Rand: Good luck.
Mads: We could take the subway.
Ford/Rand/Franklin: NO.
I look up, and my security guy—Franklin, I take it—wiggles his phone at me. Fine. A few minutes later, Ford’s stylish Mercedes pulls up, and I join him in the backseat while Franklin joins Linda in the front.
“Hey, Linda, what’s shaking?” I ask, grinning.
“My sweet ass. How about you, baby?” she asks, pulling away from the curb smooth as silk.
“We’re not going to talk about the condition of my ass until it recovers from the shameless hussy walk I put it through.”
“At least one of us is getting laid,” she snarks, looking pointedly at Ford through the rearview. She leans over to Franklin and stage-whispers, “I haven’t taken him out on a date in a hot minute.”
Franklin smiles at Ford through the rearview. “Everyone goes through a dry spell.”
Linda snorts. “Well, there’s a dry spell, and then there’s attempting to cross the Sahara without any water.”
“Ouch,” Ford responds, adjusting his brilliant pink bowtie against his white short-sleeve button-down. He’s also wearing crisp linen navy shorts with a coordinating flamingo print. I would expect nothing less.
“Why are you always so stylish?” I complain, drawing my puffer around me.
“I dunno. Why are you always so afraid of getting lost at sea?”
I open my mouth. “Wow. You’re mean when you’re not getting laid.”
He snorts and rolls his eyes at me. We catch up on more of our retirement plan details as Linda makes her way up Manhattan, working around roadblocks and accidents with ease.
“Here we are, gentlemen. Call me when you need me.”
We leave Franklin off with the security team and head toward the elevators. As we reach the vestibule, Luca Stefano, mobster and terrible poker player, exits an elevator. Despite my recent epiphany that he’s not some pretend bad guy but an actual, like, mafioso, it’s hard to dislike him when he’s wearing head-to-toe Armani.
He takes one look at Ford—and zero looks at me—and smiles like he’s trying to power the Empire State Building.
“Ford,” he purrs. “What a wonderful surprise. Are you here to comfort Rand in his time of need?”
I forget that the handsome mobster can be funny sometimes.
Ford shyly grins as he stubs his designer boat shoe on the marble floor. “Yeah. He’s being very dramatic. And there’s a new VR game we’ve all been wanting to play,” he says, gesturing to me.
“Oh, Mads. I’m sorry, I didn’t see you.”
I pop my neon-orange collar. “I can be hard to spot sometimes.”
He laughs, patting my shoulder. “I apologize.” Flitting his eyes to Ford, he continues, “I was distracted.”
Ford’s cheeks stain the color of a ripe strawberry, and he runs his hand through his hair. The mobster takes notice.
“Gentlemen, it was lovely running into you. If you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a number of mostly legal things to do this afternoon.”
“Ugh. How boring for you,” I say, loving how willingly I take my life into my own hands every time I talk to Luca. “May your sparse illegal activities infuse a little fun into your day.”
Ford stares at me, his brows raised. “Mads.”
Luca and I share a what can you do look about our fashionable friend.
“Whatever. Luca likes it when I tease him,” I say, hoping I’m telling the truth. I grin at Luca and shrug. “I mean, if Anthony thinks you’re good people, who am I to disagree?”