Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
F ox is a man on a mission, and his resolute way of shopping made me feel more important and more powerful than anything I’d experienced in my life.
Our first stop on Fox’s agenda had been a stylist, who took one look at my curly blond hair and gave me a side part by shaving a line for it.
He cut the sides and back close and scrunched my curls to the right.
He finished my hair, and the next person to touch me was a make-up artist who had given me a natural look that smoothed out my peachy complexion and had used eyeliner to make my brown eyes look huge.
The next stop had been a suit shop where Fox put me in a ridiculously comfortable, brown three-piece suit with a gold brocade vest and a matching silk pocket thing.
You know, that pocket thing that’s for decoration.
He bought me four different suits in the same style, but I had worn the brown one out.
Instead of putting me in toe-pinching dress shoes, though, we had stopped at a shoe shop, and he put me in black combat boots, because that totally matches the fancy suits, right?
He also bought me some dress shoes but insisted I wear the combat boots out of the store.
As we hit the street out of the shoe shop, Fox poses me against a white wall and takes a full body picture of me. A few screen taps later, that picture is sent via text message to a five-digit number and an automated response comes back, which he shows me:
Thank you for updating your status. Your Harbinger will be announced in fifteen minutes.
After I read that, Fox looks down the street both ways then turns to me, jerking his head for me to follow.
I do and end up walking into a brightly lit modern boutique where a woman dressed as fancy as I am greets us with a customer-service smile. “Good evening, Mr. Fox. How can I be of service today?”
“My Harbinger needs a phone,” he replies stoically.
The woman’s eyes widen briefly before she closes off her surprise and gives him a deferential bow. “Please give me a moment.”
Fox says nothing, and since I can’t speak, I don’t either, and she takes our silence as confirmation.
Turning on her spiked heels, she disappears into the back wall—it’s like the openings in the walls of the labyrinth of the Goblin King; you can’t tell it’s there until you see someone disappear into it.
Looking around at the mostly empty boutique, I clock two other women showing phones to customers, and one woman staring at us from behind the cash desk.
That one looks at me with keen interest in her Botox-frozen face.
With the subtlety that comes from hiding most of my life, I nudge Fox to draw his attention to the woman staring at me.
There’s no way I’m dumb enough to get involved with a man known for his ability to murder people in groups and not make him aware of the people giving me too much attention.
I’m basically his responsibility at this point.
I’ll bring joy to his deadly life and he will protect me, and that’s a totally fair exchange.
“This place is safe. There are rules, and no one breaks them unless they want a visit from me,” Fox explains without bothering to be subtle about it.
The woman cocks her head to the side. “I’m merely curious about why Fox would hire a Harbinger after a decade.”
I don’t have an answer for her and couldn’t say even if I did. Snicker. I love mute puns, but only when I make them.
Fox doesn’t deign to answer, and then the woman helping us comes back with a sleek phone, displaying it and then giving us the rundown of all its features—to be honest, I don’t listen to anything beyond how to send text messages and answer phone calls.
She doesn’t bother going over the accessibility options because most people just don’t consider people might have unseen disabilities.
I’m not offended; I’m sure Google can teach me how to use the phone if I can’t figure it out myself.
Fox pays for the phone by giving the woman the back of his hand and letting her scan it. I eye the transaction and wait until we’re back on the street before picking up his wrist and pointing at the back of his hand with wide, questioning eyes.
Fox glances between my expression and his hand. “I work for an organization that utilizes chip implants for commerce. You’ll get one after a trial period if you choose to remain in my employ.”
Well, that’s not a conspiracy theorist’s wet dream. Nope. Not at all. I give Fox an exaggerated side-eye and shake my head.
“Just because you’re paranoid, doesn’t mean they’re not out to get you,” he teases me as I lace my fingers through his.
I haven’t had the chance to hold his hand since this morning, and I’m hungry, so he’s going to buy me dinner at a sit-down restaurant.
Using my new phone one handed, I find a restaurant that won’t kick him out for wearing less than formal clothes and start pulling him toward it. It’s only seven blocks away.
He comes with me without a word, which is nice.
Some people feel the need to fill the absence of my voice with theirs, but I’ve never needed that.
I enjoy people watching, and this city has more than enough people to keep me entertained.
Of course, with the disparity of our outfits, we get more than a few double takes.
I probably look like his sugar daddy, which makes me huff with delight.
At my silent laughter, Fox looks down at me with a question in his eyes. I indicate my outfit and his and look around us at the people giving us looks. He follows my eyes and releases his own amused huff.
“I’m not calling you ‘Daddy,’” he murmurs, barely audible.
I give him my brightest smile, squeezing his hand—I love a man who gets me. Oooh! I have a phone now!
I hold it up and open the contacts, finding “Arlington Fox” already programmed in. With a smirk on my face, I rename the contact “Future Husband,” giggling internally. I can’t wait to see what Fox thinks of that.
When I look up, he’s staring ahead with a small smile on his face pretending that he didn’t see me change the contact name. I pocket the phone and hold my hand out to his, making grabby hands.
Fox shakes his head, but hands me his phone. When I find my contact information, it’s under the title “Harbinger.” I raise a questioning brow at him.
“Automatic update. As soon as the depot got your information, your contact was added to my list,” he explains.
I didn’t know phones could do that, but I’m also dealing with some kind of criminal organization, so I roll with it. No sense in being surprised when the Illuminati do mysterious shit, amiright?
I edit the contact name to add “aka Future Husband” and give him back his phone. Don’t want him to forget he’s going to eventually want to buy me jewelry to go with my outfits. Diamonds are this boy’s best friend.
Fox glances at the change and shoots me a sexy smirk before pocketing the phone.
Oh yeah, I like a man who can get on the same page as me without a fight.