31. Suspicious with a Capital S
31
Suspicious with a Capital S
Rose
I force myself to sit up straighter in my chair at the upscale restaurant in a suburb of Green Bay and take a sip of wine. I’m at this bougie restaurant tonight because Charles told the team Duke is dining here. It’s all he’s been able to find out about the meeting on his calendar. That, and Duke told Charles, in no uncertain terms, that he is not needed or welcomed to join him for dinner.
Suspicious with a capital S if you ask me.
Enter me.
I’m here to observe Duke and report back.
Too bad I’ve been sitting here for two hours, and Duke has been alone the entire time. He’s typing on his laptop. I can’t get any closer to see if I can see what he’s writing, or I’ll risk blowing my cover. I can’t get up, period, because I’ll have to cross in front of his table, and I’m not sure my different shade of lipstick, heavier eye make-up, and updo will really hide my identity.
I catch sight of my reflection in the shiny silver spoon at my table, and I grimace. My stretched-thin-ness is showing in the bags under my eyes that even four layers of concealer didn’t conceal. I worked a full shift at Mood Reader today. Mia is still under the weather, poor thing, so I’m trying to cover for her as much as possible.
I slide my phone out of my pocketbook and peer at the time. It’s almost nine o’clock. I shift in my seat, and my mind wanders to Anton. I’ve been around the stadium—and him—every day this week. I’ve observed practices, talked to his coaches and the River Foxes staff, building out background information for my article. We’ve kept things strictly professional there. But at night, after practice is done for him and my shifts at Mood Reader are over, we have dinner together and talk and kiss and keep things decadently unprofessional.
He asked me to hang out tonight, and it felt like a sword to my Achilles tendon to lie to him. I told him I had promised Noli and Poppy that we could do our annual Christmas cookie baking night. We aren’t doing that until next week, and now I’m going to have to come up with another excuse when we actually are baking cookies.
See how the lies add up?
I’m slipping on the sludge of my deceit.
I’d much rather be with him, curled up in sweatpants, watching the movie he proposed: Miss Congeniality —my favorite. But instead, I’m here. With Duke.
The door to my right whooshes open, and my heart rate increases as my eyes bounce up to take in the new arrival. Maybe this is—finally—Duke’s guest.
It’s Anton.
I scream a long sequence of curse words in my mind and immediately drop my gaze and shove my chair back, ducking my head under the table and pretending to mess with the clasp on my high-heeled shoe.
What is he doing here?
Is he who Duke was planning to meet all along?
Why?
My dress goes from uncomfortable to suffocating as a layer of nervous sweat prickles my skin.
I sense Anton move toward Duke’s table, and I wait an extra moment before I inch up from my position. Anton takes his seat, and mercifully, he’s got his back to me.
But now what do I do ?
My phone buzzes, and I scramble to grab it, nearly sending it clanking to the ground in my haste. I’ve got a new message from my dad.
Lennox
Report in. What’s going on there?
I tap out a response.
Rose
Anton is here now. With Duke. Not sure what to make of that. You?
Bubbles pop up on my screen, and then another message follows.
Lennox
Interesting. Sit tight and wait and see what happens.
Rose
What if Anton sees me?
Lennox
Why would that be an issue?
Rose
Because I told him I had other plans tonight.
Lennox
Tell him your plans changed. Get creative. Don’t make a big deal out of a non-issue.
I grind my teeth. This is what irks me about my dad and this whole gig. My personal thoughts, feelings, and opinions are secondary to the job and the principal. Though, in this case, my personal thoughts, feelings, and opinions are directly tied to the principal, so I’ve really gone and made things extremely convoluted, haven’t I?
I sigh and toss my phone down on the table .
I get out my compact mirror and use it to look over my shoulder at Duke and Anton. They’re at ease with each other, laughing and talking. A waiter approaches, and I hold my breath, thinking maybe he’s some sort of courier for a missive or some type of secondary attacker. But nothing happens. The pair places drink orders, and a couple minutes later, the waiter returns with a large stout glass filled with amber liquid and sets it in front of Duke. Anton is drinking ice water.
I allow myself a smile. My guy is in season, and he’s too committed to his team and teammates and their performance to put something into his body on a Thursday night that could have any sort of negative effect on his game play this weekend.
I’m so lost in my thoughts of Anton that I don’t immediately register when he stands from the table. He says something to Duke, and then he turns in my direction.
I’m across the restaurant, so I have maybe fifteen seconds before he passes my table. I snap my compact shut, stowing it in my purse and reaching for my wine glass. If only it was one of those large goblet-style glasses. Maybe it would cover more of my face. As it is, I make a show of leaning over the drink and sniffing it. All I can do is pray that Anton doesn’t look this way.
I know the moment he skirts past my table. I don’t look in his direction, keeping my focus on my wine glass and pretending to read the book I’ve brought along. But I can smell him. I think I could recognize his woodsy scent in a crowded room, even if I didn’t know he was there.
