“What else should I call it? The Incredible Bulk? The Mean Green Pleasure Machine? Kermit the—”
“I will literally pay you to stop talking.”
“With what? Your wallet’s probably sitting in some fancy Russian billionaire’s drawer right next to your new favorite toy.” She pauses, wiggling her eyebrows. “Though with that wholedark, brooding vibe and that mansion straight out of a mob movie, maybe heissome sort of sexy criminal mastermind—”
“He’s just some rich guy with an absurd amount of money, Elena. Not everything is a conspiracy.”
She takes a slow sip of her matcha, swallows, then murmurs,“And let’s be real—normal businessmen don’t have one-way mirrors and private helicopters. I’m telling you, he’s giving major mafia vibes—”
“You’ve been writing too many fantasy columns.” But even as I say it, I remember the way his presence filled the room, how his accent wrapped around each word like silk over steel…
“Oh, my God,” Elena gasps, derailing my thoughts. “What if he’susingit?”
I shoot upright, horrified. “Why would you put that image in my head?”
“I’m just saying he seemed very… interested in keeping it.” She takes a long sip of her juice, eyes dancing. “Maybe he’s conducting a thorough investigation. For security purposes, of course.”
“I hate you so much right now.”
“No, you don’t. I’m the only one who knows you spent your birthday getting helicoptered home by the Russian mafia after an impromptu solo show.” She tilts her head. “Speaking of which, was he hot? Like, in person? Because that portrait was giving some serious daddy energy—”
“Elena!”
“What? It’s a valid question! If some scary-hot mafia daddy confiscated my vibrator, I’d want a full review from my best friend.”
A woman walking past our table nearly trips over her yoga mat.
I sink lower in my chair, wishing I’d worn a bigger hat. Or a paper bag over my head. “Can we please talk about something else? Anything else?”
“Fine.” Elena sits back, crossing her arms. “Let’s talk about how you’re going to get your wallet back. Because unless you’re planning to live off smoothie bowls and my generous nature forever, you might need those credit cards back.”
I groan, realizing she’s right. “Maybe I can just… cancel everything and get new cards?”
“Or,” she leans forward, eyes sparkling with mischief, “you could go back. Front door this time, like he said.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Why not? He literally invited you.”
“He did not invite me! He…” I pause, remembering his exact words.
Elena must see something in my face because she practically squeals. “Oh my God, Isabella Marquez,, do youwanthim toinviteyou?
I glance around the juice bar, but everyone seems absorbed in their own post-yoga bliss. “Shut up. I’m not going back there.”
“Even though he has your wallet? And your green monster? And probably knows your credit score by now?”
I close my eyes, remembering the way he’d looked at me. The scar above his eyebrow. The dangerous curve of his smile.
“I’ll figure something out.”
Elena snorts. “Right. Because you have so many options. What’s your Plan B? File a police report? ‘Yes, officer, I’d like to report a stolen wallet. Last seen in the pocket of a scary-hot Russian man, right next to my confiscated vibrator. No, I can’t press charges because I was technically breaking and entering at the time, but I’d really like my Sephora rewards card back.’”
“You’re enjoying this way too much.”
“Of course I am! This is better than every column I’ve ever written!” She claps her hands together. “Oh, my God, can I write about this? Anonymous, obviously. ‘Dear Readers: This Valentine’s Day, my best friend learned that breaking and entering can lead to some very interesting positions—’”
I throw a piece of avocado toast at her head.
