Freya's day went from bad to worse in record time.
She realized she'd left her wallet back at the office — meaning no cash, no ID, no metro card, nothing.
Now she stood outside the Convention Center, hugging her cheap blazer tighter against the wind, while Uber prices skyrocketed like the city was under siege.
Freya stared at her phone.
$98 for a five-mile ride.
"Yeah, okay," she muttered. "Let me just sell a kidney real quick."
She stuffed her phone back into her bag and looked around.
No taxis. No buses. Just businessmen being whisked away in black town cars, none of whom looked inclined to share.
She shivered as another gust of wind whirled. Her hair was frizzing like mad, and her stomach growled loudly enough that a passing pigeon gave her a judgmental look.
Perfect.
Rock bottom.
She was debating whether to just walk the whole damn way back when a sleek black SUV rolled up to the curb.
The window rolled down smoothly, and a driver in a sharp uniform leaned out.
"Miss Davis?" he called politely.
Freya blinked.
"Uh... yeah?"
"We were sent to pick you up," the driver said, with the kind of crisp professionalism that made her immediately suspicious.
"By who?" she asked, stepping closer.
The driver smiled blandly. "A friend. Please — it's quite chilly."
Freya hesitated.
This had murder podcast written all over it.
But her toes were numb, her battery was dying, and honestly, if this was how she went out, at least she'd be warm.
She yanked open the door and climbed in without thinking.
"Thank you," she said, flopping onto the warm leather seat. "Seriously, you are saving my life right now. I was about two minutes away from offering someone my soul for a hot shower."
The door clicked shut.
And then, from the far side of the SUV — where she hadn't even looked — a voice said dryly:
"Good to know your soul has such negotiable terms."
Freya stiffened so hard she almost dislocated something.
She turned her head slowly, like she already knew what horror awaited her.
Arnold lounged casually across the opposite seat, legs stretched out, one hand resting loose and confident on the armrest.
Looking, of course, maddeningly perfect.
Freya opened her mouth.
Closed it.
Opened it again.
"You… I don't understand… Why are you helping me? You wouldn't even grant a harmless interview." she blurted finally.
Arnold smirked, chuckling at her baffled expression. "You don't need to understand."
She wanted to press him further, but something in his eyes told her it was pointless. He seemed to be enjoying making her confused.
Freya seriously considered throwing herself out of the moving vehicle.
Instead, she glared at him. "You set me up."
"I saw you struggling," he said innocently. "It felt cruel to leave you there."
Freya scoffed. "You don't seem like the Good Samaritan type."
He smiled, slow and wicked. "I'm not."
"You lied. You tricked me into getting in your car!"
"I prefer to think of it as creative assistance."
Freya dropped her head into her hands with a groan.
"You are unbelievable," she muttered into her palms.
"I've been called worse," he smirked.
She peeked at him between her fingers.
He looked so damn pleased with himself, she wanted to shove a punch right at his nose.
She slumped back against the seat and crossed her arms.
"Fine," she said. "But for the record? I'm not talking to you."
"Understood," Arnold said, with a straight face.
There was a beat of silence.
Then he added, completely deadpan:
"So, where are you headed?"
Freya snorted despite herself. She rolled her eyes at him and leaned forward, addressing the driver instead, "Please take me to 12 Main Street."
The driver nodded and steered the car towards her residential area.
She was determined to ignore him. And she was doing a perfect job.
Until she realized she could feel his gaze on her — like the warmth of sunlight through a window you weren't ready to admit felt nice.
She turned her head sharply.
"What?" she snapped.
Arnold didn't even flinch.
"You're very expressive," he said lightly.
"Thanks," Freya muttered. "I try to keep the strangers in my kidnapper vans entertained."
He chuckled — and damn him, it was a good sound, low and rich and dangerous in ways she didn't have the energy to fight right now.
She looked away quickly, cheeks warming. And for a moment, neither of them spoke.
The SUV slowed, pulling up in front of her apartment building.
Home. At last.
Freya scrambled for the door handle like it was a life preserver.
But before she could bolt, Arnold spoke up.
"I'll be seeing you again, Freya Davis."
She froze with one foot out the door.
Slowly, she turned to look at him.
And there was that annoying smirk again.
Freya narrowed her eyes.
"Don't bet on it," she said, slamming the door shut behind her with a satisfying thunk.