He disappears into the restroom at the back of the restaurant, and I let out the breath I’m holding. I should get out of here while I have the chance. Screw the instructions from Lennox. But I waffle.
What if Duke is planning something tonight…here at the restaurant? What if Anton is in danger, and I’m so worried about saving face in my relationship with him that I fail to do my job and actually keep him safe ?
I down the rest of my wine. I hate everything about this. My phone buzzes again, and I reluctantly grab it from my purse, expecting another message from my dad. Instead, my heart lifts and hammers.
Anton
How’s cookie baking? Missing you and wanted to check in. I promise I’m not clingy or desperate.
I smile so wide my cheeks hurt.
Rose
Too bad. I have a thing for clingy, desperate men…
He types back immediately.
Anton
In that case, can I see you tonight?
I let out a soft chuckle. I want to see him too. Really see him. Not covertly while I’m trying to do reconnaissance work. But I don’t know how to respond, because anything I say will be a bold-faced lie. I mull it over for a couple seconds and then type out my answer, staying as close to half-truths as possible.
Rose
I’m sorry I’m tied up.
Not a total lie. I’m just not tied up with my sisters like he thinks I am. And then, because I’m dying to tell him something real, I add:
Rose
I miss you too, for the record.
I’m staring at my phone, so I don’t see the movement in my periphery until it’s too late.
“Rose?”
I jolt upright and find Duke giving me a questioning look.
“Uh, yeah. Hi.” I stand, sliding my phone back into my purse. I need to get out of here .
“What are you doing?”
I cast a quick glance at the bathroom door, hoping Anton takes a minute longer in there.
“I was having a drink.” I motion to my empty wine glass. “I was just leaving.”
“I thought you were with your sisters tonight. That’s what Anton said. He’s here.”
“Is he really?” My words come out sounding all pitchy.
“You didn’t see him?” Duke points to the bathroom door. “He walked right past you.”
I let out a pretend chuckle. “I must’ve been really absorbed in my book.”
Duke doesn’t look like he believes me.
I collect my purse and book. “I’m going to get going.”
“You don’t want to wait and say hi to Anton? I’m sure he’d be glad to see you.”
Not after he knows I lied to him .
I feel like the walls are closing in on me, and there’s no way out of this. Either way, Duke is going to tell Anton he saw me.
This is bad. This is really, really—
“Rose?” Anton’s voice sounds close, and I spin around to find him directly behind me.
— bad.
There are two different emotions swirling around in his eyes. One I’d catalog as delight. He’s happy to see me. The other is confusion. He can’t understand why I’m here.
Honestly, fair.
“Hi.” My voice is weak.
“What are you doing here? I thought you were at cookie night?”
I blow out a breath and make a split-second decision. I’m going to tell him the truth about everything. Right now. I’ll deal with the fallout, but he deserves to have the whole picture. I can’t wait one more minute, and I refuse to spin one more falsity to his face. Oh gosh, he’s going to be mad. And hurt. I hate myself for it already. But I shove the thought aside. If I tell him the truth, he’ll understand. He has to. He’s Anton. He’s the most understanding man I know.
Right?
Right.
“I, uh…didn’t go to cookie night.”
“Why not?” Anton looks bewildered. “Did you know I was going to be here?”
I glance between Anton and Duke. “I need to talk to you.” I offer Duke an apologetic look. “Alone, if that’s okay. But I don’t want to interrupt your dinner.”
Anton shakes his head. “It’s okay. Right, Duke?”
“I’m going to head back to my hotel. You two have a good rest of your evening.” Duke stares me down before turning and leaving me alone with Anton.
All at once, my legs can’t support my body weight, so I drop back into my seat at the table.
Anton sits across from me, his shoulders fighting against the seams of his sport coat.
“What’s going on, Rose? Did you come here to talk to me?” He glances at my empty wine glass, likely realizing that I’ve been seated at the table for a while. “Or were you here with Duke? Did you have an interview lined up that you didn’t want to tell me about?”
“No. It’s not like that at all. I mean, I wouldn’t go behind your back about the article.”
“Then what?”
I close my eyes for a second, gathering my strength and fortitude. This is Anton. He’ll appreciate me being upfront and honest with him.
“I don’t even know where to begin,” I admit.
“You’re kind of freaking me out, not gonna lie.”
“Okay. I’m just going to tell you this.”
He leans back. “Please do. ”
“I’m not actually writing an article on you. It’s a cover story.”
His eyebrows hitch up. “I’m going to be on the cover?”
I wince. “No. Sorry. Bad word choice.” I try again. “It’s a cover story for what I’ve actually been hired to do.”
He stares at me blankly, and I plug ahead.
“Which is to stay close to you as a personal protection agent.”
“A personal protection what now?”
Here we go. For better or worse. Being honest starts now.
“I’m a security agent, Anton. Kind of like a mix between a bodyguard and a spy.”