‘Wait,’ I said, successfully derailed. ‘Did you just say Little Chicken?’
He nodded. ‘The paper wants me to come in and do a story on an underground fighting ring. Apparently they had an undercover photographer at the match tonight, and they have some pictures, including one of a wrestler who goes by the name Little Chicken?’
I pushed my plate back and thunked my head down on the table, making all the silverware clatter.
‘I take it this is not a picture you want making it to press?’
I rolled my forehead against the tablecloth. On the one hand, I couldn’t see how it would really be a problem, but then again, on the other, someone could put two and two together and realise Little Chicken was also The Sidekick, and Lee Lee—or maybe it was Daisy—had recognised me as that socialite bitch, and all of those connections could not be good … not with my father’s presence always looming in the background. Did he want me to humiliate myself? Or was he still worried about the family image? I was so confused. The one thing I did know for sure was that I wanted to build up The Sidekick’s credibility, and being known as Little Chicken was not the way to do that. ‘Not really.’
‘Maybe I should go in and see what I can do.’
I flung my head up. Pierce was already waving down a server for the check. ‘I don’t want you to sacrifice your journalistic integrity.’
‘Bremy, I still care about you.’ He planted his palms on the table before looking up to meet my gaze. ‘I would really like it if we could be friends.’
‘Bite your filthy tongue,’ I said with a gasp. ‘What a horrible thing to say.’
He smiled. ‘We should call it a night. I really need to get over to the paper if I’m going to stop Little Chicken from going to press. But I think it’s only fair for me to tell you that—’
‘Bup! Bup! Bup!’ I said, waving my hand at his face. I did not want to continue this conversation. I did not like where it was leading. ‘You don’t need to tell me now. We can talk about it Friday.’
‘Friday?’
‘Oh, didn’t I mention I was invited to that museum event too?’ I gave myself a mental high five. Now that was some quick thinking on my part. Sure, Ryder had gotten away from me tonight, but there was no way I was letting Pierce slip out of my grasp.
‘No, you didn’t.’
‘Huh,’ I said. ‘Well, I am. Been on my calendar for months. You know, it’s almost like the universe is trying to tell us something.’
He stood and moved to pull my chair out for me. ‘Yes, like I am in so much trouble.’
‘It’s open to interpretation,’ I said, getting to my feet. ‘Oh, and Pierce,’ I added, shivering as he placed his warm hand on the small of my back, ‘one more thing.’
‘Mm?’
‘Does everybody get mail?’
***
Like a true gentleman, Pierce opted to take me home in a cab before he went to the office. I was truly grateful. My life as a pampered socialite had not prepared my feet for the amount of walking a struggling crime fighter had to do in an average day.
As the cab pulled in front of my building, I felt Pierce’s hand tighten around mine. At first I thought he was being romantic, then it hit me. He had never seen my place before. I had always made excuses to avoid this moment.
I scanned his face. ‘Pierce?’ His eyes moved to meet mine.
‘Let’s move in together.’
‘What?’ My heart skidded to stop.
‘You can move in tonight.’
‘Um, I thought we had some issues to work out?’
‘Meter’s running,’ the cabbie said over his shoulder.
‘I can’t let you sleep in this place.’
I patted him on his knee. ‘Oh, it’s fine.’ I realised my patting had turned to caressing and quickly pulled my hand away.
‘Are those bloodstains on that building?’ he asked, leaning around me to peer out the window.
‘No,’ I said with a scoff. Wait … were they? ‘No, no. There’s too much of it. Don’t be ridiculous.’
Pierce turned his rounded eyes on me.
‘Really,’ I said. ‘I think this is like Mr Pushkin’s territory. If anyone made trouble, it would be like starting a mob war.’
‘You are not making me feel any better about this.’
He leaned across me again to get a better look. I kissed him on the nose. ‘A friendly thank you for the dinner we didn’t get to eat,’ I said.
He closed his eyes. ‘Really? Because it felt more like a don’t worry your pretty little head about this.’
‘You two are adorable, but I got a serious haemorrhoid that’s starting to itch,’ the cabbie shouted back. ‘What are we doing?’
I opened the door. ‘I’ll be fine Pierce.’ I stepped out onto the grimy street. ‘Really.’ I shut the door before he could get out.
He rolled down the window. ‘Bremy, wait,’ he said, leaning out. ‘About the museum. I don’t … I don’t want to lead you on … or lead myself on. I …’
‘Let’s talk about it Friday,’ I said. Surely I could think of something to convince him we were meant to be by then.
Pierce crinkled his forehead sceptically, but smiled.
I leaned down closer. ‘I forgot to say thank you for the cab.’
He looked like he was about to say something, but I cut him off with a kiss. Hot tingles ran over my body. Kissing Pierce was like bathing in melted chocolate.
‘Seriously! I have Vesuvius on my ass!’ the cabbie yelled.
I leaned back and watched the taxi pull away, giving Pierce a final wave before turning to the door. I let out a happy sigh. Sure, a crime fighter and a reporter seemed like an unlikely mix, but maybe we could set a precedent.
I hurried over to the door, unlocked it and stepped into the foyer of my building. I took a moment to really look around. I had never lingered there before, given the ever-flickering fluorescent lights overhead, but a thought was niggling in my brain.
Boxes!
I ran over to the wall filled with all little inlaid cubes with keyholes. I could have sworn they had never been there before. I peered into one of the cloudy plastic windows.
Mail!
So I did get mail. Sure, I could have beaten myself up over this, but, really, I grew up with an army of servants, excuse me, domestic workers, who catered to my every need. How was I supposed to know how the real world worked?
I ran my fingers along the boxes, peering into the tiny plastic windows on each. Hmm, they all had numbers. Of course! My apartment number! I scurried over to the one I figured must be mine. Huh. It was stuffed. What could all that be? I tapped lightly on its little glass window, but it wasn’t revealing any of its secrets.
Now, how to open it?
Suddenly the building’s front door opened, startling me. In walked a petite young woman, dressed like an adorable nerdy bookworm with a pleated shirt and knee socks. Her gaze popped up to mine. ‘Oh, hello.’
‘Um, hi.’
‘I’m new in the building. Just moved in,’ she said brightly. ‘I work at the library down the street.’
I narrowed my eyes at her. She was awfully friendly. ‘Not the best building,’ she continued, eyes darting up to the flickering fluorescent lights. ‘But the price is right.’
‘Uh-huh,’ I said, thinking, Sure, the price is just great … if you’re making library money. Some people.
A moment of awkward silence passed. ‘Well, have a good night,’ she said, putting a hand on the metal stair banister. I turned back to my mailbox. Perhaps I should have asked her how to open it. She did seem kind of nice and cute, but I had already hit my limit of how stupid I could look in one day.
‘I’m sorry,’ the girl’s voice called out again. ‘But you look really familiar.’
Uh-oh.
I watched her penny loafers come back down the stairs.
This was not good.
‘You must be mistaken,’ I said, turning my face into the corner.
‘No. No way! You’re Bremy St. James!’