by Poppy Dunne
I take another step away from him. There’s a flash in his dark, almost black, eyes. I can see he’s barely restraining some intense emotion. There’s no fear he’s going to snap at or hurt me, but his passion for whatever he’s got going on is focused and white hot. His plans tonight seem to involve more than sex. At least, I hope they do.
Crossing my arms, I say, “Why couldn’t you wait until tomorrow? Why didn’t you email whomever this is?” I wave the phone. “Why did they text you an address in Flushing? And why did you need to hunt me down when I’m visiting my sick grandfather just to get your phone back?”
Rafe glowers at me, takes a step closer. My heart beats a little faster, pressed this near to him. At five-foot-seven, I’m tall, and in heels I’m obviously taller. So to still have to raise my chin and look up at a man like Rafe McCarthy…well, it’s both intimidating and panty-meltingly hot at the same time.
“Tessa. I don’t want to involve you,” he says. There’s a need for something burning in his eyes.
I swallow. “And I don’t want you to do something stupid.”
“When have I ever.” He stops right there, and we both mentally calculate how many times. “That Labor Day with the poncho and the giraffe wasn’t my fault,” he says quietly.
“Sir, I can’t help you if I don’t know what’s going on.”
He steps away from me, hands in his pockets. He narrows his eyes while he looks me over, as if assessing something. Finally, he sighs.
“M isn’t a date; they’re a mole.”
I blink. “Like…the animal?” I get a flash image of a little mole in a dapper suit, bowler hat, and monocle. Sort of Wind in the Willows, only in Queens.
“What? No, like a spy,” he mutters. My mouth falls open. “I’ve got an information drop tonight, located at some random location in Flushing, apparently. I’m receiving a digital trail that will leverage my shitheel father out of the company so I can take over and start doing some actual good in the world.” He says it all in a rush, his voice rugged and low. “Now give me the phone.”
“Did you.” I stop, incredulous. “Did you dream this all up today while you were drunk?”
“I haven’t been drunk today! The man I met in the sauna was supposed to have the information, but he didn’t. I have to get it now.”
“No, you have to get it in…” I check the phone. “Twenty minutes.”
“What?” He finally snatches it from me, reads the text, and curses. I watch as he searches the location and nods. “A bodega. Right. Everything important in New York happens in a bodega these days.” He turns on his heel, forgetting me entirely. Story of my life: man gets what he wants from me, and I’m left behind in the whirlwind. I storm after Rafe and grab him by the elbow. He whips around, looking as shocked at what I’m doing as I am doing it.
“I’m coming with you.” The words are out before I can think. Rafe pats my hand, takes it from his arm. He’s waving me gently away, like I’m a very nice and confused fly, and he’s the hottest and richest swatter of all time.
“Go home. I’ll pay whatever you need to forget what I said.” I rush around to stand in front of him. He arches a brow. “Fine. I’ll double it.”
“For five years, I knew exactly what to expect from you. Then in five minutes, you’re living some kind of Jason Bourne spy life and I’m just supposed to let you go to a bodega in Queens by yourself for a drop? Do you know how ridiculous this sounds?” I hiss.
“First, I like to think of myself as more of an Ethan Hunt,” he growls. We’ve locked horns now, ladies and gentlemen. I’ve seen the playful, sexy side of my boss before, but this is domineering. Forceful. Unyielding. Principled.
Really, really goddamn hot.
I refuse to budge, and so does he. “Second, I can’t involve you. The more people who know about what I’m doing, the greater a chance it can get fucked up.”
“I need to go with you.” I fumble for a reason. “As…protection.”
“Yes, because if all six-foot-two of my Krav Maga-trained ass goes down, you’ll bring the real muscle.” He peers down at me, waiting for me to wither in the face of his logic. I know he’s right, but he’s also dismissive. I cross my arms, tilt my head to the side.
“I have pepper spray, and I took the required self-defense class for high school PE. Sir. Plus, it’s my job to make sure you’re running on time.”
A moment of silence passes, and his eyes narrow. “You are stubborn as hell, aren’t you?”
Is it my imagination, or did he sound…turned on by the thought?
