Swallowing hard, I answer him. “…a spanking?”
He just laughs. “What, the punishment you hate so much that you almost came on the spot the last time I dealt it out? I don’t think so.”
“I didn’t…” I protest, weakly. My legs are shaking, and it’s not from the awkward stance in these shoes.
“Right,” he says. “Sit down. You’re embarrassing yourself.”
Deflated, I collapse back into my seat. Every inch of my skin is throbbing, and I’m still holding onto the hope that he’ll relent and give me what I need.
“Next time you’re tempted to be a smart-ass, just remember I have more willpower than you do.” He sounds terribly smug. I wish I could see how disheveled he really is, because I’m positive he’s not as calm as he sounds. But there’s nothing to do now, except wait.
After we land, I hear him go up to the cockpit and talk to the pilot for a few minutes, and then - I’m pretty sure I hear him disembark. Is he really leaving me alone here?
I could rip off the blindfold and see, but…as much as I’m irritated and impatient, I really do want to play along. After what feels like ages, the I hear the pilot’s voice.
“You can take your blindfold off now, ma’am.”
Muttering a string of obscenities under my breath, I rip off the stupid thing and toss it aside. The lights are dim in the cabin, but I still blink rapidly as my eyes adjust.
“I’m supposed to give you this,” the pilot says, walking up and handing me a small envelope. “There’s a car waiting for you on the tarmac. Once you figure out where you’re supposed to go, you can tell the driver. He knows the city.”
“What city is it, exactly?” I’m fuming a little that Adrian’s let a stranger into his kinky game, but then I realize that’s just my guilty conscience. Plenty of couples use blindfolds for secret vacations and scavenger hunts for Valentine’s day. Probably not all of them are planning to be tied up and spanked at the end of it, but that doesn’t really matter.
“I’m not supposed to say,” the pilot admits. “Mr. Risinger thinks you’ll figure it out pretty fast.”
I certainly have my suspicions, but I don’t know. He told me to dress for mild weather, in February - so it’s south, but not too far south. He already confiscated my phone before we left, so I can’t check my weather app for my location.
“Are you allowed to tell me if I guess right?”
He shrugs uncomfortably. “I guess I can give you one chance.”
“I won’t tell,” I assure him. “Austin?”
He smiles. “Mr. Risinger was right about you.”
I don’t know what that means, and I kind of don’t want to.
It was an easy guess. Austin is the city where we first really collided, after the impulsive groping in the office pool back home. I don’t really count that as the “first time,” even though we both came. I suspect Adrian feels differently about it.
All the same, he recognizes the importance of this city to me, and to us. It’s the perfect setting for whatever he’s got planned.
I rip open the envelope and stare at the message.
You thought I didn’t see you, but I did. You’ve always been the only one I see.
It takes me a second, but then I remember what he’s talking about. This would be a lot harder if I wasn’t already steeped in memories of the last time we were here together, but I know he’s talking about the barbecue restaurant where I jealously watched him share a meal with his publicist. At the time, I had no idea she was the one who should’ve been jealous of me.
Feeling a little bit cheerful for the first time in a while, I get up and make my way to the exit door. “Thanks, Captain,” I call over my shoulder, and he gives me a little wave.
The car is idling just a few feet away. I slide into the back seat, and the driver hands me my phone without saying a word.
“Thanks,” I tell him. “Can you take me to that barbecue place in South Lamar?”
“You’re going to have to be more specific,” he deadpans.
Sighing, I describe the setting until he knows what the hell I’m talking about. I’m bad at names, but damned if I don’t remember exactly what kind of cactus they had outside the front door.
It seems to take forever to get there. I hop out before he’s come to a complete stop, running up to the hostess breathlessly.
“I’m doing some kind of scavenger hunt,” I pant. “Did you…”
She smiles, reaching under her little stand and pulling out an envelope. “Yeah, I got something for you. That boyfriend of yours is a cutie.”
“A little less cute when he’s sending you on a wild goose chase,” I tell her.
No, the rest of it’s not going to be so easy.
There’s something about us that just seems to fit, doesn’t it? Almost like destiny. Or, if you prefer…natural selection.
You’ll find your next clue in the heart of the nightlife.
This one is a little more of a head-scratcher, but at least I know what direction to go in. I thank the hostess, hop back in the car, and ask the driver to take me to 6th Street. He gets as close as he can before the traffic starts to crawl unbearably, and then I hope out, telling him to circle the block.
“Actually, Mr. Risinger said you might want to take the rest of it on foot,” he says.
“That sounds like a great idea. Thank you.”
I know we’re in close proximity to the hotel where Adrian and I first slept together. I have a sneaking suspicion that’s where he’s leading me, but I know I can’t try to circumvent his game if I want to get laid tonight.
Hopping out onto the sidewalk, I begin my trek up and down the street. My head’s on a swivel, looking for some obvious clue. Destiny, or natural selection. It’s a terrible segue, which means “natural selection” must be important.
