Page 26 of Tormented & Tulips

“From laundry to ass play so quickly. It usually takes you a few drinks to get to that point. Who has ruffled your feathers? Did someone hack your video games and steal your imaginary pigeon again?”

His eyes flare with rage. Bringing my hand up to my chin, I try to smother my smile. He spent about a year complaining about the imaginary bird.

“It was an Aarakocra. And, no. The problem is you.” He points a finger at me, before letting his arm drop to his side. His voice drops as he steps a little closer. “I’ve just been asked where you intend to put on a puppet show.”

“Who asked you?” He shoots me a deadpan stare. “Ah. Your star-crossed virtual lover. Perfect.”

He rolls his eyes, faking annoyance, but I see the red bloom on his neck.

“Yes, that one,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck as he begins shifting from foot to foot. “What do you want me to tell her?”

“Oh. Do we know who she’s working for?” I’ve killed a good number of people over the years. It’s only recently that my artwork has sparked discussion. I suppose it was always going to happen—that someone started looking for me.

“She won’t tell me. Just says that it’s a business thing.”

This is all I need. I’m already battling a beautiful auburn goddess, tracking a man killing women, and now an unknown player is trying to find me? What is this fucking city coming to? It’s my turn to toss the champagne back in one gulp.

Patience. Could it be? A charge of jealousy courses through my veins at the thought of her making gooey sounds to my brother over his headphones. It couldn’t be. The woman barely knows how to turn down the brightness on her phone.

“How well do you know this woman?”

He looks at me, tipping his head from side to side.

“I know her well enough to tell you that she’ll find you sooner or later.” He raises the second glass of champagne to his lips.

I reach out and stop him before he’s able to take a sip.

“Do you know her name?”

“No. What the fuck is wrong with you?” He brushes droplets of champagne off the lapels of his suit.

“Look, just try to verify who wants the information. Last thing I need is some second cousin taking a shot at me.”

“All right. I’ll try. How is the other thing coming?”

The other thing is Patience. Mark was the one to assist me in gathering information on her in the first place. He has been ribbing me for months about it. Kept saying I was taking too much of an interest in her. Last thing I want is for him to know I want to take a much deeper interest.

“Horrible. The woman is tenacious. Remember that rooster who would chase you around when we were children?”

He nods in agreement. “The one that met an untimely end? Yes, I remember. The coq au vin was astonishingly good that night.”

“That rooster can’t hold a candle to this woman. She kept me in a tree…overnight. She’s also exceedingly crass and uncivil, even after I extended an olive branch.”

“If she’s so terrible, why did you bother extending an olive branch? I thought your plan was to bulldoze your way in, as usual, and bully her into leaving? And why does it matter? You want to get rid of her, she’s upset. Seems to be working…or has the plan changed?” He quirks a knowing eyebrow, which I would gladly slap off his smug, unprepossessing face if we weren’t here in solidarity.

“Of course, the plan hasn’t changed.” An absolute lie, but I’m not going to voluntarily give him more ammunition for lodging jokes at my expense. The last thing I want is Patience gone. If anything, I want more of her…in every possible way.

“You like her.”

“I like her work.”

“Yes. Her work. Of course,” he says, grinning from ear to ear.

Our ribbing rarely gets to me, but at the moment, I’m struggling to contain it. I like her work. I appreciate her art. She gets more beautiful each time I see her. But her personality is that of a feral kitten. I’m not entertaining this nonsense.

Not trusting myself to speak, I shove the glass in his chest and walk to the doors. I’ve done enough mingling for the event to please the charity, and my donation was made weeks ago. Time to go!

Adjusting my tie once I get in my car, I check my messages. Mark has been busy sending erotic memes of stick figures. Just to make sure the message was received, he sends a final text clarifying they were for inspiration. Groaning, I toss the phone in the console. I don’t need inspiration from stick figures to know exactly what I would like to do to Patience.