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“Something wrong?”

He spoke politely. Far too politely, especially now that there was a smirk on his face.

“My phone isn’t working.”

“No. I didn’t think it would. Cell coverage sucks here—if you don’t have the right carrier.”

Bianca held her phone skyward. Waved it. Glared at it. She swung towards him, eyes narrowed with suspicion.

“Did you do something to my phone?”

He laughed. She blushed. She was not in the habit of asking stupid questions. Had an hour with Chay Olivieri reduced her to this?

“I wish I could take credit. I mean, I’d love to be a magician who can kill a smartphone with a look, but nope, I can’t. Everybody around here knows the deal. The coverage sucks for the next couple of miles.”

Bianca breathed in. Breathed out. He could almost see her telling herself he was either lying or joking. She turned the phone off. Turned it on. Did the little dance people do when their phones crap out.

“The twenty-first century Mashed Potato.”

She stared at him. “What?”

“That dance. The one people do when they’re trying to find a network. Fun to watch, but it won’t work. Not here.”

Bianca felt her lips twitch. She wanted to laugh, but behaving politely for an evening when other people were around was one thing. Laughing with the enemy was quite another.

Instead, she muttered something in Italian and dropped the phone into her purse.

“So,” Chay said politely, “you change your mind about how we’re gonna get to that restaurant?”

“You could,” she said coldly, “use your phone to call a cab for me.”

He shrugged, leaned back against the motorcycle and folded his arms over his chest.

“Yup. I could.”

Dio, she despised this man! Despised him! He was so disgustingly smug, so arrogant, so convinced that he was God…

“Must I beg?” she snapped.

He gave her a long, assessing look. The remnants of that irritating smirk vanished.

“There’s a thought. I mean, having you beg might be interesting.”

His voice was soft. Rough. The sound of it took her back to that weekend, to the wedding, to the way he’d kissed her and she’d told him never to try that again and he’d said he wouldn’t, not until she asked…

Without warning, he stood away from the Harley, dug out his phone and tossed it to her.

“There’s an Uber icon in the top row,” he said briskly. “They’ll send somebody for you.”

She nodded. For some inexplicable reason, her throat had gone dry.

“Just tell the dispatcher you’re at the Landing Zone. The drivers all know where it is.”

She nodded again, found the icon, touched it, put the phone to her ear. “Yes,” she said, to the person who answered. “I need a car, please. I’m at a bar. The Landing Zone. Fine. Uh-huh. Oh. Just a minute.” She looked at Chay. “Where am I going?”

“What do you mean, where are you going?”

“The restaurant. What’s the name of it?”