by Lila Monroe
“OK then,” Olivia says as she gestures for him to follow her. “Come with me and let’s get started.”
They disappear into her office and I sit back with a lurch.
I am so fired.
OK, so what I did wasn’t technically wrong. I didn’t steal anything (despite having a serious CandyShack craving), and I definitely didn’t know this Nick guy was a client, but Olivia is a stickler for the rules, especially when it comes to professionalism. Enough people think what we do here is some kind of high-class escort agency that she hates any whiff of scandal.
And I’m pretty sure playing tonsil hockey with a new client isn’t high on the list of model employee behavior.
Or, I realize with a sinking heart, likely to get me out behind the desk and on an assignment. In fact, I’m guessing my next excursion into the field will be straight to the nearest temp agency, looking for a new job.
Dammit. I like it here. And I’d sure as hell pick “minor career frustrations” over “broke and unemployed” any day.
The buzzer on my desk sounds.
“Alice, could you please come through for a moment?” Olivia’s voice asks, not giving anything away.
I reluctantly get to my feet, bracing myself for the meltdown to come. No, that’s not Olivia’s style. She’ll just gaze at me with cool disappointment—which is probably worse.
They say curiosity killed the cat. Well, Thor is happily shredding the corner of the carpet, while I’m the one doing a walk of shame down the hall. The least I can do is hold my head high. I rap lightly on the door and step inside.
“There you are,” Olivia says, gesturing to the seat beside the one occupied by Nicholas Cameron.
“Can I, umm, help with anything?” I gulp a breath. I notice that Thor—usually the crankiest cat around—has already made himself at home on Nicholas’s lap, purring loudly as the man absently strokes him.
He looks like some sort of sexy, evil superhero—the man, I mean, not the cat.
“Our new client has something to discuss with you,” Olivia says slowly. And, gulp, she doesn’t look pleased.
I clasp my hands together and wait for the past four years of gainful employment to disappear in a cloud of sexy cologne.
“I want to marry you.”
Wait, what?!
I look at Olivia, but she’s sitting there like he just said he wants a latte.
I struggle to form a coherent sentence. “I . . . umm . . . huh?”
Nicholas Cameron gives me a teasing grin. “Temporarily. I need a fake fiancée to help me out with a job of mine, and I thought you’d be just the woman for the job.”
It takes a moment for my panic to fade enough to figure out what the hell’s going on.
He’s a client . . . looking for a fake fiancée . . . And he’s picked . . .
Me?
I swallow hard. Relief crashes through me. I’m not getting fired!
And . . . I’ve been offered an assignment? A real one! Out in the field, undercover, with . . .
Bond himself.
In the space of ten seconds, I’ve gone from feeling like it’s the night before my appointment with a firing squad, to being a little kid on Christmas Eve.
“Yes!” I blurt, way too loud. “Of course, I’m happy to help with any assignment!”
Play it cool, Alice.
“I mean, what exactly are the details?” I ask, managing to sound more calm. I reach for my trusty notebook—only to realize I left it on my desk, because I was so sure this was a “getting fired” meeting, not an “offered a promotion” get-together.
Nick leans back in his seat, one ankle resting on his knee. He looks amused, like he can see just how flustered I am. “I’m investigating corporate espionage,” he explains, “and if I’m going to fly under the radar, I need to blend in with the executives—and their wives. Have a beautiful woman at my side to make me look trustworthy and honorable, that kind of thing.”
He flashes a grin that is 10 percent honorable, 90 percent rip your panties off.
I gulp.
But wait . . . he said he wants a beautiful woman. Does that mean he just called me beautiful?
Yes, I think it does. This man is doing good things for my ego, already.
“I can fill you in on the details later,” he says. “As long as you’re up for the challenge.” He pauses, his gaze turning assessing. “Are you?”
“Yes!” I quickly answer. Is he kidding? There’s no way I’m going to miss this opportunity that’s just landed in my lap. One I’ve hoped for. Though in my wildest fantasies—career fantasies—I couldn’t have conjured up this man to be my client-slash-boss.
