𝐑𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐒𝐡𝐚𝐝𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐑𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐞 | ✍︎

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏

"Maybe I got bored with him?"

Lies.

"Please, I know you better than anyone," I scoffed at her. "I could probably guess which panties you are wearing now."

Robyn leaned forward, propping her elbows on the table and putting her chin on her knuckles. "Yeah? Which ones am I wearing right now? If you guess maybe I'll let you take them off later, hm? How does that sound?" she teased me, searching my eyes for uncertainty, thinking I wouldn't guess.

I also leaned closer to her so our faces were a few inches apart, "Knowing you, you wash your laundry every Friday, and you start with the black clothes and then the other ones, you probably get the gist," I say looking at her eyes, "And knowing that almost every Saturday and Sunday when I come home and see only your red thongs on the floor..." Pausing for the effect, I continue, "I would say you are wearing one of your Edward Cullen panties, am I right?"

Her jaw almost touched the table we were leaning on, but it closed after a few seconds. She straightened her back and fell back into her chair with crossed arms. "Damn you, Estella. Damn. You."

"I mean, you once said seeing Edward Cullen could even make a pensioner with no teeth smile."

After I finished, she narrowed her eyes and looked into mine. We held eye contact until we burst into a fit of laughter.

"Ok, ok. Let's not get carried away," I said, after letting out a small chuckle. "We still have a business to take care of."

"Speaking of business, where the fuck is that little pecker?" she spoke impatiently, looking around the café's outside patio.

"Probably too busy admiring his ego in the mirror..." as I finished my last word I saw from the corner of my eye a man with an Armani suit taking long strides towards the café.

"Speak of the devil and he shall appear," I said, not looking away from him.

Robyn turned in her chair to face his way.

He stood out with his expensive black suit in the summer. And let's not forget the two obnoxious bodyguards in black, too.

"Does he know that it's 80 degrees in Fahrenheit outside in New York? Dude probably has sweat dripping down his balls," Robyn joked while looking at him over the rim of her sunglasses.

"I bet you wouldn't mind."

Not paying any attention to what I said, she continued speaking her thoughts, "did he have to look this good? Maybe I can take him behind the café and have my way with him... and then I give him back to you?" Robyn said, biting her lip and looking at him from head to toe.

"Business is business, Robyn. You know why we have to do this."

"It wouldn't hurt you to have a little fun from time to time," she mumbled under her breath. I'll just pretend I didn't hear her to leave that discussion alone. "From the way you live, it would be safe to say you probably have it tighter than a nun,"

"Just because I don't leave my underwear hanging around the living room doesn't mean I don't have fun," I said to her with a smirk.

"Does anyone remind you that you're a bitch?" she asked with a glare on her face, but I could see that smile she tried to hide, "but also right."

"Daily," a scoff left my mouth at her comment, "ok, let's stop. We don't have a lot of time. What do we know about this guy?", I questioned her.

"Mark St. James. 32 years old. Owns chains of clubs and strip clubs. Comes from old money. Last but not least, we cannot forget the restraining order he has from his ex-girlfriend that daddy dearest tried hard to bury." Robyn listed things about him that didn't matter right now but weren't unnecessary.