1:35 PM.
"Move, move, move!" Aria chanted frantically, bouncing her knee.
But the sleek Aston Martin wasn't moving an inch. They were completely gridlocked in the middle of Midtown traffic. Blaring horns echoed from every direction, the dense sea of yellow cabs and delivery trucks creating an impenetrable wall of metal.
Aria was having a full-blown meltdown in the passenger seat. Her heart was beating so fast she felt nauseous. "I don't have a script," Aria hyperventilated, biting her thumbnail. "They are going to eat me alive! I'm going to walk out there and sound like an absolute idiot!"
A sudden tap on the tinted window made Aria almost jump out of her skin.
A sleek, matte-black Ducati motorcycle had expertly woven through the standstill traffic, idling right beside their vehicle. The rider, dressed in a black leather jacket and a tinted helmet, unzipped a compartment on the side of the bike and pulled out a stuffed black duffel bag.
