"Did she just call me her knight in shining armor?" Ricky thought, a smug smile curving his lips.
He watched as Sandy stood before him, her long brown hair partially veiling her face. Even that half-hidden beauty struck him—she looked stunning, even beneath heavy makeup. Ricky noted the subtle red beneath her heavy makeup,evidence of a bruise she was trying to conceal.
A flash of memory jolted him: he'd seen that bastard grab her violently just as he was leaving the area last night.He'd parked immediately to come to her aid. By the time he arrived, she was already on the ground—but at least he'd gotten there in time to prevent another blow.
"Well?" Sandy said, arms outstretched. "Hand it over."
Her soft voice snapped him from his reverie. "Oh shit—she caught me gawking!"
Ricky made a show of contemplating her demand as he casually flipped the journal between his fingers. "A little gratitude wouldn't kill you, you know. I could've just tossed this thing in the trash."
Sandy narrowed her eyes. "You wouldn't."
Wait, wasn't she checking me out just seconds ago? Ricky wondered how she switched from checking him out just seconds ago to being irritated. He raised an eyebrow and let his voice drop just enough to keep her guessing, "Would I?"
Sandy rolled her eyes. "Thank you. Now, hand it over." She moved closer, trying to snatch the journal from him, but he shifted just out of reach.
Her fidgeting stance not matching the firm tone in her voice.
Was she nervous?
His gaze drifted down to her full lips—glossy and soft, slightly parted in frustration, like she was seconds away from biting back a sharp retort.
"Do you really mean that?" he said, raising an eyebrow. "Or are you just saying it to get your journal back?" he teased.
Sandy groaned, using her hands to wriggle her eyebrows in annoyance. "Look, I've had a long day. Can we not play games?"
Ricky smirked, tilting his head. "Slow down, sweetheart. You're acting like I'm holding your life's secrets hostage."
Sandy huffed. "You kinda are. That journal is personal, and I'd appreciate it if you just handed it over." She bit her lip, exasperation evident.
Enjoying her irritation, Ricky chuckled. "Alright, alright. But before I hand it over, don't you wanna know how I got your number?"
Sandy blinked, caught off guard. "Wait… yeah, actually. How did you get my number?"
"Ah," he grinned. "So now you're interested."
"Ricky." Her voice was low, but he could hear the anger in the way she said his name.
Ricky paused, surprised that she had addressed him by his first name. "Hmm, so we're on a first-name basis now, are we?" he teased, enjoying the way his name rolled out her soft lips.
Her cheeks flushed, burning from embarrassment, but she said nothing.
Leaning in, Ricky lowered his voice as he continued, "Relax, sweetheart, I didn't hire a private investigator. You left it in here." He tapped the journal.
Ricky never intended to pry, but after leaving Nikolas' office, he'd been tempted. Opening the journal, he found her name and number boldly written on the first page: Property of Sandy. If found, please return to 456-345-567. He was ecstatic; she had saved him the extra effort he would have had to put into it.
Her face folded in horror as her eyes bulged. "You read it?"
Ricky smirked. "Maybe."
"You—" she sneered, her eyes blazing.
"Or maybe I just opened it and saw your name and number scribbled on the first page," he said, stopping her as his grin widened. "Guess you'll never know."
Sandy let out a relieved sigh and rubbed her temples. "You're unbelievable."
Ricky watched as her body tensed. Immediately, he told her he hadn't read it.
"And yet, here you are, still talking to me," he replied with a wink, clearly enjoying how she sucked in a sharp breath as she tried to compose herself.
"Okay, come on, you've had your fun," she said, taking a step forward. "Now, my journal, please."
"How about this, Sandy," Ricky said, putting the journal under his arm instead of giving it to her.
He paused, wresting the smile threatening to part his lips. "You don't mind if I call you Sandy, right?" Amusement dancing in his eyes.
She didn't answer him only rolled her eyes at him, chuckling, he continued, "You have lunch with me, and I'll give it back." trying to make a negotiation with her.
Sandy's lips parted in disbelief. "Unbelievable! Are you seriously blackmailing me into having lunch with you?"
He shrugged, rubbing the back of his head awkwardly. "Blackmail is such a strong word. Let's just call it… a friendly negotiation," his lips twitched with a small smile.
Sandy guffawed. "I don't even know you!" she exclaimed,folding her arms.
"That's what lunch is for, sweetheart; it's where people go to eat, getting to know each other in the process."
Eyeing her closely, "You do eat, don't you?" He asked. His teasing smile deepened.
Sandy rolled her eyes. "You're impossible."
"And you're stalling,sweetheart "he shot back smoothly. "C'mon, it's just a meal—no strings attached. To extend a more friendly hand I'll let you decide the place." he said, hoping she would take the bait.
Sandy bit her lip, clearly torn, and her hesitation was evident in her eyes. Ricky went in for the final push, his tone hopeful: "Look, you kind of owe me."
She scoffed. "Owe you?"
"Yeah. For saving your pretty little self from getting knocked out yesterday," he said with a smug grin.
Sandy exhaled, twisting her lips into a peeved sneer". You really do know how to twist things, don't you?"
"It's a talent," he said boldly.
After what seemed like forever, "Fine," she said, letting out a deep sigh. "But we're not friends."
Ricky raised his hands in mock surrender. "Whatever you say, sweetheart." his heart beamed with joy.
"Stop calling me that," she shot back, eyes glaring.
"Okay, Sandy," he agreed, then handed her the journal.
"So, where do you want to have lunch?" he asked, watching as she snatched the journal from his hands with a mixture of relief and anticipation.