"I don’t have any friends. How did you even find me? How did you know where I was?"
She has the grace to look slightly guilty, her eyes dropping briefly. "I may have put a small tracker on your car. I wasn’t even sure if it would work. After that night when you drove like a maniac and I had to jump out. It was for safety purposes, really. I wasn’t spying on you, I promise. I would never spy on you. I’m not a stalker!"
"You put a tracker on my car." I can barely process this information.
"Just a small one! I ordered it online. It was only twenty euros and the reviews were excellent. I knew exactly where to find you. Isn’t that cool?"
I stare at her in complete disbelief. "You're actively tracking my movements without my knowledge or consent. That is an unbelievable invasion of privacy."
"Only so I know you're safe!"
"That's insane. That's genuinely insane behavior, Liana. It’s unacceptable."
"No, it’s a great idea!"
She shifts in the seat, and the dress rides up again, distracting me completely. I can actually see her bare pussy now. The thought of the men at the poker game getting the same view makes me want to drive back and strangle them all.
"And it worked, didn't it?” she says. “I found you safe and sound."
Oh my God, she’s still talking while I’m losing my fucking mind.
"You interrupted a very important negotiation. There was a lot of money on that table."
"It looked like you were winning," she observes. “Until you quit.”
"That's not the point!" My voice is rising despite my attempts at control. "You can't just show up like that. Dressed like that. Do you have any idea how dangerous that situation was?"
"Dangerous how?" She seems genuinely confused.
"Those men—" I stop, forcing myself to calm down, to think clearly. "Those men are not good people, Liana. They're violent, unpredictable, and extremely dangerous. I was outnumbered and you showed up looking like—"
"Like what?" She tilts her head, waiting.
"Like that!" I gesture at her again, at the dress that's barely covering her body. "Like you were trying to start something. Do you have any idea what they were thinking when they looked at you?"
"I'm sure they were very respectful gentlemen," she says with stunning naiveté. “They seemed nice.”
"They weren't respectful. At all." My hands clench into fists. "They were staring at your legs. At your tits. At—" I stop again, trying to maintain some composure. "Where the fuck is your underwear, Liana? Do you normally go out without your panties?"
She blinks at me, caught off guard. "How did you know I wasn't wearing any?"
"How did I know? Fuck! Because you were sitting directly on my dick. Because when you shifted and crossed your legs, I could feel everything. Every curve. Every movement. And apparently Alexei Volkov could see everything too, based on the way he was staring and grinning at me."
"Oh." She bites her lip, a flash of genuine concern crossing her face. "I didn't mean—it wasn't intentional. I swear it wasn't planned."
"How is that possible? You left your house without underwear and that somehow wasn't intentional? How does that happen? Explain it to me in a way I’ll understand."
"I couldn't find a pair that matched the dress perfectly! The lines would have shown." She's explaining this like it makes perfect sense. "I was running late, and I kept looking through my drawer trying to find the right pair, and time just kept slipping away, and I thought—" She stops. "I thought it would be fine. The dress isn't that short when I'm standing up straight."
"The dress is barely there. It's more of a suggestion than actual clothing. What did you plan to do? Stand up the whole time?"
"It seemed longer when I was looking in the mirror at home!"
I stare at her, trying to understand. "You tracked down a high-stakes poker game filled with dangerous criminals. Wearing that dress that barely covers you. With nothing underneath. Because you couldn't find matching underwear?"
"When you say it like that, it sounds worse than it is.”
"It’s bad! It's spectacularly bad!"
