Do Not Disturb || ONC2023

CHAPTER 4

You see, the Griffin Syndicate is one of the most notorious crime families that rule the underworld. They are among the largest smugglers of firearms and weapons in the country, and its Don, Margot's husband, is not known to be a sharer. Of anything. His money, his territory, let alone his wife.

So one could only imagine his reaction when he found out his dear other half, the mother of his two children, had taken up a part-time job as a bed tester. A professional sleeper— of and in other men's beds, that is. And just like that, a hefty bounty was placed on Mrs. Griffin's head by her very own husband. Open contract. Even then, it's like she's addicted to cheating.

Like she can't help but let herself get dragged down by temptation. A moth to flame, a child to candy. A junkie to crack.

"So when I approached her last night at the bar…" she trailed off, her dark eyes unfocused, obviously connecting the dots in her head.

"You were trying to seduce her. And she fell for it." My gaze falls over her figure, leaning back against the back of her chair looking so effortlessly alluring. There's not a single ounce of doubt in my mind that a woman like Roxanne Hayes could pull anyone she wants. Even a straight, middle-aged woman with a penchant for dicks not belonging to the man she brought to the altar.

"And I was seducing her because I was trying to…" Her eyes find mine already fixated on her. I've never seen anything quite like the look swimming in Roxanne's chocolate irises. A dangerous cocktail of disbelief, curiosity, and triumph that could easily get me  intoxicated if I drink it in too much. "Succeeded at…"

It seems like Roxanne isn't ready to finish her sentences yet, scared of admitting things to herself, facing who she might have been before the clean slate she was fatedly handed this morning. "Yeah," I confirm for her.

She picks up her half-full glass of wine and throws back all its contents in one swift go. In an uncharacteristically unladylike way, Roxanne wipes her mouth with the back of her hand and leans forward in her seat.

I can practically see the wheels churning up in that pretty little head of hers, the new questions filtering through her eyes, deciding which one to ask first. That's not good. A couple questions to make sense of her situation is fine, but too many in one night is risky. For me and her both.

I wordlessly catch the attention of the same server from across the restaurant once again, this time signaling him with my hand under the table. I hold up three fingers.

Two.

"So Agatha, I'm curious."

Doesn't she know? Curiosity kills cats.

One.

I incline my head and mouth now at the same time Roxanne continues. "How do you know so much about all thi—"

"Happy Birthday to you. Happy Birthday to you. Happy Birthday, Happy Birthday, Happy Birthday to you…"

The chorus encore of every staff working the restaurant tonight interrupts Roxanne's question at just the right time.

"Uhh…" She looks around, startled.

A group of waiters and waitresses head our way, the guy in the middle holding a platter in his hands while the others around him sing and clap in synchrony. They place the tiny single-tiered cake in front of Roxanne, looking at her expectantly.

A deer caught in headlights, she shakes her head and starts to explain how they must be mistaken. But before she can get words out, I slide both my hands to her left one resting on the table and say, "Happy Birthday, my love. My beautiful fiancee. I can't wait to finally be able to call you my wife."

I try my best to look the part of a doting bride-to-be, completely smitten by the woman before me, but it's a challenge to keep my smirk at bay. Her part-horrified, part-amused expression is too priceless.

The crowd awws and coos, an applause erupting across the evening's diners. Once I pull my hand away from hers, all eyes fall to look for a ring, including Roxanne's.

Of course, glittering back at us is a shiny gemstone on a silver band. What can I say, I'm just that good.

We leave not long after, thanking strangers politely for the congratulations they're sending our way as we take our exit side by side, the free cake boxed up and in Roxanne's hand. An imperishable blush painting her cheeks and neck. It's cute.

"What the hell was that for?" she demands out of the corner of her mouth.

The real answer: For me. An unassuming escape plan that was designed to both distract and embarrass you.

The answer I give: "For the free cake. Duh."