alien wearing a human meat sack to play with us before assimilation, but I don’t see him being part of a white supremacy group.”
“Only one way to find out,” Robyn replies and slides open the door next to us. She turns around, gives me a wink and shuts it in my face before I can even react.
“Does she have to keep doing this?” I ask by now more rhetorically than anything else.
Paige and Guy just shrug their shoulders while the Chairman uses his chance to snuggle up in the leftover heat on Robyn’s seat.
All four of us watch as she makes a beeline towards The Cloud Tickler. For a second, I hope she’s just going there to use the bathroom, but I know better. “Earnest can you?—”
“Sure can,” he says and starts clicking and typing away on his keyboard. A minute later, he has pulled up the stream of the security camera inside the building. “They should really teach their CEO about basic cyber security.”
Then he toggles between a few cameras until we finally find Robyn. She is past security already and entering the elevators. When we find her in another camera, she has gotten off the elevator. We watch her breeze past a bunch of receptionists and employees until she reaches a large double door that she throws open without hesitation. Sure enough, she made it into Ryker Grayson’s office in less than ten minutes.
“They should teach him about general security as well, it seems,” Earnest remarks and shifts in his seat, eager to see what happens next.
The two of us stare at the screen, while Paige and Guy wait for updates.
“They’re talking,” I explain, wondering what she could be telling him.
“Now they’re walking,” Earnest adds a little later.
They get on the elevator again and when they get off, we lose the right feed. It takes Earnest a second to find them again down in the parking lot where Ryker holds the door to his limousine for our secret agent.
“Start the car,” I tell Guy, who nods, puts his pair of aviator sunglasses back on and buckles in.
All four of us watch the limousine pull out of an underground parking garage, then Guy shifts into drive and follows the car.
“Check his calendar,” I tell Earnest. “What is his next appointment?”
“Lunch.”
“Oh.” Guy lets his sunglasses slide down the bridge of his nose a little and looks at me in the rearview mirror. “Today’s meatloaf day, Sienna!”
“Mashed potatoes?” Earnest’s shoulder bumps into mine so he, too, can see Guy.
“Does the pope wear a funny hat?”
“I am not sure. We might have different definitions of what’s funny.”
“Alright, does Sienna have a thing for that billionaire guy?”
“Mashed potatoes it is!”
Gently, I push Earnest back in his seat. “Please, focus, Guy. Do not lose the car and definitely do not cause an accident.”
“Sienna, Sienna, Sienna,” he replies without a worry in the world. “Do you think this is my first car chase? As you can tell by my skillful driving,” he activates the left turn signal when taking a right turn, “I have done this before.”
“You have?”
“Certainly! Numerous times… at the carnival in those little bumpy cars.” Guy pushes his sunglasses back up and turns on the radio. “But I promise to refrain from any bumping whatsoever.” Our car swerves a little when he tries to avoid a pothole. I grab the Chairman, hold him tight and make sure my seatbelt is properly buckled in.
It takes another 15 minutes until the car ahead of us finally stops and I realize where we are.