Hey, the night hasn’t been that bizarre; let’s end with me getting aroused in a hospital waiting room. What could go wrong?
“Yes. I’m stubborn, and I’m going. Now, did you drive?”
A beat. Then, “Yes.”
I hold out my hand. “Keys, please.” Then, primly, “I’ve never driven a BMW before, and I’m more than ready to start.”
Four
Rafe
This is the biggest mistake I have ever made my life. And if you’d been anywhere near me in the Hamptons during the summer of 2014, you’d know I do not say that lightly.
Well, let me rephrase: this is the biggest mistake I have ever made in my life while fully dressed.
Tessa and I stand side by side in a bodega, “Despacito” piping in overhead. The fluorescent lights buzz tiredly above us. The guy at the register behind the bulletproof glass keeps flashing us concerned looks. And why shouldn’t he? Right now, the customers comprise a tired-looking woman rolling her baby’s stroller back and forth while she buys milk; a guy in a hoodie gazing blankly at a Cup O’ Noodles; one girl with a pierced nose wearing a knitted ski cap and thigh-high leather boots, studying rows of Tic Tacs like she’s getting her PhD in them; a tiny, sweet-looking old woman with white hair who’s inspecting cat food; and then there’s me. Tessa and I are both still in work attire: conservative dress, sensible shoes, and long, dark overcoats. Together we look like we’re about to bust everyone in here for violating the RICO act.
“We look like a couple of FBI agents,” Tessa mutters, confirming my suspicions while she pretends to examine a bag of Doritos.
“Are you glancing at the ingredients or memorizing the bag?” I mutter in reply. Shit. We’re seven minutes past eight, and M hasn’t shown yet. “I told you this was a mistake. I was supposed to be here alone.”
“Are you sure M knows what you look like?”
“Who else in this place looks like a rich asshole?” I wait for her to concede my point. With a sigh, she does. “You should wait out in the car. You’re the getaway driver, remember?”
“Fine.” She plucks a bag of gummy bears from the rack. “Do you have three dollars? I gave all my cash to my sister.”
“Sweet tooth?” I try not to let my gaze linger on her. Even beneath the fucking fluorescent lights, and even holding a bag of sugary disgustingness, she’s still the most erotic thing I can imagine. We drove here in silence, mainly so I didn’t let any other crucial, top-secret bits of information slip, but also so I could appreciate her profile in the light of passing traffic. Fuck, she’s beautiful, and there’s something so damned nice about having her with me on this.
Tessa holds the bag against her chest. “I didn’t have any dinner.”
“And you’re eating candy? Why not get something substantial?”
Her eyes widen, and her mouth thins into a line. “I am a hungry woman who has just come from the hospital and who is also waiting to take down a global conspiracy or whatever.”
“It’s more like corporate espionage. Also, don’t say ‘global conspiracy’ so loud, please.”
“I deserve some gummy bears!” Her mouth quirks up at the corner; she’s trying not to laugh. Fuck, so am I. Clenching my teeth, I slide a twenty from my wallet.
“Keep the change, and save me one of the red ones.”
“You’re skimming my candy.”
“It’s a tax. That’s America.” She shakes her head and str
ides over to the counter, but I can see her shoulders moving with laughter. Fuck. I need to keep myself focused on connecting with M, but I can’t help watching Tessa. I can’t help wanting to take her in my arms, taste her, trail my fingers along the creamy expanse of her neck…and then take that fucking candy away and treat her to a filet mignon or a cheeseburger or something.
I need to put my focus where it should have been all along. I scan the people as the minutes tick by. Could M be the guy behind the counter? The old lady with the cat food? Or…
Damn, she’s sort of obvious, isn’t she? Honestly, I’m ashamed I didn’t put it together before this. I sidle over to the girl with the piercings, the boots, and the ski cap. A distinct odor of patchouli surrounds her; jackpot. The girl looks up from her ongoing examination of five flavors of Tic Tacs to gaze at me. I nod once, then, inspired, I add, “Mmm.”
See, because it’s M, but I don’t have to say M. I’m clever.
The girl’s nostrils flare. “Dude, if you are coming onto me, I will put a stiletto in your groin.”
