Chapter 8 #2
She tsks and swats his shoulder with her napkin. “I already made you my cannolis,” she says, narrowing her eyes. “Filled fresh. You don’t say no to food I made with my own hands.”
Theo hesitates, then sets the candy bar down and takes the plate she slides in front of him. He takes one bite. Nods once, conceding the point. “Good boy,” she says.
A moment later, when Lina turns back toward the kitchen, he quietly reaches for the Rocky Road again, breaking off a piece. His eyes close and he lets it sit on his tongue for a second longer than necessary.
I look down at my pasta before my smile can give me away.
Leon follows my gaze and hums thoughtfully. “That’s about the only thing I’ve ever seen compete with Lina’s cooking.”
I glance at him.
He lowers his voice. “He once told me they’re the closest thing to the tiffin bars his grandmother used to make.”
Hearing Leon’s words makes the effort feel worth it. Tracking down those candy bars hasn’t been easy, and sneaking them onto his desk takes more planning than I’d ever admit—but knowing they brighten his day, even a little, settles something warm and solid in my chest.
The following morning, I call Alice as I sit in my car in front of the office. She answers on the third ring. Her phone’s camera is angled so badly that the first thing I see is a towering wall of cereal boxes. When she adjusts it, the view shifts to her pushing a grocery cart down an aisle.
Yes, shocker, she does her own grocery shopping. Today, she’s dressed like I usually am in faded jeans and an oversized hoodie, earbuds tucked in, sunglasses perched on top of her head like a crooked crown.
Behind her, I spot Angela, her protection officer, dressed in plainclothes and pretending very hard—and failing—to not look like she’s on duty.
I snicker. “You know, Angela might blend in better if she weren’t mindlessly grabbing things at random off the shelf. Does she realize she’s holding, like, nine boxes of cereal and four containers of laundry detergent?”
“I doubt it.” Alice glances over her shoulder, then back at me, her mouth quirking. “She’s been on edge all week. Her boyfriend’s being transferred off my detail and reassigned to my brother Eddie’s,” Alice tells me in a low voice.
I lean back in my car’s seat. “I can see why she might be upset. She’ll be going from seeing him every day to only having their days off to spend together. Did he ask for the transfer? Seems strange.”
I know better than anyone how thin the line is between the officer and the principal.
When you have protection officers with you 24/7, the professional boundaries tend to blur into something far more personal.
You don’t just share a space; you share a life.
We’re every bit as invested in their lives as they are in ours.
They watch our backs, so we watch their hearts—and gossip accordingly.
“Yes, but for a good reason.” A wicked grin crosses Alice’s lips as she pulls the phone closer to her face. “I have it on good authority that Angela is going to receive a proposal this weekend. He’s thinking about the future. Married couples can’t be on the same detail for some archaic reason.”
“Aww, that’s brilliant!” I clap my hands together. “Any ideas of how he’s going to pop the big question?”
Alice shakes her head. “He asked Eddie for help, which means whatever he does is going to be wildly over the top. You know how my brother is.” She snickers. “Last we talked, Eddie was researching those planes that write messages in the sky, so I’m guessing something along those lines.”
She steers the cart into the next aisle just as a precarious tower of canned beans wobbles. Angela, blissfully unaware, adds several more cans to her growing hoard.
I grin. “Skywriting, huh? It sounds perfect for her.”
Angela was a member of the RAF before she became Alice’s protection officer.
A rare female pilot. When Alice visited me in Japan, the three of us bonded over being women in STEM.
Secretly, I was always a little jealous that Alice got a sister-in-arms on her team while my protection officers were always an endless rotation of stoic men.
“That’s Eddie for you,” Alice says, smirking. “Honestly, this is tame for him. I’m surprised he hasn’t suggested a fireworks display synchronized to ‘Can’t Help Falling in Love.’”
I laugh. “Well, if she says yes, at least she’ll never forget it.”
“She’ll say yes. Angela loves him.” Alice peers at me through the screen. “So what are you up to today?”
I glance out the windshield. It’s about ten to seven, and the office parking lot is still completely empty. The early morning light is just beginning to creep across the sky. I definitely didn’t need to leave my apartment this early, but old habits die hard.
“Nothing too exciting,” I reply. “Just work.”
Her eyebrow arches immediately. “On a weekend? Is your boss still giving you a hard time?”
“No. He’s been fine.”
“That sounds like progress,” she says.