Music thumps from every restaurant and bar I pass; it’s just after dinnertime, but I haven’t thought about food once since the brunch that Adrian arranged before our flight. He absolutely encouraged me to overdo it, and I didn’t fight him too much. It was jam packed with all of my favorites, which seemed like a lovely gesture at the time, but I now realize was part of his master plan to make sure that I wouldn’t have to interrupt this weekend’s hijinks for such pesky things as meal breaks.
Right now, I can’t imagine ever eating again. But my mouth waters at the thought of him.
Natural selection. What the hell is he talking about?
And then, suddenly, the fates are smiling on me. I pause at a crosswalk, and my eyes are drawn to the sign across the street.
Darwin’s Pub
I laugh to myself, wondering how long it took him to come up with that clue. Trying to hold down the giddy feeling in my chest, I dart across the street and step inside the big wooden doors.
This is one of the calmer places, almost like Adrian guessed I’d be too overwhelmed to deal with an actual nightclub. Most people are sitting quietly at the bar, nodding along to the music. On stage, a John Legend lookalike is covering U2, to the delight of a few middle-aged business types who are hooting and hollering from the nearby tables.
When I walk up to the bar, a middle-aged man with an impish smile spots me immediately. He sets down the glass he’s cleaning and comes up to me.
“You must be Meg,” he says, extending his hand for me to shake. “Thanks for stopping by.”
“My pleasure,” I tell him, smiling back, because his happiness is infectious. “So I assume I don’t have to explain myself.”
He shakes his head. “But I’d love to serve you a drink before I send you on your way, if you have a moment.”
“Sorry, I wish I could. Maybe tomorrow?” It does amuse me to imagine Adrian hanging out in a place like this. I might be able to drag him out of the room a few times before we go back home.
“All right, all right.” The man pulls an envelope from under the register and hands it to me. “Good luck, sweetheart.”
I rip the envelope open.
They named me after something they were supposed to remember…
I snort to myself. Too easy. The Alamo Drafthouse is right down the street. Did he actually think this was going to be challenging? Well - making the hike in these shoes would’ve been dangerous for me once upon a time, but I’ve gotten a lot better at rocking designer heels so I look the part of Adrian Risinger’s girlfriend. And to be honest, I rather enjoy it.
Leaving Darwin’s Pub behind with a little wave to the man at the bar, I step back out into the night.
The hardest part is finding an intersection that’s not already packed with traffic to cross the street. While I wait for one of the walk lights to change, a teenager calls out to me from the curb.
“Hey, do you have any change?”
I dig in my pockets for some crumpled bills.
“Thanks,” she says, as she takes them. “Hey - do you have any weed?”
Laughing, I run for the crosswalk as I see the red numbers start to count down. “No, sorry.”
“Thanks anyway,” she shouts after me. “Hey, you look really nice.”
I do, don’t I? I must be glowing. Ever since Adrian and I got together, I’m starting to notice the kind of attention from men that always eluded me before. I guess knowing there’s an insanely hot boyfriend waiting at home for you does wonders for the old self-confidence. I’m feeling it particularly keenly tonight, as I sway down the sidewalk in four-inch heels that make me tower over half the population, but not my Ryn. Never him.
A passing hipster, probably ten years too young for me, smiles and calls me “cutie.” I’m sort of glad Adrian’s not here to murder him.
The neon lights of the Drafthouse glow like a beacon. I step inside, taking a moment to catch my breath. I didn’t realize how quickly I was racing to get here, anxious to collect my prize.
After taking a second to finger-comb my hair so I look a little less crazy, I step up to the ticket counter.
“Hi,” I say, into the microphone. “This might sound weird, but I’m doing a scavenger hunt.”
Showing no sign that he thinks it’s weird, the guy behind the glass smiles and nods. “That’s cool, but nobody told me anything. Jared?”
He turns to the other guy behind the counter, who shakes his head. “Sorry, hon. You can look around if you want, but if you wanna go into a live theater you gotta buy a ticket.”
“Okay, thanks.” Now I’m stumped. After the hostess at the restaurant had my next clue, I figured they’d all be simple. There must be something I’m overlooking, but I have no particular memories attached to the Drafthouse.
Something to do with a movie, then.
My eyes scan the walls, looking at the many framed posters, but nothing stands out. What am I missing?
I feel like I can practically hear Adrian laughing over my shoulder. I almost give in to the temptation to look around and see if he’s following me, but of course that’s ridiculous. If he wanted to watch me fail spectacularly at this diabolical scheme, he’d just wire up some cameras around the whole city. He can do whatever the hell he wants.
Feeling lost, I turn to the list of showtimes. Maybe it’s actually in one of the theaters, but how am I supposed to find a clue in the dark?
Then, something catches my eye. A listing on one of the theaters - PRIVATE BOOKING. It seems to be running through every time slot.
Oh, Adrian. Never afraid to inconvenience everybody else to fulfill his whims.
I approach the counter again. “Excuse me, do you know what’s going on with that private booking?”
“Oh, right.” The guy shakes his head. “Sorry, I forgot about that. They just told us not to let anybody in. Probably has something to do with your thing, right?”
“I have to assume so.” Chewing on my lip, I think hard. “They really told you not to let anyone in?”
“I’m pretty sure,” says Jared. “But I don’t think anybody’s in there, so…if you want to sneak in, it’s the second theater on the left. I didn’t see anything.”
