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13
“Nothing like a sticky plastic menu featuring mouthwatering pictures of food.” He taps a finger against a photo of two fried eggs and a sausage arranged to make a smiley face.
I stare pointedly at my backpack, which so far has stayed on his side of the booth.
When the waitress comes by, I order coffee, juice, scrambled eggs, and pancakes. He wants only coffee.
“You know, you could’ve just handed over the backpack and stopped by a Starbucks on your way to…” I make a looping gesture with my hand. “Wherever it is you spend your day.”
“And miss this sparkling conversation? Not a chance.”
I frown and toss a glance out the window. There’s a man stumbling around, talking to someone known only to him. He’s so immersed in his invisible world, he’s completely unaware of the number of people veering out of their way to avoid him.
When my food arrives, I dig in. I’ve never been one of those girls who’s dainty with food or apologizes for having to eat to stay alive. I’m making a second pass with the syrup when Braxton says, “I’m sorry.”
I continue eating. Refusing to so much as acknowledge him. He knows what I want, and now it’s just a game of waiting until he gives in.
“I— Can you look at me, please?”
I take another bite, finish chewing, then say, “Can you take off your sunglasses? It’s really unnerving how you’re always hiding your eyes behind something.”
“This is only the second time we’ve met. I’m not sure the wordalwaysapplies.”
I shake my head and continue to eat and stare out the window. The old man is now picking through a trash can. My heart breaks for him.
Braxton’s sunglasses drop onto the table, and I glance up to find a seriously remarkable pair of blue eyes the color of gathering storms and wind-whipped seas splashing up against the sky.
He removes his knit hat and runs a hand through his hair.
I slide my gaze over him, then force a bored shrug, wanting him to think I’m left completely unimpressed by the final reveal.
“First, I want to assure you that nothing untoward happened last night.”
“Untoward?Seriously?” I roll my eyes, stab a wedge of pancake, and angle it into my mouth.
“For one thing, you didn’t drink. And even if you had, it was only water with green food coloring. Also, I have proof.”
He’s got my attention now.
“I’m a little off protocol here, but…”
He hands over my bag and, after a quick inventory, I determine it’s all there, with the addition of a large white envelope I’ve never seen before. The front has a picture of the Wheel of Fortune tarot card I pulled from the deck.
“How does this prove anything?” I ask.
Braxton nods toward the envelope. “It’s exactly like I told you. You’ve been released to me—or rather, to Arthur Blackstone, though I work as his proxy.”
I peer at Braxton, remembering how the jailer mentioned a rich friend. At the time, it was so weird, I chose to ignore it. But now, even though he’s given me zero reasons to trust him, there’s a part of me that wonders if Braxton might actually be telling the truth. Or at least about this.
Still, I don’t even try to hide my skepticism when I say, “Seriously. Arthur Blackstone?”
Braxton nods as though that’s all the confirmation I need. But it’s not. Not by a long shot.
“You mean the legendary, art collecting, tech trillionaire who just after claiming the top spot on the World’s Wealthiest list went totally off the grid and hasn’t been seen or heard from in years?ThatArthur Blackstone?”
Again, Braxton nods.
“And this”—I wave the envelope before him—“is supposed to provide some kind of proof that not only is the great man still alive, but that he actually gives such a big shit about me that he sent you on a mission to deliver this personally?”
