Chapter 15
Monday, midmorning, eStocks Enterprises
G abby hurried down the hall to the bathroom, thankfully empty. Like the spy she was, she checked under the stall doors for feet before she started talking to Markus. Sure she was alone, she said, “Markus, can you hear me?”
“I’m here.”
She gripped the counter and leaned in close to the mirror for a blackhead-level inspection, and peeled a line of silicone glue off her nose like it was one of those peel-off masks designed to clean your pores. They were probably just glue too.
“Well, you look great, just not like Darcy.”
Gabby jumped back. For just a second, she’d forgotten he could see everything. This was a level of closeness she’d didn’t typically engage in with anyone other than her kids. She and Phil hadn’t been one of those couples who peed with the door open.
After the shock of sharing her pores with him, it hit her—Markus had said that she looked “great.” She went all gooey and smiled into the mirror like he’d just hit on her.
“Can you reapply the nose?” Markus asked, ignoring her dopey smile.
Still stuck on the fact that she looked “great,” she didn’t answer. Sure, it was the kind of word that a teacher wrote on top of a kid’s spelling homework, but it did something to her. He was waking her up, reminding her she was a woman, not just a mom.
“Can you reapply the nose?” Markus repeated.
“Oh, uh… no.” She pulled a wadded-up silicone ball out of her pocket. “It melted in the coffee.”
“Damn. That’s done.”
She could hear him thinking while she cleaned tiny bits of glue off her nose.
“I’ll have them make another prosthetic for you and deliver it before anyone else sees you without the nose.”
“Markus, I can’t stay in the bathroom all morning.” Fran would have a conniption. Kramer would fire her. “We might be okay. Kramer already saw me. He didn’t seem to notice.”
“Ugh,” he groaned. “What about everyone else?”
She didn’t have an answer.
“Okay, I’m sending a message to the prosthetics people. We’ll see how long it’ll take.”
Even driving it over would take half an hour, and that was without remaking it. There was no way.
“What about the guest list?” Markus asked.
“Sergei Orlov’s on the list.” Thinking aloud, Gabby said, “Is he flying in all the way from Russia?” What kind of party did a person fly halfway across the world for?
“This is big, Gabby.”
“So what, you’re going to catch him red-handed racketeering?” Racketeering—it still sounded like an obscure Olympic event to her, like they would need a special location and racketeering equipment, including kneepads and a helmet.
“It’s just like everything else. The real business happens over cocktails. This party is a big break.”
She’d never arranged a corporate party before. She hadn’t even attended one in recent memory. Early on in her marriage, she would do her hair, put on a cocktail dress, and play the part of a wife. It had been a while.
So many questions: How many mini-quiches? What about the vegans? Were as many adults allergic to nuts as kids? Was this a Costco or a catering situation? If a guy was flying in from Russia, probably catering.
The only parties she’d been to recently were kids’ birthday parties. Sheet cakes and pizza in the Sky Zone party room. In fact, she’d thrown so many Sky Zone birthdays that she had a freebie coming up.
Markus jogged her back to the present. “This is our chance for hard proof of money laundering.”
How the hell was she going to throw a party for adults? And she only had a week and a half to do it. This is what the Sky Zone party package was for—moments like this when you didn’t want to take care of the details on your own.
“Gabby, just take—” Markus fizzed out before he could finish his sentence. She wiggled a finger in her ear.
“Markus, I can’t hear you,” she said.
It was the bathroom. The reception was so much worse in here than it was at her desk, not that she could talk at her desk privately.
“I said—” Markus said before going out again.
“Markus,” she said, wiggling a finger in her ear again. Before she had time to freak out even more, the door to the bathroom opened. Gabby jumped liked she’d just been caught tweezing chin hairs, not that she had any. Instinctively she went to wave at Fran, all “hey, nothing to see here, girl” complete with a big fake smile.
When she pulled her finger out of her ear to wave, she snagged the earpiece. In slow motion, she watched her lifeline to Markus sail through the air toward the sink, skitter around the edge and…
She stepped toward the bowl and stared down the drain.
“Camille?” Fran said.
Frantically, she felt around the sink, even though she could see it wasn’t there. The earpiece was gone. Markus was down the drain. She was alone.
“Camille, I’ve been looking for you.”
“What?” Gabby managed to pull her attention from the drain toward Fran. “What do you need?”
“Do you need some help? It seems like you’re having a little trouble this morning.”
“Um…” Gabby could barely remember anything besides her immediate disaster—she was completely alone on her first day of undercover work. Not that Fran could help her with that.
“I’m fine.” She touched her nose. Fran was going to notice, and her cover would be blown.
“You know how Kramer is,” Fran said. “He wants the best from everyone all the time.”
Gabby nodded. So did the EOD. Wearing a fake nose was as bad as trying to keep her bra stuffed as a preteen, except this time it wasn’t just her dignity at stake.
“I’d be happy to help with whatever he needs from you. Just for today.”
“Um, just some party stuff.” Gabby took a breath and talked herself down. This was not middle school. She just lost a fake nose and earpiece. All was not lost—yet.
“A party?” Fran perked up. “Please say I can help!” Fran looked genuinely thrilled. “What are you thinking for entertainment? We could get that jazz trio, you know the one that plays for open mic night at happy hour across the street. Actually, we could do a whole jazz theme.” She looked up at Gabby expectantly.
“That’s better than anything I’ve thought of yet, unless everyone is into Sky Zone.” Gabby laughed, but Fran didn’t join in.
“Sky Zone? Is that like a private jet thing?”
Fran must be thinking of the Delta Sky Club lounge, and not the trampoline park slash arcade filled with screaming ten-year-olds, a place you wanted to wear socks so you didn’t get foot fungus.