Well, this is going to be embarrassing if I end up crashing someone’s private party, but my instincts drive me forward. The door creaks loudly as I step inside, praying that I really am alone.
A glance around the theater tells me I am. The house lights are up, the screen is blank, and there’s no sign of anything telling me where to go next.
This being the Drafthouse, there are hundreds of little white cards intended for ordering food, tucked behind counters that run the length of each row of seats. He wouldn’t be diabolical enough to hide my next clue there, would he? It’d take hours to go through them all.
Suddenly, I hear a rapid shutter noise, and the unmistakable hum of a projector firing up. I glance up at the back of the theater, but of course, all I can see is the blinding light. The projectionist must have been waiting there for me to come in.
The screen comes to life, and I immediately have to stifle a laugh. A young Colin Firth is on screen, brooding his heart out, in a scene that I once told Adrian was so crucial to my formative years.
“You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you.”
Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth Bennett, arguably the prototype for our relationship. While Lizzy indignantly tells him what an arrogant S.O.B. he is, I glance around the theater one more time, still at a loss to figure out what I’m supposed to be looking for.
Suddenly, the scene ends. For a moment it’s just blank white on the screen and silence, then a song kicks in through the sound system, some old eighties ballad, which at first I think must be a reference to the “80’s night” themed party we attended at the conference where we first discovered so much about each other. But I don’t remember this song, and anyway, he’s obviously trying to tell me something. I try to hone in on the lyrics. It’s about finding love with someone you didn’t expect, who’s been around all along. A pretty apt description of our relationship, I guess, but I don’t really see the point in reminding me that the search is over, because he was with me all along…
Oh, shit.
Shit.
He’s not what was with me all along.
“God damn it, Risinger,” I mutter to myself. I dig into my purse with both hands, searching for something that feels unfamiliar. I find it in moments. A little envelope with something flat and stiff inside.
A hotel key, of course.
With a string of more creative profanity, I slip the key out of its home and examine it. Of course, it’s the same hotel where we stayed last time, but there’s nothing indicating a room number. Luckily, I remember the numbers of our adjacent rooms from the conference. There’s almost no doubt in my mind that he’s arranged to get at least one of them again.
There’s a little slip of paper in the envelope, too, which at first seems to just have the hotel rules and a copy of the free WiFi code. But then I notice something scrawled across it in Adrian’s elegant hand.
For my brilliant Meg, who somehow always manages to miss the obvious. Come and claim your reward.
I slide the key into 606, but the light just flashes red at me. Frowning, I try again.
It must be 605, then.
Praying I’ve gotten it right this time, I walk over to the next door. My hand is shaking as I fumble the key into the slot.
Why am I so nervous?
The light flashes red. Shit. Could I really be so far off in my assumptions? If it’s not either of the rooms we stayed at before, what could it possibly be?
Taking a deep breath, I try again.
The light turns green, and I hear the gentle click of the lock disengaging. Thank God.
Room 605 is eerily quiet. The first thing I do is explore the darkened corners, check the closet and the bathroom to make sure he’s not here. But I can already sense I’m alone. There might be a clue in the room, but I suspect I already know what I’m supposed to do.
The huge curtains next to the bed are drawn closed, but I know what’s behind them. Sliding glass doors, and a ba
lcony that connects to Room 606. I pull them open, slowly.
My heart squeezes in my chest, thumping painfully hard when I catch sight of him. Just like the last time, he’s facing away from me, leaning on the railing. The breeze ruffles his hair, and I’m frozen to the spot.
Being in this place reminds me of how it felt back then, when everything between us was fragile and unsure. I used the glass doors as an excuse to tease him, and while he was angry at the time, the payoff did not disappoint. This time, he’s turning the tables on me.
I wonder how I’m supposed to signal him that I’m here. He might’ve heard the thunk of my door closing, if he were in the main part of his room. But I don’t know how long he’s been standing out there. Should I knock on the glass? Or have I accidentally circumvented the game by overlooking some clue that’s hidden here?
As if on cue, my phone buzzes. I fumble it out of my purse and stare at the message.
Well done. You know what to do next.
Of course, when I look up, he’s smiling at me.
With two feet of air and a quarter-inch of glass between us, it’s tempting to yank the door open and tackle him to the floor. But I know that’s not what this game is supposed to be, and I did promise to play by the rules. Clearing my throat, I give him a casual little wave and head over to the mini-bar.
He doesn’t have to say what he’s thinking. I can read it in his eyes, in the casual drape of his body as he leans against the glass. I can see it clear as day in the sinful curve of his lips as he watches me.
Put on a show for me. If it’s good enough, you’ll get your reward.
The last time I did this, I felt bold. But now I’m anything but, which is exactly what he wants.
I pour myself a bourbon and stir it with my finger, the way he once did in front of me. When I lick the sweet, smoky liquid off my finger, though, I make a much bigger show of it. At first I pretend that I’ve forgotten he’s even there, but I do shoot a glance to make sure he’s watching. As if he wouldn’t be.
His Secretary: Undone and Unveiled (The Complete Series Collection) Page 24
