I swirl a spoon into the foam as I watch him. “So what do you do for a living that makes you so good—and not at all creepy—at tracking down random women from clubs?”

A test. I want to see just how honest he is…or perhaps how delusional. This guy could be into cloning people into robots for all I know. I did happen to read that biologists are doing that now.

He glances down at the coffee, bashful. He runs his hand into his hair before he meets my eyes. “I’m a scientist,” he says. “As I admitted, I’m not great with people, talking. I spend most of my time looking at the world through a microscope. Venturing to a club was an act of desperation.”

As it is for most people, really. “What do you mean?”

“For human contact,” he says. At this, he looks away, to the people crossing the street.

It could be the truth. His confession has just enough self-deprecation to be believable, and his blunt demeanor last night did suggest he’s socially inept. You wouldn’t think that about him by his outward appearance. Still, it’s not enough for me.

“And the hacking my phone?” I prompt.

“Yes, that.” He blows out a breath. “I really was testing an app that I developed. I wasn’t trying to obtain access to your phone in particular. I was testing how many networks the app could crack in a heavily populated area.” He shrugs, unapologetic. “Maybe I used it as a way to talk myself into going to a club in the first place. But it did get me there, and it did bring me to you.”

“You’re not going to say this is kismet…”

Head canted, he smiles. I like the way his smile meets his eyes, squinting the creases in an adorable, boyish way. “If you knew me, you’d know I’d never say that.” He leans in from across the table. “The truth is, I never would’ve hacked your phone had you not stolen my pocket watch. Ultimately, that is why we’re here, isn’t it?”

Maybe the truth, or he’s just well-practiced. I could keep probing, but now I’m curious about this app. Sounds like a program that I would attempt to code myself.

Still, something feels off. If he’s not lying, he’s omitting some important truth. “And the whole trying to buy me for the night…?” I prod.

At this, his mouth flattens into a thin line. “That was pretty lame.” He clears his throat and adjusts his glasses. “Look, I’ve admitted I’m not versed in the art of social etiquette. Think of last night as a social science experiment. I was trying out a few variations, testing theories, looking for—”

“Pussy,” I cut in.

A moment of uncertainty, then a laugh erupts. It’s a deep sound, right from the base of his throat. “To put it so bluntly, yes.”

“I may not be a super nerd, Dr. Chambers, but you don’t have to mansplain this to me, or try to excuse away your attempt to get laid. Blunt honesty goes a long way with me.”

He blinks slowly, smiles that boyish smile again. “Why am I the one explaining myself when you attacked me?”

I cock my head. “You grabbed me,” I say pointblank.

“Yes—” he lowers his voice as passerby filter by our table “—and the Taser was a logical retaliation. But the GHB cocktail…?”

I sink back into my chair. Right. He’s a scientist. Of course he analyzed the substance in his blood that I injected into him.

At my intended silence, he says, “Okay. My turn. Who the hell carries a Taser and potent club drugs in a syringe?”

I lick my lips, stalling. How truthful do I want to be with him? Is he an adversary or possible connection? “I’m revenge for hire,” I blurt. What the hell—I’m curious to see his reaction.

“Huh.” He nods a few times as he considers my answer. “That actually makes sense.”

The corner of my mouth hitches into a slight smile. “How so?”

He ticks off the reasons on his fingers. “You were the only escort from a different company. You were annoyed by my presence; I was an interference. You were very interested in watching Ericson’s martini…which I now gather was the intended target of your drug cocktail. And the most obvious: Ericson seemed like a prick. The type of guy who’d have a few women vying for retribution.”

I snort a laugh. “Very observant.”

“I knew something was strange about you…,” he continues. “Never would’ve come to this conclusion, however, but that’s why I followed after you last night.” His eyes narrow on me. “I was curious about you.”

I take a sip of cappuccino. Run my tongue over my lips as I consider him. As a scientist, he’d have a curious nature. This I can believe. I reach into my very expensive tote and pull out his pocket watch. “Why do you carry an antique timepiece?” I slide the watch his way along the table.

He takes the watch, and I study how he noticeably relaxes now that it’s in his grasp. Like I realized last night, this watch is very important to him.

“My sister gave it to me.” He clicks the cover open. His fingers touch the backing reverently as his blue gaze traces the object. “Before she died,” he adds.

His sister. That would explain the inscription. I would offer my condolences, but I don’t feel the need for forced commiseration with him. He’d perceive it as banal. For that, I’m thankful.

“So, is it hybristophilia?” he says suddenly, shifting topics.

“Excuse me?”

“How you came to be in the business of revenge,” he says. He slips the watch into his front pocket and looks up at me. “A paraphilia where one is attracted to dangerous men, such as serial killers…or perhaps prick financial advisers?”

“Wow. You really are an awkward conversationalist.” I take another sip of coffee. Despite my criticism of him, a tiny corner inside me can relate to this man. Had I not spent years studying how to blend in, I’d probably be even more awkward than him. I can’t fault this guy for investing his time in the study of curing disease rather than manipulation. It’s admirable.

“Or maybe…” He scoots his chair around the table, closer to mine. “It’s just about the danger itself. Or you were wronged by someone. Someone close. You’re a scorned woman bent on delivering righteous vengeance.”

Now I laugh out right. He smiles, enjoying the sound of my laugh. “None of the above,” I say, tossing my newly dyed hair from my shoulders. “It pays well.”

He shakes his head. “Not buying it. Nothing is ever really about money. Besides, after a quick Google search, I know that you have plenty of money.”

“Family money,” I correct. “Not mine.”

He just watches me, waiting.

As I trace the pad of my finger around the mug, I think about how I came to be where I am, maybe for the first time ever. I’m not really the reflective type.

“Fine,” I say. “Here’s the truth. My first year at Brown, I decided college wasn’t for me. My mother wanted to ‘put me in my place’ and cut off all financial means. I was always good at computers, and there’s a plethora of work to be found on the dark web.”

He holds up a hand. “Wait. Just like that? No, hey, let me work my way up to the big jobs.”

I lift my chin. “I came across an ad for a revenge job, and I took it.” I shrug. “I knew I’d be good at it, and I was.”

I leave out some finer details, like how the adrenaline-inducing danger surrounding my work is the only thing that penetrates the nonfeeling parts of me. That’s not a great conversational piece. Admittedly, Alex has gotten me to open up more in the first five minutes of talking to him than I have to just about anyone else.

That realization is curious, and a little alarming—and somewhat thrilling in its own way. This is different. I haven’t experienced different in a while.

His gaze holds mine, resolute. “You might be the most decisive person I’ve ever met.”

“What can I say? Vengeance is my ethos. It suits me.”

“So ultimately, it is about the money.”

I nod in affirmation. “Sometimes, it’s just that simple.”

“And what did our friend Ericson do to earn a spot on your list?”