“That could work. Maybe we could host it out at that restaurant at the private airport. Private jets would be a great theme. That’s what we’re all shooting for, right?” Fran wagged a finger at her. “And I thought you weren’t on your game today.”
What kind of person with a child had never heard of Sky Zone?
Fran started to say something else but stopped and frowned at Gabby.
Gabby’s heart dropped to her stomach. She’d been found out. It was all over.
With a startled gasp, Fran covered her mouth.
At least if it all went to hell now, she could just go home. A glance at her watch showed she’d be able to pick up the kids. She could text Sienna’s mom and Phil and say she didn’t need them. Spying just hadn’t worked out, which really wasn’t a big surprise.
With a self-satisfied smile, Fran announced, “I know what’s different.”
Gabby waited for Fran to unmask her like the Scooby-Doo gang. You aren’t Camille. You are an imposter from the Elite Operatives Department impersonating Darcy Dagger!
“You’ve had a nose job,” Fran exclaimed. “I don’t know why it took me this long to notice.”
A high-pitched laugh escaped Gabby like air leaking from a balloon. “You got it, Fran.”
Five minutes later, she sat down at her desk and wrung her hands. She had no earpiece and Kramer had just asked her to make an Excel spreadsheet.
Her phone dinged with a text from Markus. R u ok?
No. They asked me to make a spreadsheet.
Lol. But r u safe?
Yes.
What about the prosthetic?
Problem solved. Told Fran I had a nose job.
Really?
I’m fine. More worried about the spreadsheet atm.
Lol. Hang tight.
Gabby googled “how to make an Excel spreadsheet” on her phone. The short instructions weren’t enough. She needed a full-on YouTube tutorial, and that was just for starters. She probably needed to go back to college. Because watching a tutorial on how to open a spreadsheet would give away that she didn’t know what the hell she was doing, she secreted herself away in a bathroom stall to watch an Australian accountant explain what a spreadsheet was while she took notes on a legal pad balanced on her knee. This was not how she imagined the life of a secret agent.
“There are columns running vertically and rows running horizontally,” the expert explained in a loud and clear voice. Gabby couldn’t pass statistics in college. It was probably a mental block, but she probably wasn’t going to overcome it today.
“Um, are you okay in there?” an amused voice called from another stall.
“Oh, sorry!” Gabby hit PAUSE as fast as if she’d just been caught watching porn at her desk. “I didn’t realize anyone else was in here.” She breezed out of the stall and tried to act normal, like she watched spreadsheet tutorials on the toilet all the time.
Carmen, who worked the front desk, cut her eyes toward Gabby while reapplying some hot pink lipstick. She didn’t have to ask anything because the questions were written all over her face.
Gabby, the queen of dumb explanations, started explaining herself. “I was, ah, just brushing up on some Excel.”
“On the toilet?” Carmen couldn’t hold her laughter in any longer. “Girl, are you okay?”
Gabby started to answer but all she could come up with was “Ehhhhh,” so she added on some truth. “Eh, it’s just a rough first day back. I had quite the weekend too.” An EOD crash course after fourteen years of SAHM life was a lot.
Carmen leaned back and looked at Gabby like she was seeing her in a new light. “I didn’t know you partied like that, girl!”
“If you think partying takes a toll at twenty-five, try thirty-eight. I can barely remember who I am or what I’m doing here.” The second true thing she’d said all day.
“I got you,” Carmen said. “I can’t have you over there taking a spreadshit on your first day back.” She laughed at her own stupid wordplay.
Gabby felt her cheeks go red. “I’m soooo embarrassed.”
“Are you kidding? My whole first six months at this place was a spreadshit. Kramer just didn’t notice because he never gets up from his desk.”
Fifteen minutes later, Gabby was at Carmen’s desk getting a live Excel tutorial while they chugged Gatorade and snacked on Chicago-mix style popcorn, Carmen’s recipe for a hangover. “Something crunchy for the munchies and the real medicine.”
“Thanks, girl!” Gabby said. “You saved my behind today.”
“Hos before bros.” Carmen gave her a scrutinizing look and said, “Is it just me or was that spreadsheet tutorial practically a makeover? I gave you an instructional glow up.”
“It’s either that or the nose job I had last week,” Gabby said with a wink in her voice.
Carmen laughed at her own silly assumption. “Your nose looks fab. Good for you.”
The advantage of not having an earpiece was that Gabby could almost convince herself she was an actual executive assistant instead of an undercover spy in mortal danger. No big deal. She was just doing some light party planning and having snacks with Carmen.
When the spreadsheet was almost done, Fran bustled over. Even at walking pace, she looked like she was in a hurry. And why didn’t her clothes have a single wrinkle at almost the end of the day? Gabby squashed those feelings. Women spent too much time tearing each other down and not enough time building each other up. Like Carmen said, “Hos before bros.” They were all working for a money-laundering finance bro.
All business, Fran said, “Camille, do you know whose blueberry yogurt is in the fridge? There isn’t a name on it?”
“Um…”
Before Fran could give her the third degree about the unmarked yogurt, her phone rang with an incoming call from someone named “Waldorf,” and she bustled away.
“Is her boyfriend named Waldorf?” Gabby asked. Fran and Waldorf—that just didn’t roll off the tongue.
“Either that or she lives at the Waldorf Astoria.” Carmen giggled.
At the end of the day, Gabby slumped into the driver’s seat of her car, sucked dry from pretending to know what she was doing all day and talking to a whole office of new people. It wasn’t the worst first day she’d ever had, though. Waiting tables at Chili’s took that prize.