Lucky Strike (Super Harem #1) - Catherine Banks Page 0,20

for the creatures,” I countered.

“I saw them and wanted to warn you not to go near the water ones,” he said.

“You saw them?”

“I always monitor surveillance cameras around the city,” he said.

“These creatures were weird, T.”

“How so?” he asked.

“They... you saw the pictures, right?”

“Yes.”

“They spoke to me,” I blurted. Once it was out, I couldn’t stop the word vomit as I told him, in detail, what had happened.

He listened silently until I was finished. “And you still think you’re safe there?”

“I don’t know,” I admitted and wrapped my arms around myself.

“Tomorrow, eleven o’clock, Dima’s Restaurant.” he said.

“Okay,” I agreed.

“Someone doesn’t like you being there. I have my suspicions, but for now we will stick to facts. Bring me your interview schedule, please.”

“How’d you know-”

“The news stations won’t stop talking about you. Plus, it’s standard for a new hero to do at least a week of interviews once the public gets to view them for the first time.”

He was right. I guess I’d sort of forgotten what it was like from the public’s point of view already.

“Won’t people recognize you?” I asked softly.

“I won’t be in my hero outfit. I’ll be in full civilian garb. Trust me, no one will recognize me.”

“Tomorrow, eleven o’clock,” I repeated.

“See you tomorrow, beautiful.”

Chapter Twelve

Dima’s Restaurant was a hole in the wall on the poorer side of town. Despite being on the poor side, it boasted an elite clientele including many heroes, actors, and politicians.

Since Transistor had invited me for lunch, I wore a semi-casual dress instead of a fancy gown and short heels. Alura had loaned me a silver hair clip to hold my hair atop my head, and I tried not to mess with it despite it making my head itch where it pulled my hair taut.

The restaurant had an underground parking garage that allowed for patrons to enter and exit discreetly. It had infrared security cameras, enhanced watch dogs to keep out paparazzi, and no public access.

A man in a black tuxedo opened the door of my taxi and once I was steady on my feet, he opened the door of an elevator. “Enjoy your meal, ma’am.”

The elevator looked like a waiting room in a makeup boutique, complete with floral wallpaper, a chaise lounge, and a crystal chandelier.

I didn’t even feel the elevator move before the doors opened again and a beautiful hostess with golden hair and an emerald dress that left nothing to the imagination greeted me. “Right this way. Your companion arrived just moments ago.”

“Oh,” I said intelligently and fell into step behind her. She moved too fast for me to have a chance to really look around, which was probably to keep me from paying too much attention to the other patrons.

She stopped at a table and left without another word.

The man who’d been sitting at the table stood, and I clamped my lips together to avoid making a fool of myself as I stared at Transistor. He had a pair of black slacks that hugged his legs, paired with a sapphire blue button-up shirt. His hair was expertly styled, and he gave me a tender smile as I continued to stare.

He pulled out my chair and whispered, “You look lovely, Lucy.”

“Thank you. You look...regal,” I admitted. Unlike me, he looked like he fit here.

He chuckled softly and kissed my cheek. “Thank you.”

Once I was seated, he sat as well and steepled his fingers beneath his chin. “This is your first time here?”

I nodded, took my napkin, and set it on my lap.

“A drink, madame?” a waiter asked from my right.

I almost jumped out of my seat. He’d appeared out of nowhere!

“A blended margarita, no salt, please,” I ordered.

He dipped his head and disappeared. A puff of smoke floated up from the spot he’d just been.

“Teleportation skills,” Transistor said, trying and failing to hide a smirk.

“What do I call you?” I asked softly. Maybe if I pretended nothing had happened, he would forget about it.

“Tyson works,” he said. “It’s my daytime alias.”

“You’re famous, aren’t you?” I asked and narrowed my eyes.

His eyes crinkled on the sides as his smile grew. “A bit, but I don’t like to toot my own horn.”

My eyes narrowed more. “Define, ‘a bit.’”

He leaned back in his seat. “Where’s the fun in just telling you?”

I had always assumed he had a secret alias that helped fund his villain habits, but never had I imagined him being famous. How did he keep his secrets so well when the paparazzi were vicious?

“You are the only one who knows