“Even if what you win is a two-night vacation in a three-star hotel in Tacoma?” I took a swig of my whiskey. “Because that’s the shit you’ll be winning here.”
“Especially.” Arsène accepted his fresh beer from Elise, slipping her a tip without making eye contact. The man hated women with such a passion I suspected he’d be one of those people who died alone and left all their millions to the neighbor’s dog or someone random on the other side of the world. “Helps me see how the other half lives.”
“You don’t give a crap how the other half lives.”
Arsène clinked his beer bottle with mine. “Said other half doesn’t need to know that.”
“I take everything I said about trivia night back. Apparently, it has its merits.” Riggs’s gaze cut to the entrance. I followed his line of sight, biting down on my tongue until the metallic taste of blood spread in my mouth.
You have to be kidding me. What are the goddamn odds?
It had been three weeks since I’d met Arya in my office. Three whole weeks in which I’d regrouped, gotten myself together, and managed to forget about her annoying mouth and delectable body. Now here she was, waltzing into my home field, wearing a little black number with a pearl choker and killer red Balenciaga heels. There were three more women with her, all wearing beauty-pageant-type sashes that said The Sherlock Holmesgirls. Apparently, she wasn’t only cold and mean; she was also lame.
“Pick your jaw off the floor, buddy, before someone steps on it.” Riggs clapped my shoulder in my periphery, chuckling. “All right, I see you’re eyeing little Audrey Hepburn over there. Luckily for you, I’m not picky. I’ll take Blondie.”
“How about you take a hike.” I brushed his touch away. “I’m out of here.”
“Long day at the office?” Riggs flashed a grin full of dimples and stubble. No wonder he melted panties and hearts solely by existing. “Let me guess, oatmeal and a Dan Brown book for dinner?”
Maturity-wise, my best friend was no older than the carton of milk in my fridge, and not half as sophisticated.
“This woman is the daughter of a defendant in a case I’m working on, dum-dum.”
“So?” Arsène furrowed his brows. “It’s trivia night, not a public orgy.”
“Can’t put it past Riggs not to make it one.” I slid into my peacoat. The last thing I needed was to ogle Arya Roth. Impulse control was my favorite form of art. I always reined in my needs. I hadn’t googled or checked on her since I was fifteen. Ignored her existence thoroughly since freshman year. To me, she was as good as dead. Seeing her all pretty and happy and alive wasn’t on my agenda. Not if I could help it. “Stay out of trouble, and make sure this guy puts a rubber on it.” I clapped Arsène’s back, about to head out.
“Thanks, Dad. Oh, and by the way.” Riggs blocked my way with his body. He glanced at something behind my back. “Audrey Hepburn is coming our way, and unlike you, she seems mighty happy to see you.”
“Of course.” Arsène’s eyes flickered behind me curiously, a grin spreading across his face. “Arya Roth.”
I stuffed my pocket with my wallet and phone, my jaw hardening.
“She’s a bombshell.” Riggs whistled.
“She sure detonated my life,” I ground out. “I’m out of here.”
I turned around, colliding with someone small. That someone, of course, was Arya. I almost knocked her down on her ass. She stumbled a few steps back, and one of her friends, presumably the one Riggs wanted to make the latest notch on his belt, caught her.
“Fancy bumping into you. Literally.” Arya recovered, her sharp smile intact. Was she following me? Because that was illegal, on top of being unethical. I eyed her with open disdain.
Impulse control. You’re Christian, not Little Nicky. She can’t hurt you.
“Ms. Roth.”
“Leaving already?”
“I see nothing escapes you,” I drawled flatly.
“Apparently, you escape me. Is trivia not your strong suit, Mr. Miller?”
Smirking, I tilted my head down to whisper in her ear. “Everything is my strong suit, Ms. Roth. You’d be wise to remember that.”
Straightening, I noticed there was a flicker of something in her face. Recognition? Confusion? Did she remember me? Whatever it was, it vanished, replaced by a frosty smile.
“Actually, your media management could use a few tweaks. I happen to be here with my business partner, Jillian, and our dream team, Hailey and Whitley. Give us a call after our case is over. We’ll give you some pointers.” Arya produced a black business card with rose-gold cursive lettering, shoving it into my hand. I caught the words Brand Brigade. Well, well. She had her own company. Then again, she also had a daddy who’d buy her a spaceship if she wanted to play astronaut.
“Thank you, Ms. Roth, but I’d rather get advice from the street person on the corner of Broadway and Canal, who shouts into a megaphone that aliens kidnapped him and he is now immortal.” I flicked her card straight to the trash can behind the bar.