Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 75640 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75640 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
He did the right thing.
Even if it is about to make a fucked-up thing even more fucked up.
Realizing what I need to do next prompts me to clear my throat to casually ask, “Do you mind wakin’ Blu for me?” The grin I force onto my face is polite. Cordial. “I need to step out to the store for a sec and can’t take Angel Cake with me.”
“Ohmygod, we can both go over there together!” she enthusiastically proclaims. “That way, if anyone just so happens to be researching us, it’ll give off more of a cooperative care vibe instead of a fighting over the carcass one.”
Her insect central comparison causes me to simply nod again. “Sure.”
“Let me go wake him up, and we’ll be right over!”
One last bobble of my head precedes me returning the direction I came from, grumbles of new annoyance accompany my every stride.
The second I step foot back into the penthouse, Arley’s stare darts from the piece of cake she’s about to cut over to me. “Slater, how are you out of everything but cake?”
“I’m not out of everything.”
“You don’t have any bread.”
“I have tortillas.”
“You don’t have any milk.”
“I’ve got OJ.”
“You don’t have any tequila.” Her smile transitions to one of teasing. “And I checked twice.”
“Stop trying to get drunk before 8 a.m.”
“But it’s called a tequila sunrise,” she giggles, fork being lifted towards her mouth. “You’re supposed to have it in the morning!”
Laughter quickly leaves us both, successfully alleviating a bit of the burden that’s resting on my shoulders.
Well, at least I got to see her smile again before I make her scowl.
Fuck, am I tired of making her scowl.
That’s someone else’s job.
Mine has always been – and is always supposed be – to make her smile.
“Alright, Angel Cake,” my beam unfortunately fades, “you’re gonna need to put on your pants.”
“Aviva didn’t have anything, huh?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t exactly get a chance to ask.”
“Why not?” Panic I hate having to see firsthand springs into her bright brown gaze. “Did you see someone? Have we been compromised? Do we need to-”
“Everything is still secure,” I verbally rush to reassure. “There has been no unusual activity on the feed nor the lobby or any other floor in the building. And security – inside and out – has been informed to let me know if they suspect or see any behaviors, they deem suspicious.”
Relief prematurely appears on her face.
“However-”
“I don’t like when you say however.”
“However-”
“It’s a fancy but and you only use the fancy but for really bad shit.”
“However, I didn’t get a chance to ask, because I needed to come back here, so that you could be properly briefed – unlike I was – on our cover.”
“We have a cover now?”
“PS assignments with your level of firsthand around the clock surveillance and an unidentified threat often require a cover to allow us – the operatives – to better blend into your environment. The last thing we want, especially when the enemy is unknown, is to tip them off that we’re onto them or what they’re doin’ in any way.”
“I’m aware. That’s why I don’t allow agents like Reynolds or Burke to take assignments where that’s the case. They don’t typically understand the concept of blending in.”
“Since you do understand that concept then you’ll fully get why Blu told Aviva we’re datin’.”
Her eyebrows dart down to the ground. “Who’s dating?”
“You and me.”
“Who are we dating?”
“Each other.”
As if the information still doesn’t register, she asks, “Since when?!”
“About twenty-four hours ago?”
“What?!” Her head shakes in perplexity. “How is that even feasible?! You were like just out on a date with another woman!” Additional disbelief swoops into her expression prompting her to squeak, “Oh! Oh! And that other woman was Aviva’s cousin!”
“College roommate.”
“Close enough.”
“Not really.”
“Slater.”
“Blu explained that your…attack…had us confess feelings for one another, which is why it makes sense that you’re stayin’ with me around the clock versus stayin’ at some safehouse. It’s an easy-”
An immediate scoff of disagreement is thrown in my direction.
“And believable-”
“Maybe for me, but not for you,” Arley defeatedly throws back. “Like – hand to the Panic! vinyl – have you seen you?!” The utensil flies from her grip onto the bar counter. “It would make sense for me, yeah, but for you? No. No way. You may be a cowboy hat wearing James Bond, but I am no Bond Girl.”
“You’re right, you’re not.”
She immediately gestures both hands in my direction to emphasize her point.
“You’re better than a Bond Girl, baby, because you’re both beautiful and brilliant.”
Bewilderment drops her jaw to the ground granting me permission to continue talking.
“Now, that’s our cover, which begins the second they walk through that door.” I do my best to keep my focus on the current mission at hand versus the disbelief that the last thirty-six hours or so have been. “Questions?”