Page 69 of Ricardo

“He may keep you waiting,” he says.

I glance at him. “Even with you there?”

“Especially with me there.”

“Why?”

“He likes to believe he has the power to inconvenience people.”

“That’s a charming personality trait.”

“He has several.”

“Lucky us.”

The elevator arrives at the lobby with a soft chime.

Ricardo steps aside and lets me exit first.

The lobby is brighter than the executive floor, all polished stone and glass, with the usual midday current moving through it. Security near the desk, visitors waiting with badges, two associates walking quickly to catch the elevator before the doors close.

Again, people adjust when they notice him. Again, he barely seems to notice.

Or rather, he doesn't react to it.

He probably notices it all.

I walk beside him through the lobby, bag on my shoulder, trying to look like a woman on a routine errand instead of a woman who has spent the last five minutes being undone by the man next to her.

A discreet black SUV waits at the curb.

The driver steps out when he sees us approaching and opens the rear door.

Ricardo stops beside it and looks at me.

“After you.”

I could make a comment about old-world manners. I could make a joke about how unnecessary this is. I could say something to break this tension.

Instead, I nod. “Thank you.”

I slide inside, and he follows, bringing with him the cologne and the kind of presence that makes the car feel smaller than it is.

A moment later, Ricardo gets in beside me, and the door closes, sealing us inside together.

The sounds of the city dull around us.

For several seconds, there is only the soft purr of the engine and the faint scent of leather and Ricardo.

Ricardo gives the driver the address, though I am certain the man already has it, then settles back beside me. The partition remains down, but the driver looks straight ahead with the dedicated disinterest of someone who has been paid well to lose any possible curiosity.

I turn my attention to the window as we pull into traffic.

Chicago moves past in flashes of light and people.

For a while, neither of us speaks.

It is easier with the window there. Easier to watch pedestrians cross against traffic, a cyclist slip between cars with suicidal confidence, a woman in a purple running outfit holds a leash with a tiny dog at the end of it. Easier to pretend I am focused on the city and not on the man beside me.