Chapter 7 #3
Kate stepped back, makeup brush poised like a conductor’s baton. “Trust me, no one will look twice at you. Well, they’ll look”—she smirked at my reflection—“but they won’t recognize you.”
That was the point, wasn’t it? To spy on Sophia—sweet, innocent Sophia—who was destined to steal Jason’s heart with her genuine nature and quiet strength.
Not that I was jealous. Why would I be jealous?
Just because my temporary husband kissed me this morning like I was his favorite flavor of coffee…
“Stop it,” I hissed at my reflection.
“Stop what?” Anna froze, mascara wand hovering uncertainly.
“Nothing! Just… talking to my inner spy.” I forced a laugh. “Shouldn’t I be wearing something more… subtle?”
“More subtle than a classic black ensemble?” Sam asked skeptically.
“You know what I mean! This outfit is very…” I gestured at my reflection, at the way the silk blouse draped just so, at the criminal things the pencil skirt was doing to my curves. “It’s very…”
“Sophisticated?” offered Anna.
“Elegant?” suggested Kate.
“Dangerous,” Sam concluded with a knowing look that made me wonder if Victoria’s PA was secretly a mind reader.
I sighed, adjusting the sunglasses. “I’m supposed to be doing research, not auditioning for the next spy thriller.”
“Speaking of which”—Sam checked her watch—“if you want to make it to your… research appointment, you need to leave now.”
Right. The morning meeting. Where Sophia would be, all fresh-faced and genuine, probably wearing something sweetly professional and understated. Meanwhile, I’d be skulking around in an outfit that screamed recently divorced spy seeking revenge.
“Remember.” Sam handed me a small clutch. “Whatever you’re up to, try to be discreet.”
“I know, I know. Watch but don’t engage. Like a nature documentary, except instead of observing lions in their natural habitat, I’m…” I caught myself before I said something revealing. “…doing very important research.”
Three pairs of eyes fixed on me with varying degrees of concern. Kate’s professional mask slipped just enough to show confusion at my decidedly un-Victoria-like enthusiasm, while Anna nervously twisted her styling towel, clearly wondering if she’d gone too far with the femme fatale look.
“Mrs. Everett…” Anna started, probably about to suggest something more conservative, but I was already clicking toward the elevator, Sam falling naturally into step beside me.
“Time to go play spy! Or femme fatale. Or whatever this outfit says I am.”
The elevator doors closed on their worried faces—Kate’s carefully controlled concern and Anna’s open anxiety about what they’d created. I caught one last glimpse of them exchanging looks that clearly said, “What has gotten into Victoria Everett?”
I leaned against the mirrored wall with a sigh while Sam tapped away on her tablet.
“Get it together, Zoe,” I whispered to myself. “You’re just following the plot. This is what’s supposed to happen.”
Then why did it feel like I was the one about to get my heart stolen?
The ride down to the garage was silent except for the soft click of our heels against the polished floor.
I studied my reflection in the mirrored walls, still startled by the sophisticated stranger staring back at me.
The woman in the mirror looked like she should be carrying state secrets in her clutch, not having a minor panic attack about spying on her future ex-husband’s future wife.
“You’re fidgeting,” Sam observed as we stepped into the garage.
“I’m not fidgeting. I’m… adjusting my spy equipment.”
“You mean your sunglasses?”
“They’re very technical sunglasses.”
Peter was waiting with the car, his expression professionally neutral as he opened the door. If he had any thoughts about Victoria Everett dressed like a film noir heroine at nine in the morning, he kept them to himself.
The drive felt endless. Each red light was an opportunity for my nerves to tie themselves into ever-tighter knots. I checked my lipstick in my compact mirror for the seventh time, adjusted my scarf for the twelfth time, and tried very hard not to think about what I was actually doing.
“Mrs. Everett.” Sam’s voice was careful, measured. “Are you sure about this… research?”
Before I could answer, the car turned a corner and there it was. The Everett building. My breath caught in my throat.
It wasn’t just a building. Sweeping glass and steel rose into the morning sky like a modern-day castle, sunlight dancing off surfaces that somehow managed to look both impossibly delicate and indestructibly strong.
Just like its owner, a self-made man who’d built an empire from nothing but determination and brilliant ideas.
My stomach did a funny little flip that had nothing to do with nerves and everything to do with thoughts I definitely shouldn’t be having about Jason Everett.
“Ready?” Sam asked as Peter opened my door.
I smoothed my trench coat with trembling fingers. “Not even slightly.”
The moment we entered the vast marble foyer, I knew I’d made a terrible mistake. The space fell silent, like someone had hit pause on a very expensive corporate movie. Then the whispers started.
Heads turned. Phones appeared. A young woman in a cream-colored suit actually gasped out loud. Two men paused their conversation, coffee cups frozen halfway to their mouths. Even the security guards were staring.
“Sam,” I whispered through my fixed smile, “I thought this outfit was supposed to make me inconspicuous.”
“I think we may have overshot inconspicuous and landed somewhere between movie star and international woman of mystery.”
I tried to walk normally, I really did. But the combination of nervous energy, four-inch heels, and highly polished marble floors proved to be my undoing.
One wobbly step turned into an unexpected slide.
I overcorrected, arms windmilling with all the grace of a drunken flamingo.
What followed was thirty seconds of what could only be described as interpretive dance meets ice skating minus the ice.
When I finally came to a stop, people were smiling. Pointing. Looking at me with something that seemed suspiciously like… admiration?
Red-faced, I made my way to the reception desk, where the young woman behind it was practically vibrating with barely contained excitement. Her name tag—Claire, pinned neatly to her crisp blouse—caught the lobby’s bright lights as she bounced slightly in her chair.
“Mrs. Everett!” Her voice was breathy with awe. Her eyes darted between me and her computer screen, where I caught a glimpse of what looked like yesterday’s restaurant video.
“Yes, I…” I cleared my throat, trying to sound like someone who regularly inspired this kind of reaction. “I’m here to see Jas— Mr. Everett. But also not see him. It’s complicated.”
Claire’s eyes lit up. She pressed her lips together in what was clearly an attempt to suppress a delighted smile, then gave me an exaggerated wink that would have made a soap opera actress proud.
I stared at her, baffled. “Is there something in your eye?”
She giggled. Actually giggled. “Oh, no, Mrs. Everett. Let me just call Madison upstairs. She’ll know exactly where to… position you.” Another wink.
“Position me?” I looked at Sam for help, but she was suddenly very interested in her tablet.
“For your… surprise.” Claire’s smile grew even wider as she reached for her phone.
“I don’t…” I started, but she was already dialing, shooting me little excited glances between rings.
“Madison? You’ll never guess who’s here… Yes… Yes! Wearing the most amazing outfit… I know! … She wants to surprise him… I know!”
I shifted uncomfortably, very aware of the lobby full of people still watching my every move. The security guard was whispering something to his colleague. A group of young employees huddled near the coffee cart were not-so-subtly taking pictures.
“Perfect!” Claire hung up and beamed at me. “Madison will take care of everything. Take the executive elevator to the top floor. She’s so excited to help with your… special visit.”
The way she emphasized special made me feel like I was missing something very important.
“Thank you?” I managed weakly.
“Good luck!” She gave me one final, exaggerated wink.
As Sam and I walked toward the elevators, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I’d just set something in motion that I couldn’t control.
“Sam,” I whispered, “why do I feel like everyone knows something I don’t?”