“Or no deal. No chicken penne, no movie theater. I just kidnap you and take you back to my hotel room.”
“Are you going to tie me up and do whatever you want to me too?” Her tone has turned sultry and soft.
“Don’t make me do it.” I point my finger at her and give a stern look.
She bites her lip, shaking her head.
“What?” I demand.
“Nothing. I just don’t think you can handle my brat energy.”
“Try me, darling,” I growl.
“I dare you to, daddy.”
My hand grips the table, and I grit my teeth, straining not to react. It’s no use. She takes one look at me and declares, “I win. I told you. I don’t think you can handle this.”
My little muse is lucky that, at exactly the same moment, the manager returns with the waiter to take our order. “Sorry to keep you waiting, this is Kat. She will be your server tonight. You two enjoy, and let Kat know if you need anything from me.” He walks away.
Once he’s out of ear shot, Kat says, “Did Maggie tell you he ratted?”
I nod, “Can you put in our order to go?”
She nods.
“Thank you. Two chicken penne meals, pick a dessert, and mozzarella sticks. Anything else you want?” I ask Vivienne.
She shakes her head no.
“I’ll ask the line to steal someone else’s order if we can, so it’s faster.” Kat winks and rushes off to the kitchen.
“I must admit, your fans are loyal,” Vivienne says.
I smile. “They are.”
Ten minutes later, Kat returns with our bill and our order packed and ready. I tap my card, then hand her three hundreds. “Split this with Maggie and the kitchen. Did you want a photo?”
She tucks it in her pocket quickly, then nods her head. We are mid-selfie when I hear the manager.
“I’m sorry, paying customers only. You can’t go back there.”
A swarm of paparazzi bursts into our section, and cameras start flashing.
“I’m sorry,” Kat whispers, running off.
“Cas! Cas! What brings you to BananaBees?” they yell.
I hold up the to-go bag. “Sorry to run, guys, but I have some chicken penne to eat.”
I hold out my hand for Vivienne as everyone in the restaurant points, stares, and takes photos. She takes it, and together we stroll to the front, where we bump into Maggie.
“Photo?” I ask her, ignoring the paparazzi shouts.
“Can you sign this paper for me?” she asks, holding up a blank pad of paper.
“How about both?” I suggest.
I sign the paper and take the photo, then pull Vivienne along with me to the door. We spin to face the cameras—I dip her, kissing her, putting on a show for the cameras. She’s mine, and I want the whole world to know. “I’m on a date, guys. Be cool, and give us some privacy.” I shout before pushing open the door and shouting, “Run!”
