I placed a hand on my chest and then pointed across the table.
“It will.”
This I knew. So, I didn’t disagree. I forked more shrimp and slid the fork across my tongue.
“You belong to me, Royce. Do whatever it is you need to get that through your pretty skull. Until then, I’ll be at every dinner date, every lunch date, and every coffee date. You won’t be able to escape me or whatever the fuck this is happening between us.”
“How’d you find me?”
“I’m a hunter, my baby. In case I haven’t made it clear, you are on the top of my hit list.”
“I’m flattered.”
Truthfully, I was. Ishmael was aware.
I unlocked my screen and found the last note I’d created. I slid the phone across the table and turned it in his direction.
“You have an Instagram account. Since the press conference, it has amassed over twelve thousand followers. Sign in. Make them believe what you’re trying to make me believe.”
“Which is–”
“This will work.”
As if he’d accepted my challenge, he unlocked his cell and downloaded the application. He didn’t attempt to mask his code. I watched carefully as he logged in with the credentials on my screen. Once in, he scrolled through the photos already on his profile. There were only three.
“This is your personal page. Careful what you share.”
“I’m not a fan of social media.”
“Your voters are. They want to know Ishmael Grayson. The campaign page has served its purpose. They want more.”
He nodded.
“Understood.”
“I was heading to Berkeley in the morning, yet here you are.”
“I plan to have you in Berkeley tonight.”
I swallowed the air pocket in my throat.
“Would you like to order, Royce, or have more wine?”
I shook my head.
“Neither,” I admitted.
It wasn’t anything onGeorgio’smenu that I wanted in my mouth at the moment. It was Ishmael.
Ishmael Grayson.
“Well then.”
He stood from his seat. Four hundred dollar bills magically appeared, falling onto the table. Ishmael was behind me, pulling out my chair in a flash.
“You before me.”
I stood, feeling my slippery center become the source of discomfort. If I didn’t clean up, my juices would be running down my legs, ruining my clothes.