“Alice,” Olivia begins. “Before you agree to—”
“She already did,” Nick interrupts, giving me another one of those mischievous grins.
I have to press my lips together to keep from smiling.
“I understand,” says Olivia in a smooth tone that is all steel underneath. “But are you sure you don’t want to interview any of the other candidates we discussed? Alice is my office manager—indispensable, of course—but she’s never done any field work. For a complex assignment like this—”
“I’m fine with Alice’s lack of experience,” Nick says, flashing a smile at me. “In fact, I’d rather have someone new; she’ll come across as natural, right honeybunny?” He reaches for my hand and gives it a warm squeeze.
The touch sends heat racing through me, but I manage to keep it together. “You got it, shmoopycakes,” I blurt in return.
He laughs, and I know right then that I’m the perfect woman for this assignment.
Especially if it means holding this man’s hand some more.
“So, it looks like we’re all in agreement here.” Nick turns his smile on Olivia, and I get the sneaking suspicion he knows she doesn’t want me on this assignment—but he’s going to maneuver her into letting me go anyway. “Your Agency came so highly recommended,” he adds, “and I can already see why. You strike me as a woman with excellent judgment, and if Alice is indispensable to you, then that’s the only reference I need.”
Check and mate. I’m impressed—and Olivia is too, because she gives a reluctant sigh. “Let me check a few details,” she says smoothly. “And we’ll talk more.”
“Perfect. I leave for San Francisco in a couple of days and can make all the arrangements for Alice to join me there next week.”
“San Francisco?” I perk up. My sister lives there, and I’ve been meaning to visit. How much more perfect can this gig get? “I’ve always wanted to go.”
“It’s a great city,” Nick says with an easy smile. “I look forward to showing you around.”
“As I said,” Olivia interrupts with a warning look. “We’ll discuss this more.”
She ushers Nick towards the door, but he pauses beside me. “I hope you accept my proposal,” he says, his voice low and sexy.
I shiver. Hell, I would be his fiancé, his mistress, even his dog-walker-slash-poop-picker-upper—anything. As long as he asks me just like that.
I feel a blush creep up my neck and face and can only hope he’s not a mind reader.
“We’ll be in touch,” Olivia says briskly.
“I’ll see myself out.” Nick gives me a nod and a sexy grin, and—unless this is just wishful thinking on my part—his eyes drift down to my lips.
“Until next time, honeybun.” He winks, then saunters out.
4
Alice
“So that was interesting,” Olivia says, when we hear the door shut behind him.
“Uh huh,” I answer, my head still spinning. I’m not sure what to say. My mystery man has a name, and a job for me. I want the assignment. Badly. But I don’t know how to convince Olivia when she seems determined to keep me penned up behind my secretary’s desk.
She drops into her seat. “You look . . . spooked,” she says, frowning.
I quickly deliberate coming clean. If Olivia knows about last night, she’s even le
ss likely to give me this gig, but at the same time . . . She’s not the enemy. She’s been an amazing boss, and a friend too, and something tells me I’m going to need the help figuring out what our new client is up to here.
“He knew me,” I admit. “Nick Cameron. Last night after the movies, Gemma and I went to a bar and he was there. I only talked to him for a minute, not even long enough to introduce myself.” I don’t add that it was still long enough for him to kiss me. “But he used my name, so he already knew who I was.”
I don’t tell her about the briefcase swap, either. Maybe I should, but it feels like that’s Nick’s secret to tell.
Olivia looks thoughtful. “Hmmm. That makes sense. I was surprised he picked you after just a brief chat in the lobby, but if he’s been doing background research of his own . . . He probably has a full dossier on me, you, all the women on our books. Probably even Thor,” she adds with a wry grin. “He seemed to know exactly where that cat likes being scratched.”
Oh. That makes sense, but for some reason, I deflate a little. I kind of liked the idea that I was special, for some reason.
