War Zones and Paradise

Chapter Ten, Part Two - We All Fall Down

The morning after the mansion-party, Tyler sent out a mass text, instructing our friends to meet us for dinner at The Red Hand–no questions asked. Not that anyone ever did. He was Tyler Moore for goodness sake.

The Red Hand was an upscale French restaurant, in the city, that assigned each table their very own sous chef along with a complimentary bottle of Dom. The service was five-star, and the dining was always a fine experience, but tonight we weren't here for the food.

Dinner was taking place in one of the private rooms usually reserved for business-meetings. I figured Tyler and I would be the first to arrive, but I was shocked when the maître d' showed us into the room–and each of our friends were seated, already waiting.

"Um, Tyler?" I squeezed his hand, holding back. "Every single one of our friends is looking at us like they wanna kill us. Are we late?"

Tyler gave a casual glance down at the silver watch sparkling on his wrist. He looked just as good in Versace as he did in the conceit.

"Please, they've only been waiting twenty minutes. They're lucky it wasn't an hour."

I could only stare in disbelief. I did not put on a dress and heels just to play Blair to his Chuck. Was this really the time to be playing games? "Why would you keep them waiting?"

"Ali..." Shaking his head at the floor, he stuffed his hands in the pockets of his Diesel jeans. "One of the people in this room--one of our friends--pushed you off a building and then left you to die. And if you're upset because I made them wait... then you'll be absolutely furious when I destroy them."

He kissed me, fondly, on the cheek, and strutted towards the table. I watched him go, wondering how it was possible to be turned on and disillusioned at the same time.

On second thought, perhaps Chuck and Blair had it right...

Steeling myself for what I knew would be a supremely shitty dinner, I airily approached the cloth-covered dining table, pretending Tyler hadn't tricked all of our friends here to sign their own warrants. Seated beside a very bored A'keem was Santana, the Venus fly trap–beautiful, but deadly too. Val was a few spots down. The hood of her jacket was raised, both elbows on the table, with her chin against her hand. The girl looked like she hadn't slept in days, which was odd considering the fact that she was jobless. I had to admit, I was pretty surprised she had showed, considering how she had went off the grid as soon as she was fired. And as for Cody and Peyton, they were on the opposite side of the table, behaving like two complete strangers–as if the extra seat between them confirmed that they didn't speak. Tyler took his place at the very head of this giant mess, and I picked the chair directly between Cody and Peyton–front-row seats to the fiasco unfolding.

"The guests of honor finally arrive," said Cody, smirking as he toasted me with his crystal glass. "And here I thought you weren't going to show."

"Oh? Why's that?" I said, settling into my seat. "Do you think I'm... hiding something?"

"Like what?" Cody furrowed his brows at my uncharacteristic rudeness, but before he could answer Santana interrupted. A'keem was doing his best to quell his girlfriend's rising protests as she cursed Tyler in Spanish. Maybe he didn't understand what was a pinche cabron, but judging by Tyler's nods and smirks, he still got the message loud and clear.

"Jesus--can everyone just fucking chill with the noise and the drama and the talking in fucking general?" Eyes closed, Val massaged her temples. "This environment is so not conducive to my hangover."

"Soooo is that why you went all 'radio silent' on your friends?" I countered, turning my blazing guns on Val. "To party?"

Val gave a bitter chuckle. "Well, ex-cuse me for wallowing in my own fucking misery, Peaches. I just lost my freaking job--"