“Mm-hmm.” I nod.
Yes, I was angry at him last week, but then I remember how kind he was to me in the stairwell. He didn’t just talk me through the panic—he took care of me, and made sure I was all right. It went beyond what a boss needed to do for an employee. And it was better than any apology in my book.
I swallow hard. My view of Theo has started to shift. When he wore that white T-shirt and jeans to the morning huddle . . . let’s just say it did things to me that I wasn’t prepared for.
But it wasn’t just a physical reaction. He’s also captured my attention with how brilliant he is.
Like during yesterday’s meeting, Derrick and Andy were having an issue with the load distribution for the Werewolf’s Curse coaster’s final brake run.
They were convinced we needed a complete million-dollar hardware overhaul to keep the trains from jarring.
But Theo just leaned over the schematics, scanned the data like he was reading a bedtime story, and pointed to a single line in the braking algorithm.
He suggested they use a simple “cascading deceleration” logic, which would use the train’s own kinetic energy to trigger the next set of magnets—and boom, crisis averted.
Watching his brain dismantle a problem like that was like standing too close to a high-voltage line. You can feel the vibration in your teeth before you ever hear the sound. It was so brainy-sexy. Yes, just like yumalicious, I’m inventing another new word. Or rather a concept in this case.
“Why do you look so distracted?” Alice says suddenly, her gaze sharpening through the screen. “What are you not telling me?”
My stomach flips. Alice is too good at reading body language. Then again, I’m sure she’s had just as much practice as me over the years. I push my glasses up higher on the bridge of my nose. “Nothing. Just excited over doing my first site visit today.”
“Kaori, come on. I’ve known you since we were children. You’re a terrible liar when you’re nervous.” She tilts her head. “Spill the beans. What’s on your mind?”
I open my mouth to respond just as the parking lot explodes with sound. The growl of a motorcycle engine rips through the quiet, followed immediately by “Born to Be Wild” blasting from speakers at a volume that should be illegal before eight a.m.
I jolt. My phone nearly slips from my hand.
I look up just in time to see a streak of black leather and chrome tear across the lot before skidding to a stop a few feet away.
As the biker kills the music and swings a leg off the motorcycle, my brain refuses to process what I’m seeing for the second time this week.
“That’s Theo’s ride?” I gasp.
It’s like a slow-motion shampoo commercial as he pulls off his helmet and runs a hand through his hair, leaving it sticking out in every direction, wind-tossed and messy.
“What is that?” Alice demands, frowning.
“I’ll tell you later. I’ve got to go,” I whisper.
On cue, Theo lowers his sunglasses and looks straight at me across the lot. Heat crawls up my neck, and I look away like I’ve been caught staring at the sun.
I barely have time to shove my phone into my bag before Theo is walking toward me, helmet tucked under one arm. Up close, the effect is somehow worse. He’s in a form-fitting leather jacket, black gloves, and black slacks.
I dry swallow. Lord help me. How am I going to get through today? I have to look at him in that.
“Morning, Minami,” he says in a neutral tone. “You’re early.”
“So are you,” I manage. My gaze flicks to the motorcycle. “Um . . . that’s not what I pictured you driving. Or wearing.”
Darn it. Why did I have to add that last part? My red face must be ready to blister about now. Maybe the dark tint of my glasses will help disguise it. But then again, with my luck lately, maybe not.
He cocks his head. “What’d you imagine?”
“I don’t know. I guess I thought you’d have on your normal suit and drive something sleek and flashy, like an Aston Martin or Jaguar.”
One corner of his mouth lifts. He slips his sunglasses back into place and presses a key fob.
Across the lot, the headlights of a silver Honda Accord flash.
“For the record, I wear more casual clothing to site visits because they can be messy. And I do own a Jaguar F-Type. I just prefer my bike.” He gestures toward the car.
“Since today is a work visit, though, we’re taking the company Honda so we can expense the gas and mileage. ”
I blink at the Accord, then back at him. “After the motorcycle-and-sunglasses entrance,” I say carefully, “this feels wildly anticlimactic.”
We cross the lot and slide into the car. After he adjusts the mirrors and checks his blind spot, we drive out onto the road. His sunglasses catch the early morning light as he glances at me. “This your first field visit?”
“Yes,” I admit.
“I trust you’ve read the project briefs.”
“Of course,” I say. “We’ll be reviewing the track installation for Medusa’s Fury and the staging area for the launch system.”