“Anyway,” Olivia continues. “I have to admit, I’m conflicted here.”
“About taking him on as a client?”
She shakes her head. “No. I definitely want to take him on—it’s a lucrative contract and with his line of work, it could mean repeat business.” She pauses before she says, “What I’m worried about here is . . . you.”
Ouch.
I know I can do the job and want it badly. But I’ve never been great at flaunting my strengths. I’m more a fan of the “do your job so well they have to notice you” tactics. Even if they haven’t exactly worked out so far for me . . .
I don’t want to lose this chance, so I take a deep breath and steel myself for confrontation.
You can do this.
“I can do it, Olivia,” I start. “I know I’ve never taken a job out in the field before, but I’ve planned each and every one for you. Research, logistics, planning. Remember, I’m the one who realized that CEO’s ex-wife was the one blackmailing him? And managed to get our clients airlifted off that Caribbean island when she had the allergic reaction to a spider bite? If I can do all that from behind a desk, I’m more than equipped to deal with the real thing!”
I feel like I’m in a job interview. Which, I guess I am. But Olivia still seems torn.
“I know you’re capable. That’s not what I meant at all.” She moves to sit beside me on the settee. “I trust you unconditionally! You wouldn’t work for me if I didn’t. That’s not the issue.”
“Then what is the issue?” I ask, frustrated.
Olivia sighs. “I need you here. That wasn’t lip service before, when I said you were indispensable. If I send you on this assignment, who am I going to get to replace you? A temp?” She arches an eyebrow. “I would still need you to run all their background checks and non-disclosure agreements, and even then . . . What we do here is so sensitive, I can’t risk giving anyone access to the files.”
She’s right. My mental gears start turning as I try to figure out how to solve this problem. “So, we find someone we already know. One of the women on the books, maybe, who already knows the rules. We have a ton of professional women: lawyers, accountants, maybe somebody is between jobs, or—”
“That’s not the only issue,” Olivia interrupts me. “I’m worried about you.”
I swallow. “What do you mean?” I ask in a small voice.
“These assignments can get complicated,” Olivia says frankly. “These aren’t real relationships, the whole point is to play pretend, but sometimes, it can be hard to keep proper . . . boundaries. You saw what happened on the Carlisle job. And the McAdams situation. And, well, the Callahan one,” she adds with a wry smile.
I wince. Her boyfriend, Ryan, started out as her client, Ryan, so if anyone knows about blurred boundaries, it’s Olivia.
Still, just because she couldn’t keep work and love separate, doesn’t mean I can’t.
And just because I’ve already shared a hot-as-hell makeout with Nick, it doesn’t mean it’s going to happen again.
“I can be professional,” I reassure her.
“I know,” Olivia replies sadly. “It’s just complicated. I don’t want to lose you, but at the same time, I know you want the opportunity to grow. I don’t want to hold you back.”
Well, when she puts it like that . . .
We both sigh at the same time.
Then we both laugh.
The tension breaks, and I suddenly have an idea. “You know, maybe this is an opportunity for you, too. If I take the job, we could shut down for the rest of the summer. Then you could go take a vacation with Ryan. There’s not much on the books,” I add. “Things are always quiet towards the end of the summer. Just a couple of repeat clients who know the drill, and then some prospective new contracts we can push to September.”
Olivia seems to think about it. I’m close!
“Just imagine,” I add temptingly. “You and Ryan, on that beach in Italy . . . When was the last time you took a vacation? And that wedding in Florida doesn’t count,” I add quickly. “That was a work trip.”
Olivia’s lips slowly spread into a grin. “That does sound amazing,” she admits.
Yes!
But before I can turn mental somersaults, Olivia’s brow knits. “How about this,” she finally says. “Let’s give it the weekend. I want you to think about this assignment with Nick Cameron. Really think about it. And if you’d still like to give it a try, we’ll make it happen.”
