Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 80451 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 402(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 268(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80451 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 402(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 268(@300wpm)
Devereaux: “Party this Friday. 9 PM. Invitation-only. Looking forward to meeting you both again, Mr. and Mrs. Zane.”
I let out a slow breath. That’s it, then—our window into Rolfe’s world. Isabel must notice my reaction because she lifts her gaze, eyebrows raised. “That them?”
“Devereaux,” I say, tossing the phone onto my laptop. “He’s inviting us to some private event on Friday. 9 PM.” The adrenaline surges in my veins, along with a hint of relief. At least we have a plan now—no more sitting around waiting for the phone to ring.
She sets her laptop aside with a soft thunk. “So that gives us a few days to prep. Perfect.”
I nod, letting the tension of the unknown seep out of my shoulders, only to realize we have a whole new challenge: pulling off this husband-and-wife act convincingly enough to fool a bunch of criminals. Our stunt at Club Greed gave us a foot in the door, but if Rolfe or Devereaux does even a shred of background checking, we need to ensure our stories line up.
“We better ramp up our ‘getting to know each other’ phase,” I say wryly. “We can’t pass as a married couple if we don’t even know each other’s favorite color.”
She laughs, swinging her legs off the couch. “I mean, we do know each other, but not the little stuff. Sure, we worked together for years, but I couldn’t tell you what your favorite breakfast cereal is.”
I rub my jaw, suppressing a grin. “Same. Well, about you, not about me.”
She wrinkles her nose in a playful way that makes my chest feel too tight. “If we’re going to fool them, we need every detail down pat. Middle names, favorite foods, how long we’ve been ‘married,’ all that.”
“Exactly.” I stand, stretching my arms overhead. I catch her gaze flick to the sliver of skin where my T-shirt rides up—just for a second—but the quick surge of longing in her expression is unmistakable. My stomach does a little flip, and I do my best to ignore the pull of attraction. “We’ll handle that after we take a break,” I say. “I need water or something. You want more coffee?”
She brightens, stepping around the coffee table. “I was just about to get some, actually. You read my mind.”
“Go ahead.” I wave her off. “I’ll be here, finishing up a quick check on something.”
She nods as she heads toward the kitchen. I watch her retreating form—can’t help it, really—then drag my gaze away. Focus, Lincoln. We’re here to do a job.
I return to my seat, picking up my phone again to reread Devereaux’s message. That private event is going to be a minefield. No doubt it’ll be more intense than the typical party we crashed before. Who knows what goes on at these private gatherings? The last thing I want is to be unprepared.
A half-formed idea from last night springs to mind. It’s definitely pushing the boundaries, but if we’re going to sell the idea that we’re a couple who’s been married for a while—and especially if the party is more risqué—maybe we need a few “props.” My heart thuds at the thought. I open up a shopping app, glancing nervously over my shoulder to confirm Isabel is still in the kitchen.
Sure enough, I hear the faint clink of a mug being set down on the counter. Quickly, I type in a search, my pulse picking up. This is… definitely crossing a line. But maybe it’ll help us blend in, especially if Club Greed’s crowd is the kind that indulges in adult amusements. I find a discreet listing, scanning the product description, feeling my face grow hot at the explicit images. Finally, I add the item to my cart and schedule an overnight delivery.
I lock my phone just as Isabel steps back into the living room, coffee mug in one hand. I smile—probably too brightly—and pretend to check the time on my phone.
She eyes me curiously. “What were you up to?”
“Just responding to an email,” I lie. My chest tightens with guilt, but I push it aside. “You ready for the Q&A session?”
She sets her mug down, dropping onto the couch next to me, close enough that her thigh brushes mine. It sends a ripple of awareness through me—awareness I’m not supposed to indulge. “Absolutely,” she says, curling one leg under her. “Bring it on.”
I drape an arm over the back of the couch, angling myself to face her. She matches my posture, so we’re sort of mirrored, knees almost touching. “All right,” I say, clearing my throat. “We’ve got a few days to learn all the details a married couple should know. Let’s keep it simple first—favorite color, favorite food, that kind of thing.”
She smirks. “Fine, but that’s boring. We’ll need more than that, right? Like… how did we meet? Where did we honeymoon? Who picks up the groceries, that kind of thing.”