Page 91 of Double Apex

“Deb…” the man ventures.

“Get the basket, Carl.”

He pauses only a moment before slipping into the back.

The woman steps behind the cash register. “Cash or card?”

“Card, please.” I withdraw my wallet.

Phaedra exchanges a smile with me, and it’s the happiest I’ve felt in months.

I hold the card out. “Please run it for twenty-five hundred. Twelve for lunch and gratuity, and thirteen for Sunday, so you can close and attend the grand prix.” I tip my head sideways, indicating Phaedra. “This is team owner Phaedra Morgan. She’ll arrange for your pass.”

The woman swipes the card, eyeing Phaedra. “Lady business owner, eh?”

“You and Iboth,” Phaedra tells her. “Your diner is adorable.” She looks up at me, eyes shining. “The perfect slice of Americana.”

We drive to a small lake nearby and spread the blanket beneath a tree that looks straight out of a cowboy film. Phaedra insists on laying out the food while I lounge and watch.

“If you’re gonna go legitMad Menon this,” she tells me with a saucy wink, “the lady needs to serve you. It’s just a shame we don’t have the right outfits.” She removes the first plate and unwraps it.

“You look lovely in anything you wear,” I tell her, leaning back on my hands.

“Psh!Whatevs.” She pokes her tongue out at me and extracts another dish from the basket. “Apple pie, potato salad… holy shit, they really committed to the ‘classic picnic’ script—they even wrapped the sandwiches in wax paper.” She examines them. “Tuna, egg, good ol’ PB and J.” Peeling the foil off another dish, she laughs. “Awwww! Precious. Your appetizers, sir.” She hands me a length of celery stuffed with a white paste and raisins. “Ants on a log.”

I take a bite and consider while I chew. “What is this substance?”

“Cream cheese.”

I inspect it. “What flavor of cheese is it meant to be?”

“It doesn’t technically have a flavor.Milk, I guess?”

She sets a filled plate between us, then flops onto her stomach. Her long shirt flips up as she lands, and I can’t resist admiring her round ass.

“I’m not fond of this item,” I say, laying the celery aside. “But the view would make anything palatable.”

She pulls the shirt down. “Hilarious.”

We eat our lunch and talk business, and the conversation is surprisingly comfortable despite the clear-but-unacknowledged fact that we’d be undressing each other on this blanket under different circumstances.

I finish a glass of lemonade and lie back, hands behind my head.

“I’ve been meaning to tell you,” I say to Phaedra, “that your advice concerning Viorica was very intuitive, and much appreciated.” I study the patterns of branches over us, and the gray clouds that have crept up. “She is marrying the man I mentioned. Grigore.”

“The ‘villain’?” Phaedra asks cautiously.

I nod. She rotates to lie down perpendicular to me, propping her head on my chest in an amiable way.

“Is she, like, happy?”

“I believe so. Grigore agreed to everything she requested: a small ceremony at Vlasia House, lavish food and gifts for the children and staff, and for construction on the new buildings to begin immediately.”

I brush a bit of Phaedra’s hair off her cheek.

“Things between Rica and me could have been very different, had I not heeded your advice and learned to listen better. I owe you a debt of gratitude.”

“Meh.” She shrugs and chases my fingertip away, but thenclasps it as I’m withdrawing. “You’re welcome. Hope it works out well for them.”

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