“Yes!” I squeal, leaping out of my seat. “Thank you! You won’t regret it!”
Olivia laughs. “It’s your regrets I’m worried about. Let me know what you decide.”
I’m pretty sure my decision was made the moment Nick’s lips met mine, but I figure it’s only right to do my usual due diligence, just to be sure our mysterious new client isn’t hiding a Red Room or murder basement behind that charming smile. But two hours and three double espressos later, I’m coming up empty.
Because Nicholas Cameron doesn’t exist. Of course, I’ve seen him in the flesh and have been kissed by him, so technically, he does exist.
Does he ever.
But he has no presence on the web—dark or otherwise. And believe me, I’ve looked. I’ve pulled in all my resources, hid behind proxies, and even called in a favor from my friend down at the city clerk’s office and another at the—shhhhh—IRS.
There’s nothing. Zip. Zilch. Nada.
Which means either our Mr. Cameron has managed to go thirty-five years without registering to vote, using a bank account, getting a driver’s license, or so much as touching the internet, or . . .
He has to be using an alias.
I suppose it’s not surprising that a private investigator knows how to hide his tracks. And even though he was referred to Olivia through a trusted contact, the lack of info is making my fingers itch.
I want to know more about him.
I want to know everything.
5
Alice
“Why do you have all these clothes if you never wear them?”
The next evening, my sister and I are standing in front of my microscopic, very full closet, trying to figure out what I should wear to my blind date.
“I need to dress conservatively for my job.”
“Right,” she says. “Your job at the accounting firm.” She makes a big show of yawning, because yes, part of my non-disclosure agreement with The Agency is that nobody—not even friends and family—can know exactly what it is I do. I hate lying to Gemma, but let’s face it, my baby sister can gossip like nobody else. Even if she meant her very best to keep my secret, she’d probably wind up spilling the beans—on an Instagram live story to the whole wide world.
Which wouldn’t exactly help my “professional” case for this new assignment.
I feel a pang. I would love to talk all this out with her. But of course, I can�
��t. I haven’t even told her about that kiss. Or that I’ve seen Nick again.
Gemma pulls a very low-cut black wrap dress out of my closet. “How about this?”
“Too much boobage.”
She gives me a withering look. “It’s a date,” she says. “Anyway, you have good boobage.”
“Really?” I look down, pleased. “Even if you’re right, the Oyster Bar isn’t fancy enough for it. And I’m not showing my boobs off at Grand Central Station,” I add.
I reach for my standard little black dress: plain, simple, elegant. “I’m good to go”
“Boring!” Gemma cries. “He’s going to think you work at an accounting firm.”
“Ha ha,” I say, though maybe the dress is a bit yawn. I hold up an identical dress—in gray. “Gray is the new black?”
Gemma shakes her head. “Way too boxy. Say hello to this hot mama . . .” She holds up a red designer number. “Look what I scored as a sample from the designer today!”
“I can’t.” I actually take a step back, recoiling from the sexy. “It’s so . . .”
“Perfect? Stunning? Exactly your color?” Gemma asks, her exasperation coming across loud and clear.
“It is all those things,” I agree, laughing. “And also liable to get me arrested.”
“Come on!” Gemma protests. “It’s totally classy.”
“In an alternate universe, maybe.” I feel a pang. It really would look hot on me, but it’s way too much for casual first-blind-date drinks. “Maybe next time,” I lie, to placate my sister. “It’s more red carpet than red gingham tablecloths. Maybe this guy can get us Hamilton tickets for date number two and I can wear it there.”
“Babe,” Gemma smirks. “If you wear the red dress tonight, you would be so fucking hot, that guy would do anything in his power to get box seats to Hamilton.”
I laugh, but I still grab the gray dress and tug it over my head.
“Fine, fine,” she sighs, exaggerating. “Wear your boxy boring one, instead. Maybe Don loves Volvos. Don’t blame me if all you get is nosebleed seats to some shitty off-Broadway show.”