Page 4 of Café Diablo

“I wasn’t named after Ned Stark, thank you!”

“But I’m sure you’re just as stubborn and pious.”

“Last I checked, Ned’s a good guy inGame of Thrones.”

“Who ends up dead!”

“Can you uncuff me now?” I ask, crossing my arms and tired of this conversation. “Or are you going to walk me through all your nerdy theories for the rest of the evening?”

“Edwin!” she snips out crisply, making a show of saying my full first name. “Your brother actually worked really hard to throw you this party. I’m not supposed to tell you this, but everyone you know is sitting at Flambéright now waiting for you to show up. It’s a god-damned surprise party.”

I frown, dropping my arms. “What are you talking about? Connor said he just wanted the two of us to have a couple drinks.”

“Yeah, I know.” Olivia shakes her head incessantly. “Because all surprise parties have cover stories, idiot! But instead, every one of your lawyer friends, and people who work at this office, and the weirdo with the creepy Hawaiian shirts—”

“Mason?”

“Yes, him.” She nods. “All of them are waiting at Flambé for you right now. So, stop being a self-righteous, stubborn dick who’s going to get his head chopped off at the end of the story, and let’s go to the damn party!”

“Oh,” I say, my eyes falling to the floor.

“Yeah, oh!” she mocks. “Now come on.”

Olivia starts stalking down the hallway and I barely have time to shut the door to the office behind me before we’re traipsing down the stairs and out into the parking lot.

“You can uncuff me now,” I complain, as she drags me along. “I’ve agreed to come to the party. Don’t you think that warrants taking these off!”

“Not on your life!” she shoots back. “When you’re standing in the doorway of Flambé—then,I’llthinkabout it. But I might just keep you cuffed to my side to make sure you are sweet as sugar pie for the rest of the night.”

“Is Connor paying you extra to babysit me?”

“Connor doesn’t pay me anything!” She turns abruptly to look at me, the sparkling city of Waikiki lit up behind her like a late-night firecracker. “I just think he deserves better for all the work he’s done, and maybe you need a kick in the shins every time you act like an ungrateful shmuck. Now—” She leans to the side and pulls one of her heels off, then the other, making her significantly shorter than me. She shoves the shoes into my chest forcefully. “Hold these!”

“Jeez, okay, mini-Godzilla!” I say, clutching the shoes awkwardly. “Why the hell are you taking your shoes off?”

But I see the answer the second she turns around and unhooks the storage compartment on the back of the small mint green Vespa behind her.

“What the hell is that?” I ask, as she pulls a pair of pink Converse sneakers from the storage compartment and drops them on the pavement, stuffing her feet into them without untying the laces.

“It’s called a scooter, you numbskull,” she says, snatching her shoes from my hands and tossing them in the compartment. “You actually passed the Bar? Or did you sweet talk whoever was in charge with that pretty face, Mr. Observant?”

“Of course I passed the Bar without cheating,” I growl at her, and she bats her lashes at me like that was a rhetorical statement. I nod to the scooter. “I’m not getting on that! You don’t have a car?”

“Some of us don’t have dipped-in-gold Rolls Royces!” she snaps, her whole body seeming to wiggle with her sass.

“I drive a BMW.”

“Same thing.”

“Not really—”

“Connor said you were a sharp-shooter with that tongue, but thus far,” she shakes her head at me, her black hair dancing over her shoulders like serpents, “you’ve yet to render yourself impressive.” I glare at her, which seems to make her smile even more. “We are not taking your car,” she clarifies. “Because this lil’ beauty will get us through traffic much faster.” She claps the storage unit shut and yanks me toward the moped. “The less you bitch and complain, the sooner we’ll get there!”

I glare at her like this is kidnapping—which it is!—and the last thing I want is a joyride. Stubbornly, she just nods for me to get on, and after a completely juvenile staring contest, I curse under my breath and take a damn seat.

The bike is small, but surprisingly comfortable, that is until she hikes up her pencil skirt, making it a mini, and she wraps her tiny body onto the seat in front of me, nuzzling herself between my thighs.

There’s some cursing and awkwardness as the two of us twist and shuffle, trying to get situated while still handcuffed. She ends up placing my cuffed hand on one of the handlebars up front, placing hers on top of it. As a result, I’m hunched forward, causing my entire chest to curl over her back.

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