Yes. Yes, she is definitely a cyberpunk hacker. Feisty, counterculture, obsessed with breath mints. I would expect nothing less. “Do you have it?” I whisper so low, even I can barely hear. She blinks fast.
“Do I have…?”
“Look, don’t make me spell this out.” I flick a glance to Tessa, who’s now tearing open her bag of candy while she bobs along to “Despacito.” She’s helpfully turned her back on me, and gives a discreet thumbs up to cheer me on. How did this become my life? “The files,” I hiss.
“You. Are. In. My. Space.” The girl’s eyes are getting wide, and I take a step back. Damn and fuck everything, why is this happening to me? Why can’t anyone just give me what I want?
“Look, it’s me, all right? Emmett says hi. Banana. Whatever the password is, why are we meeting in a bodega in the first place? Why not some dark alleyway or underground parking lot? That’s how they took Nixon down, you know. This could be our Nixon.”
“Okay. Buddy. You are crazy.” She pulls a keychain out of her pocket. A can of pepper spray dangles from it, right next to one of those fluffy-haired Troll things. “I will not hesitate.”
I think I’m getting the impression this girl isn’t M. “Sorry. I thought you were someone I’ve never met before.” Which she is, but then again, who isn’t? I turn to walk away, feeling too fucking flustered to move. “The peppermints are the best,” I say, pointing out the Tic Tacs like the world’s most helpful idiot. Then I walk back to put my head against the freezer door and glare at the ice cream. Melt for me, motherfuckers.
Tessa sidles up next to me. “No go?” she says. Only she was chewing, so it sounded more like “nuh giw.”
“I think we blew our window.” I think the only thing to do now is head back to my place and fuck our problems away. Do you have any idea what freedom it would be to say that out loud?
The rustle of a plastic bag. “Red gummy bear?”
I take the damn thing and start chewing. Fuck, this really does taste good. “Clearly this job takes you to the most exciting places,” I mutter.
“It’s been very eye-opening.” She smiles, but I can sense the tension inside her. Is she wondering how this is all going to impact her job if I succeed? Is she questioning everything she’s ever known about me? Great. “I feel like I don’t know you at all,” she says quietly, confirming all my suspicions. Love when that happens.
“Look, I’m still me. Handsome. Arrogant. Brilliant. Charming.” I pause. She arches a brow. “This is where you agree with me.”
“Can’t talk. Eating,” she deadpans before selecting another bear.
“Ouch.” I grin. “Better be nice to your boss, Ms. Snowe. Christmas is a terrible time to be out of work.”
“After everything you let slip tonight, I think I have job security.” She grins, and for a second I forget about Scott and the company and waiting for some top-secret hacker spy and whatnot. I’ve seen Tessa smile before, but never like that. I’ve never made her smile like that. Fuck. Honesty is really bringing us together. I’ve wanted to tell her the truth about myself for years, but this isn’t the way I saw it going.
Specifically, I did not picture us eating gummy bears while a little old lady sidled up to us, a plastic bag filled with cat food dangling from her arm. I did not imagine said little old lady would then smile sweetly before saying, “I got what you need, son.”
“Ah. Hi.” I’m trying to think of a way to politely decline the septuagenarian’s sexual interest in me, when I freeze. I squint. I look attractive and completely sane while doing so. “M?”
“Hello, dear. You must be Rafe.” She beams like she’s going to pinch my cheek and give me a cookie. “I’m so pleased you’ve brought your lovely girlfriend along! I really think toppling the existing order of systematic corporate oppression ought to be shared with people you love.”
“I think I’m going crazy,” Tessa says lightly.
“Can I…do you have it?” I finally ask, glancing over my shoulder. Fuck, the cameras are recording this, aren’t they? I’m devolving into pure paranoia. Pretty soon I’m going to write everything in unbreakable code so Scott can’t read it. Hell, that sounds fun; I might do it anyway. M digs around in her floral print purse before she comes up with a small, white plastic zip drive. She slides it into my coat pocket with such ease and grace that I imagine she’s done this sort of thing before.
