Page 30 of Resting Grump Face
“My business card to… Joseph, is it?” I pull out my card, add a nice tip, and let him know to call me in case he runs into any trouble with this douche or his boss so I can straighten it out.
Sienna gives me a suspicious side-eye, reluctantly (and then a little too enthusiastically) bids farewell to Joseph, and we start walking through the chilly night air.
“Some people.” She shakes her head. “Can you believe it?”
My mind automatically adds a ‘babe’ at the end of that sentence.
Can you believe it, babe?
I have never been a fan of pet names. They are a waste of time, if you ask me, and ‘babe’ is the most generic one there is, but it feels different when she’s saying it. Sienna has a way of making even the most mundane things sound… special. But, truth be told, I would probably get aroused just by her reading my grocery list out loud. Another sign that something is profoundly wrong with me. I try to clear my mind of the intrusive thoughts that are about to take hold.
“So you vanished from dinner to stab their tire? That’s quite…” I am looking for the right words to describe someone who defies simple definitions. “That’s quite…”
“Necessary,” she says flatly. “Both of them were being impossible. They were rude to the valet, rude to the server, they were gaming the restaurant and most importantly?—”
“Neither of them should have been driving a car after all the cocktails and whiskey they had.”
Sienna glances over at me, stuffs her hands in her pockets and nods. “Also, I didn’t stab their tire. I took a tiny pebble, put it into the cap on the valve and screwed that back on to deflate it. Worked like a charm.”
“Resourceful,” I admit as we walk next to the gently flowing water of the river. “Remind me not to get on your bad side,” I joke, which elicits a little laugh from the woman next to me. It’s hard not to stare at her bobbing hair, her red nose, or that beautiful smile. “Where do you think they’re going now?”
Sienna climbs up a small boulder on one side, then jumps down the other side, using my shoulder as a rail to hold on to. “Well, I’m hoping hell, but realistically I’d say to some locale calledThe Pearl Necklace, probably.”
I laugh. “The Pearl Necklacesounds a little too classy. They’re more of aHoles & Poleskind of crowd, if you ask me.”
Sienna laughs again, now louder, but quickly chokes it off. “Do you think Miles is going to be fine? They might not go to hell, but they’re sure going to give him a taste of it.”
“Have you already forgotten who he’s working for? He’s used to much worse. Besides, Miles is a trained bodyguard with combat experience. He will be able to take care of that little prick, no problem.”
Sienna seems to be content with that answer and so we continue walking through the dimly lit street. It’s nice out tonight. It’s nice walking by the river at night… even with Sienna. And there’s a slew of questions queued in my mind, waiting to be asked. I start with the most obvious one.
“So, what’s the deal with that?”
“Deal with what?”
“Your compulsive streak of questionable righteousness.”
To my surprise, Sienna doesn’t have a quick comeback the way she usually does. Her eyes flicker over to me and I’m not entirely certain what she might be thinking. She’s quietand I wonder what to make of that. Does she feel insulted by something that seems rather obvious? Did something else happen? Did I do something to upset her even more than she usually seems to be around me?
“Someone has to do it,” she answers eventually, without further explanation, as we close in on a more populated area. “That reminds me: you’re back on top of my list,” she tries to change the subject and I let her.
“What list?” I answer, intending to come back to this topic another time.
“My list of revenge, of course. Just imagine me with a round belly and a fluffy white beard. I have one book for good kids and one for the bad. Guess which one you made the top ten in.”
Her phone chimes. While she digs it out of her handbag, I observe closely the way her fingers gracefully swipe across the screen, the way her expression changes from amused to concerned? Distressed? The way her fingers wrap around the phone, squeezing it with annoyance? Anger? Seems like someone just received some bad news. We pass a subway station and keep walking aimlessly along the abandoned riverside.
“You’re a lawyer, aren’t you?” she asks, switching the topic again.
“Technically,” I answer. “I only ever worked as a lawyer for a few years. Haven’t practiced in a while.”
“Is that because you sucked?”
“Is that relevant information for your list-making or are you trying to get to know me… babe?”
Babe. Babe. Babe.
It’s burned into my mind.
