"Make it worth your while?" I repeat slowly, letting each word drip ice.
"Yeah. I mean, you're Alena Lupus. The mystery woman. The one everyone wants but can't have." He leans closer, breath sour with wine. "But I'm here. And you said yes to this date. So..."
So what? So I owe you something?
I should stand up. I should throw my wine in his face and walk out. I could handle this myself—I've handled worse.
But something stops me.
Lucy's voice in my head: Trigger him to make a move.
And suddenly, I'm not leaving. Not yet.
Because this asshole deserves to meet Drogo tonight.
"I have to visit the bathroom for a moment," I say sweetly.
He barely looks up from his plate. "Sure, babe. Don't take too long."
Babe.
I slip away and call Drogo. It rings. And rings. I suppose I'll have to deal with this guy on my own after all. I'm about to hang up when he finally picks up.
"What?"
"I want those drinks tonight."
"I'm in the middle of something."
"How long will it take?"
A woman's voice floats through the phone—sweet, sultry, trying too hard to sound like a siren. Drogo...
My chest tightens. Of course he's with someone. Of course.
"How bad is it?" His voice shifts, edges sharper.
"He tried to feed me with his fork. Called me 'babe.' Grabbed my hand when I tried to leave. Oh, and apparently I owe him sex because he took time out of his busy schedule."
Silence. I hear sheets shift and a soft grunt...
"Where are you?"
"Covent Garden."
"Oh, you're such a cliché."
"I didn't pick the restaurant."
"You picked the man."
"Fuck you."
I want to tell him I don't feel safe with this date, but I know if I do, he'll show up on his Ducati, storming the place. I'm in the papers too much already. I don't need that kind of scene.
"I'll be there in twenty."
My heart settles back into place the second he says he's coming. Drogo—my safe space, my pill, my everything I'm not allowed to have.