“Now go get that rat bastard McCarthy.” She squints up at me from over the tops of her thick plastic glasses. “And don’t forget to drive safe. The roads are terrible at this time of night. All right.” She waves sweetly at Tessa. “Bye bye, dear.” With that, M shuffles away and out the door. The bell rings as she leaves. Slack-jawed, Tessa stares at me.
“I can’t believe it,” she mouths.
“I know.” I reach into my pocket, trace the zip drive with the tip of my finger. “She thought you were my girlfriend.”
Tessa mutters something that could get her fired by a lesser employer, then digs the car keys out of her pocket. “Come on. My place is closer. Let’s see what’s on this zip drive.”
“I don’t want you involved in this,” I say for the sixth time as we try parallel parking in front of her building. It’s a lot of jerking and stopping and starting, and I think we knocked over someone’s recycling. So far, this is attempt number three and a half. “Also, I want you to let me park. How are you this bad?”
“I’m not strong, spatially! All my PSATs in school told me that.” She huffs in relief as she finally slides perfectly into place. The car light comes on as she opens a door, then considers. Turning to me, she says, “How dangerous is this?”
For the first time, her voice softens with concern. She looks more like the girl I see in the office every day: sensitive, gentle, self-contained. I swear to God, there is nothing sexier than a strong woman with a core of vulnerability. And I’d better answer her, because I think it’s been a good five seconds and she looks worried.
“I don’t think Scott’s waiting on the roof to snipe us, but your job could be in danger. I can’t allow that.” I nod at her. “Go up to your place. I’ll drive home, and we’ll pretend all this never happened.”
She bites her lower lip, a sight that even after all the little old ladies and zip drives and espionage can’t help but put me in an erotic frame of mind. Maybe I can just come up for a little while. Chat about life, have some sex, take down my evil not-father, and then head back to Manhattan. All in a night’s work.
“Can I at least see what’s on it? It’ll distract me for the rest of my life if I don’t.”
I sigh. “Okay. Let’s look fast, but that’s it. After this, you’re out. Understood?”
She rolls her eyes at me. “Yes, sir.”
“Rolling your eyes is disobedience at its peak. I could dock your pay for that.”
“We’re not on company time right now.” She slides out of the car, leading me up to her apartment buildi
ng’s stoop. “You’re on my turf now. Sir.”
I follow after her, trying to still the blood—and thoughts—racing through me. Under any other circumstances, following Tessa Snowe up to her apartment in the middle of the night would be the culmination of all my erotic fantasies. She opens the front door, and we slip into a Clorox-scented, linoleum-tiled hallway. No elevator; we take the stairs, our footsteps echoing like gunshots. I try to keep my eyes from tracing her form and lingering on her ass. I should care a lot more about this information I’ve got, but I find I can’t help but think about surprising her on the stairwell. Taking her in my arms, pulling down that fucking bun so that her hair spills over her shoulders and into my—
“Oh, hello there!” a voice calls as Tessa and I are climbing the stairs. We peer over the banister to find a gray-haired woman below us wearing a bathrobe and a pair of glasses. She smiles, as if pleased to see me. “Tessa, I didn’t know you had a beau.”
“Oh.” Tessa squeaks. “I, ah. Rafe, this is my landlady—”
“That’s perfectly right for a girl your age,” the older lady continues. “I’ve always said you were too quiet.” The woman speaks with a lilting Irish accent, and also this is the second time tonight some random old lady has mistaken me for Tessa’s boyfriend, which is doing nothing to calm down my potentially expanding erection.
“Oh, Mrs. Taylor. No, this isn’t, I mean.” Tessa is fumbling for words, and I don’t want this woman to question why I’m following her tenant upstairs in the middle of the night without carnal intent. So I take the ball and slam it in the endzone. Or something. Whatever, I don’t watch football; I’m a Mets guy.
“Yes, we’re involved in plenty of explosive sexual couplings. Have been for a while now.” I try ushering Tessa up the stairs while she gapes at me in shock. Get used to that feeling, baby. Mrs. Taylor, meanwhile, beams as if I’ve said something delightful. “Good to finally meet you,” I call. Mrs. Taylor waves me off fondly.